Red Lights Glow (a poem)

Transit of my soul
From numbing place to place
Dark nights, howling winds
Rattling of a rib-cage window
Naked moon glares above
Skeletal grind and pain
A refrain from dream-cities
Nestled inside the house
Winter chill, freeze-agony
Red lights glow from
Street-corner temples
Listen to the wind
It never lies

(Photo by Brianna Santellan on Unsplash)

Winter is a Time for Healing (a poem)

Winter is a time for healing.
Cold, gray mornings and a pallid moon hangs in the sky.
Bundled up to protect my heart.
My heart is a fireplace, radiating from the center of my chest.
My lover comes close, we warm ourselves.

Winter is a time for healing.
Birds migrate south, leaving us to think of what we’ve done and how we can make the world a better place.
We take inventory of our souls.
Nature retreats, but it’s only regenerating.
Without winter, there’s no spring or summer.
We snuggle into the season with our lovers, and I clasp my rosary as I pray to the God I want so desperately to believe in.

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Daily Quote: Admiring the Winter

“He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter… In winter the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear a look of a more exalted simplicity.” – John Burroughs

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Soft Winter Wind (a poem)

You called me over the airwaves
I had nothing to reply
Golden light bathed my face
Amid soft winter wind like
Time frozen in the seasonal cycle

I heard your sweet voice call,
But I could not answer
I needed my solitude

Don’t we all need time alone
To regenerate the parts of ourselves
Crowded out by madness?

(Photo by Spurwing Agency on Unsplash)

Daily Quote: The Loneliness of Winter

“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show.” – Andrew Wyeth

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Shadow Footsteps (a poem)

Underneath the cold, hard ground
I found the key to my soul
And I praised the gods of winter
Who enjoy the dead trees
And fallen leaves that rustle
Like shadow footsteps

In dark nights of lore
The high priests were astounded
By the teenage Jesus
No one believed us
When we saw him heal the blind men
In the sticky subway station

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