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Winter Poems


Three winter poems


 White Eyes ~ Mary Oliver

In winter

 all the singing is in

  the tops of the trees

   where the wind bird

 

with it white eyes

 shoves and pushes

  among the branches.

   Like any of us

 

he wants to go to sleep,

 but he is restless --

  he has an idea,

   and slowly it unfolds

 

from under his beating wings

 as long as he stays awake.

  But his big, round musi, after all,

   is too breathy to last.

 

So, its over.

 In the pine-crown

  he makes his nest

   he's done all he can.

 

I don't know the name of this bird,

 I only imagine his glittering beak

  tucked in a white wing

   while the clouds -

 

which he has summoned

 from the north -

  which he has taught

   to be mild, and silent -

 

thicken, and begin to fall

 into the world below

  like stars, or the feathers

   of some unimaginable bird

 

that loves us,

 that is asleep now, and silent

  that has turned itself

   into snow.

 

Mary Jane Oliver was an american poet inspired by nature (1935 - 2019)


Midwinter  ~ Drew Dellinger

 

when midwinter sunrise shines down the passage tomb

how can we not dance?

how can we not live again? when the breathing light of the nearest star

illuminates the bowl of bones how can we not dance?

sing our dead

across the river of souls come into the consciousness of clouds come into the consciousness of megalithic structures

the frequency of the flickering flame the blushing sky the naked night

the psychedelic stars

taste communion

the substance of the universe

this is my body

the consciousness of galaxies

this is my blood when the living god

that is the sky

makes elaborate patterns kiss and the stars show their fiery wings

how can we not dance?

how can we not live again?

 

Drew Dellinger is an internationally known writer & poet focusing on ecology, social justice, cosmology, social change and transformation

 

 To Know the Dark  ~ Wendell Berry


To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.


Poet, novelist, farmer and environmentalist Wendell Berry lives in Kentucky

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