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Wash Of Cold River

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Wash of cold river
in a glacial land,
Ionian water,
chill, snow-ribbed sand,
drift of rare flowers,
clear, with delicate shell-
like leaf enclosing
frozen lily-leaf,
camellia texture,
colder than a rose;

wind-flower
that keeps the breath
of the north-wind —
these and none other;

intimate thoughts and kind
reach out to share
the treasure of my mind,
intimate hands and dear
drawn garden-ward and sea-ward
all the sheer rapture
that I would take
to mould a clear
and frigid statue;

rare, of pure texture,
beautiful space and line,
marble to grace
your inaccessible shrine.

 

– Hilda Doolittle

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The World In Winter

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Today the world…
Landscaped in pen and ink by
hidden hands
Is winter and embossed in white
on white,
The sky cries down its tears
upon the earth.

Black angled trees…
An onyx labyrinth twists down
the wind
Until the ground is rippled
white brocade
bemeath a shifting candleflame
of sun.

And we ourselves…
Embracing on the creek, like
figurines
Skate out across a polished
mirror of ice
Its edges rough and ridged
like hobnailed glass.

 

– Sandra Fowler

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

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Winter Sunrise

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As the sun wakes up the night
Over the chill fields of white,
Through the solemn, naked tree,
Bereft of its summer green.
Mauve tinged heavens give it sheen.

Lo, a small and brilliant fire
Rising, rising ever higher,
With a promise warming me:

Thou, the goal of my desire,
A new day has come with thee.

 

– Walter Conrad

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

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Winter

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Crunch of ice, muddied by passing cars
Cats step careful, marking a passage
With four corner paw.
Sparrows scratch a line grown long
Black speckled seed spread by a blue
Vein hand. Trees, naked and cold,
sheared closed.
After moms twitter to button up, please.

Soft white sleep, echoed by the black
Blanket deep, a path wore down
To the bare bottom ground.
By a screeching wind, with red mitten
Children building forts in the snow.

 

– Charlotte Ballard

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

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January River

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Within my heart, darkness I breed,
Hope is laid waste, all life: destroyed.
Ev’ry defense I can deploy,
Will ne’er grant the relief I need.

My will debased, I’m made a slave
Longing escape, To be set free,
Nothing inside will grant my plea,
I need the One: mighty to save.

External light, no shadow seen,
It wages war, aids in my plight.
Darkness cannot comprehend light
That ne’er gives up, nor loses steam.

Dark rages on, the battle fierce,
My soul made weak, so very frail.
Alone I lose, I surely fail,
Yet I shall win, through Him they pierced.

 

– J Patrick Murphy

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

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Written In Early January

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The days are short, the nights are long,
The wind bites sharp and cold;
And many memories stark and strong
Within the mind unfold.

There is a stillness in the air,
That quites perturbs the soul;
The gushing falls of time are there;
You hear time’s river roll.

Backwards in time my thoughts I cast;
Where have the moments gone? –
The happy moments of the past
In memory live alone:

And when all by myself am I
I cannot help but find
My thoughts return to days gone by –
Time truly is unkind.

(Completed Thursday, 8th January,2009.)

 

– David Mitchell

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January

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Naked breezes blow strong on warm fleshy autumn bodies
Hanging upside down from the cracks of your statement.
Rapunzell underneath the window of her secret room
Where golden locks fly in the unfamiliar night.

Circean lover calls for prophylactic prophecies
I wish I could make a difference in the change of your seasons.
A ribbon war begun in your bedroom ends
In streets flowing with whiskey rives into my open mouth.

Spherical magistrates explode by foggy dawn
And I haven’t come any closer to figuring out
The secret of your pubescent innocence
Radiating in pre-sun behemoth nightmare.

Halogen radiation towers glow around your face
I’m stuck in cracked basement filler
Using my words like weapons and hoping
I could catch your circadian rhythm.

Melancholy paranoia undermines my self-restraint
I take a bite of the apple of your eye
Slither closer on my belly
To feed you with my unwashed supplications.

The bandits have left Main Street, USA
Raided the saloons and brothels
Left only the resentment of housewives
And junkies to console me.

A schizophrenic episode resolves itself
With your majestic blanket falling to observe
The holiday of my deliverance
And the insolubility of your decadence.

 

– Tyler Wilcox

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

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