january

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

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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

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January Frosts

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Frosty icicles thrust up from the ground
Make sheep tiptoe between them.
Robin’s sing on an icy bough found
Their voice on this cold earths stem.

Blackbirds with their orange bills
And their jaunty hopping gait
Look out from their window sills
In the wood, standing they wait.

A watery sun high in the sky shines
Its weak light over the cold earth
The cold in all it labour grinds
The sap of the deep winter’s birth.

 

– David Wood

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January Morning

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I observed
By the window
An old hard wooden chair

Looking out

White oblivion
Falling flagging failing
Spiralling cartwheeling dizzily falling

each snowflake is unique You whispered with reverence as if letting me in on a secret
if you listen carefully you can hear each fall from the clouds rubbed against the sky
I heard nothing

 

– Pearl Colette

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January

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The month of new beginnings,
Named after Janus,
The Greek god of new beginnings,
With the ever-so-famous New Year’s Day.
The month of winter’s worst,
the wind blowing so hard,
the snow coming down in falls,
blizzards blowing hazardously,
making blind
everything in its path;
the birthday of Dr Martin Luther King, Jr,
a man who fought for peace,
and a feast day for Mary,
the cold, the wind,
the snow, the freezing,
the hypothermia, the loss of heat,
the cold temperatures, the ice,
the ice on the roads,
the icicles that hang,
on a beautiful winter day,
the coming of Jack Frost,
when you least expect him,
the new beginnings,
the New Year,
the month of Janus
is ever so near.

 

– Justin Reamer

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January, January

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Ice, thick,
as I have never seen
on Cherwell.
Jagged, floating towards Isis.

Low mists of ice-dust
drift on Christ Church meadow
and cool the blood
of long-horn cattle
standing
ankle-deep in mud.

A lame roe deer
beneath the trees
pauses, where
the sudden call of coots
splits the air.

In the gardens of Trinity,
all is order and harmony.
January blossom from Japan,
well-kept paths and lawns.
Controlled
and quiet.

Magdalen is a small, medieval town;
courtyards and golden houses,
a Tower and a Park.
Along Addison’s Walk,
tall trees like sentries,
follow the stream
which sidles out from Magdalen Bridge
to turn and twist
past the Deer Park
with its white deer,
(living, condensations
of the mist) .

 

– Brian Taylor

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January

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January still trembles
with the haunting sound
of carol singers
and pretty Christmas lights.

Well wishers bless us
with Happy New Year
good wishes, hot kisses
wide smiles.

Don’t look now!
Does the year ahead
hold tribulations
or delights?

Longer evenings
huddled around
hot chocolate and digestives,
then early to bed.

January’s mornings
are dark and cold
until the snow
whites out the landscape.

The picture postcard
countryside excites
small children,
their voices trill.

Suddenly snowballs
and snowmen manifest,
with old cloth caps
and carrot noses.

Cold neighbours
nod hello
and smile warmly.
They melt the ice

January
brings its own colour,
and each year
it lights up anew.

 

– Ruth Walters

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January Is Freezing

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Cold light seeped in, through misted frames
Casting a golden glow over smoke rising
from the cigarette in my hand and hanging over the grill;
tobacco and bacon and fried eggs.
The smell of a Sunday afternoon.
I lean elbows on a crumb-laden table
and watch a sullen shadow cross the mahogany,
cast by a bottle, like an alcoholic sun dial;
and it is strange to have you sitting here again,
your shoulder touching mine, your cup warm against my hand.
The scattered cartons of a late-night ill-advised meal
one lone rice grain welded to a fork,
careless reminders of a moment of mad abandon.
Shivering gratefully and huddled against the draught
I try to normal out, without the pain.
In the enervation of a Sunday hangover, still
sourly tasting the delights of the night before
I cannot ask you where have you been,
I can only watch the pearls of rain,
mingling with the icy glass and sigh.

 

– Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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January

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With numbing cold, biting at my brittle bones
I feel many years giving me a wake up shake
Gripping my coat through the more gripping cold
I feel the world has grown old.

January I cried for my Mom the first time
She probably cried and then smiled for my tears
She surely is yet smiling for my thoughts through these years

For the tears that she shed were at giving me birth
January is the warmest time on earth

 

– John Shea

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