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| === From the Grey Area === Come the time winter grinds away<<BR>> All memory of the not-winter time<<BR>> And even of winter's first delights<<BR>> Of days of novel cold and huddled nights<<BR>> Leaving only dread to sprawl across a self<<BR>> Dwindled to small shelters to endure.<<BR>> False spring comes, a few fancies of freedom<<BR>> Coming to new slush become new ice crusted now over<<BR>> The fear the fluke was not feted enough.<<BR>> A second falser spring does stay<<BR>> Only warm only long enough to make the true warmth farther away.<<BR>> Then the far forgotten sun, they say,<<BR>> Sends great storms at greater speeds<<BR>> Into the magnet that holds the world<<BR>> That crash the air that holds the world's life<<BR>> That cause a cosmos-light that comes to the mundane.<<BR>> Not knowing where to find the hope<<BR>> To see whether the clouds are in the way.<<BR>> ---- |
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Winter Lights: The 2022 Winter Olympics Chapbook
The written and visual artworks compiled in this booklet were entered in the 2022 Winter Olympics Literature and Visual Arts competitions. The theme for the Olympics is also the theme for the entries: "Winter Lights."
Literature
From the Grey Area
Come the time winter grinds away
All memory of the not-winter time
And even of winter's first delights
Of days of novel cold and huddled nights
Leaving only dread to sprawl across a self
Dwindled to small shelters to endure.
False spring comes, a few fancies of freedom
Coming to new slush become new ice crusted now over
The fear the fluke was not feted enough.
A second falser spring does stay
Only warm only long enough to make the true warmth farther away.
Then the far forgotten sun, they say,
Sends great storms at greater speeds
Into the magnet that holds the world
That crash the air that holds the world's life
That cause a cosmos-light that comes to the mundane.
Not knowing where to find the hope
To see whether the clouds are in the way.
February Solstice
Every night, lately, I look for Christmas lights.
I took mine down from the shrubs weeks ago,
So now on my evening walks I seek out neighbors
Who were less bound by propriety.
I walk further and further to find the few still left,
Make mental notes of where to come back,
But the hard broken part of winter is outlasting them one by one.
Often I come to a house that had been a favorite
Still glowing a week ago, two nights ago,
And it is dark.
Tonight I am walking to a tree, a favorite lingerer,
A snowy cedar in someone's front yard strung with white bulbs.
There will be a last time I see it this year. There will be a last time I see it.
There will be a last time I will put up my own lights,
And a last time I take them down, put them carefully into the box,
And set them in their corner in the basement.
Usually I say: no good thing endures.
But tonight I tell myself: no good thing overstays.
I imagine that goodness itself made a bargain
With the indifferent hand that flips every switch,
Saying, "You will extinguish all my children
And they will bear it, because in return
Every night terror must also end.
Every evil will fall into the snow and be lost."
I come to the tree, still lit,
Look at it,
Turn around,
And walk home with my face frozen.
Visual Art
"Mountains by Train," by Gwen
"Christmas Mullions," by BunnyHugger