Poetry Friday: Wish I'd Been There

The theme for December's poetry challenge was "Wish I'd been There or a wistful look back at a historic event."  Hmmmmmm. I'm not much of a wistful person. Nor a history-focused student.  I prefer to think ahead, to what's possible, instead of looking at the past. (Although, I DO love historical drama. Maybe it's the clothes.) 

Anyhow, I was stumped on this one until I stumbled across this article from Mental Floss about the Winter Solstice, and learned that several revolutionary events happened on the "shortest day" in 1620, 1898, and 1968.  Add in the fact that Solstice roughly translates to "sun stands still" and I had myself a poem. 

Be well, all.  You still have time. 

The Sun Stands Still

Sounds lonely,

doesn’t it? 

Sol, hovering

as she did

for Pilgrims,

cloaked and anxious,

setting booted foot upon rock.

Sounds ordinary,

doesn’t it?

Sol, loitering

as she did

for Pierre and Marie Curie,

gaping at radium,

opening the atomic age.

 

Sounds quiet, 

doesn’t it? 

Sol, idling

as she did

for William, Frank, James,

hearts shaking, rumbling

moonward in Apollo 8. 

 

Don’t hold

your breath, then

when Sol suspends

us.  

Be lonely, be ordinary,

be quiet. Sounds poetic,

Doesn’t it?

 

------Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

You can find my Poetry Sisters' wistfulness here:

Tanita

Kelly

Liz

Laura

Tricia

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Irene Latham. 

Poetry Friday: 96% of the Universe is Dark

After reading this article in The American Scholar, I was inspired to create an occasional poem. This is dedicated to all my readers, on the longest night, which is also the beginning of the light.


96% of the Universe is Dark

Open the door

and greet the moment
the dark begins. 

The dark, like a road
poured to your door
has brought to you the world,
to shelter from brilliance.

Open the door 

and greet the moment
the dark begins.

The world spins
by a twisting dark scarf
pulled from its shoulders.

Open the door 

and greet the moment

the dark begins.

Every hand! All hands! 

To to edge! Catch hold 

of the dark that unrolls

before your door.

Open your door.
Open your door. The moment.
The moment the dark begins.

All! Pull! Strive!
We must turn

the earth ourselves

this night.

Sink your hands into the dark
cloth, fold upon fold.
Plunge your hands in,

your little warmed air,
coddled in closed throat,
rips from you,

breath taken by the
fierce strings.

Hold to. Hold to. 

Lean back and pull.

Not every door has opened this night.
Not every hand has taken hold.

Not every breath sacrificed.

But enough.

Enough, if you pull.

Pull! Take hold of the night!

The dark cloth, the heavy bolt,
the hours and hours
you roll into your hands,

strand by strand,
you put away the longest night
like a beloved carpet,
rolled tight against wear.

Each takes a little inside,
a thin fiber of dark breath
hidden until called out,

when night has starved
itself into summer
and cries stars.

Come out and greet

with me the moment 

the dark begins

and you will have rooms

and rooms of beauty

each other day,
every other day,
every other thread

all the night and day
will be yours.

----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

I read this poem out loud at my poetry page, A Cast of One.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by AmoXcalli.