Sunday poetry for the Winter Solstice

Winter Solstice 2011


Journeying around the sun,
at Yule, she turns furthest from the light.
Here In the dark of the long night she is veiled,
and here she comes to the fullness of her union with creation.
To enter is to hold Death closest to our hearts.
And as we do, Death has her sensuous way.

Slowly, we come to a clearing, and the solstice.
And in deep stillness, we enter.
Our journey from the sun has come to its full,
and we wait in a rare quality of quietness.
Time is no more.

Here in this place, we gently slip into the emptiness, and depth of the void,
and bathe in the energies of creation.
when we are cleansed, and fully drunken from the cup,
she continues on her journey around, and we edge back closer to the light.
slipping out through her veils in birth, we are new, and journeying to the sun.

Note: In the southern hemisphere the seasons are reversed, and the December Solstice is the Summer Solstice.  The seasonal references are different, but the astrology works the same. 

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By | 2011-12-18T09:08:31+00:00 December 18th, 2011|Holidays|3 Comments


  1. Pamela December 18, 2011 at 3:20 pm

    I love this vision of the winter solstice so poetically written. Opaque quite moving to light. Thank you for sharing.

  2. libramoon December 18, 2011 at 8:29 pm


    quiet fall

    of snow

    whitens night’s field

    unwritten, sandlike

    upon tomorrow’s shore.

    Tomorrow is the blessed eve

    Lords and Ladies, leaping,

    dancing, holy abandon, ecstatic rites.

    In dense, secret forest, legends gambol, rise

    honorably to masters, age in inebriates.

    Spirits imbue damp, fresh scent.

    Words melt, evaporate, flavor brew

    of ancient melodies, renewed

    each Winter’s Eve.

    Picture each animated creature enlightened

    Each candle warmly, brilliantly ignited

    Animated faces dance with excitement

    Creature comfort gifts encircle trees

    Enlightened pleasures whirled in peace

    Winter’s doorway

    The magick of night

    The clearness of cold

    Stars glittering tales so old

    Cradle, caress, with blessing

    Saints, sages, wizards, mages

    Message writ on high, in constellations

    we stop to see, to read.

    Cold is slowness, a force

    of inertia, a space,

    a pause in time.

    Dark carries reflection — any

    fancied face or fortune

    could be in reach.

    Seasons speak

    call in hues, in moods.

    We praise passages, echo rites.

    Children chasing Moonbeams

    to believe in hope, joy, love

    because we need the light,

    the warmth, the colours.

    Joyful Season to all ~

    • December 19, 2011 at 8:17 am

      Thanks for this, it’s beautiful!

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