Summer solstice
when our souls
touched
And as your
silver spoon
has fed you good
My mornings
will remain
your bedtime
Just like
we knew
it would.

Upon the deathbed of Old Man Winter
Autumn placed her golden crown,
and as his heart began to thaw
he helped Spring lace her morning gown.

Coloured lights brighten
the shortest day’s dreary night.
A dazzling glare.

around midnight pools
   ancients gazed
          past the flickering,
                 fleeting present
                         peered incredulously
                                                   into the future
                                                    ………..and marveled
                                                                             at our ineptitude

even the sun misses you

The almanac says that the Solstice came
Shortly after the receptionist called my name
At 1056 – and how do they know
Of stars and planets in their dances slow?

We note the transcendent reality
Of our pale transient mortality
And guard our health with good ol’ common sense
I later noted this coincidence:

The transition to summer came to pass
While the doctor had his finger up my ///


(There might be some mystical symbolism in that, but I don’t know what.)

It is written in the runes
unveiled by the maypole ******.
When the darkest kiss
meets the storm of light
on a midsummer’s night.

The sisterhood has gathered.
Fog and dew, euphoric moves.
Chanting, flaunting ivory skin.
Feel the pull of our dance
the taunting of our calls.

Baccanal cries of ******.
Bringing down the silver tears
of falling stars to heal, to still
the wounded souls, the lost
with a swill of magic dew.

Moon daisy,
Buttercup
Count the number,
hold your tongue.
Catchfly and Baby’s breath
say naught to no one
keep the faith.
Delphinium
my steadfast knight.
Bluebell and yes,
Forget-me-not.

Gathered by the crossroad
of yesterdays and tomorrows.
Gentle flowers sacralized
s e v e n for the magic number
to seal the vow eternally
of my love everlasting.

Too soon the dawn will break.
Hurry do the last of spells.
Hop over n i n e fences
kirtle tied around my waist.
Don’t look, don’t speak
just hold my breath.

No time for sleep, not yet
I mustn’t forget the rite itself,
that will grant my dreams to unveil.
What’s written in the future
s e v e n blooms under my pillow.
and finally I’ll see...
...the one