by Mike U.

January’s scion, born of winter
messenger of midnight’s dark domain
harbinger of fearful futures
herald of the past’s persistence
bearer of remembrances of
what shall surely be

I’ve succumbed to January’s Janus
peering ever forward and behind
frozen firmly on the threshold
of what was and what may soon be
doomed to bear the weight of all things
for eternity

there are reasons January haunts me
memories unmeltable come spring
anguished glacial recollections
nurse at doleful mountain’s bosom
hiemal tempest screams its sinful
arctic lullaby

blizzards pummel me across the decades
breath sucked from my lungs I cannot scream
woeful winters resurrected
stain the present, tinge the future
I cannot let go, my tired
mind encased in ice

mountain path from past to future voided
bone-white drifts of January’s wrath
stalk the trail in hulking silence
passage is impossible here
miles of dead denuded forest
bar my way ahead

I can’t scry the future in the darkness
terrifying in obscurity
thrumming rumbling shakes the earth as
cloying caustic vapors fester
sulfur-scented volcanism
lies ahead for me

close my eyes and I can see the carnage
close my ears and I can hear the cries
spewing peaks of raining cinders
fire-bomb the desolation
I can sense the future tremble
in uncertainty

memories entombed in frigid white flakes
worries of the future caked with ash
undead past alive and raging
unseen future salivating
waiting restlessly for me as
time moves ever on

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

https://silentpariah.com

Photo by Raquel Arguelles

by Rana

In empires of grace where moonlight weaves,
It is a tale of power, a heart that believes.
Behold the beauty, a woman’s delight,
In her, resilience blushes, an intangible sight.

The curvature of pursuits, in every line,
A testament to time, an art divine.
Her laughter, a lyric in the cheerful refrain,
Echoes through canyons, easing every pain

The beauty of a woman, not skin deep,
But in the pledges, she dares to keep.
A tapestry is woven with threads of might,
A beacon of hope, in the darkest night.

Her gossip, a dance of eloquence,
Weaving whispers of triumph, a testament.
In the silence, her power resounds,
A romantic poet, where grace abounds.

For she’s the melody in life’s magnific score,
A storm of love, an eternal encore.
In her reality, a masterpiece unfolds,
A canvas of beauty, where her tale molds.

So, praise the beauty, the strength within,
A poet’s ode to the woman, the origin.
In her, a universe, a celestial design,
A symphony of elegance, forever to shine.

© Rana M 13 January 2024 All rights reserved

https://www.poet99.com

Photo by Marcelo Matarazzo on Unsplash

by Lynn White

Time is digging graves again
graves of bones
and flesh
graves of ideas
memories
avenging a life lived
a spent or mis-spent youth
all buried now
the running away has stopped
and only time passes.

First published in Broken Spine, Reels: Cinematic Poetry, Fall 2024

https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com
https://www.facebook.com

Photo by Brooke Campbell on Unsplash