Winter Solstice - Poem by Jean Bleakney
Wiry and headstrong in life, so in death,
the bleached stems of harebells
- unflappable as marram grass -
outstare this sun, these easterlies.
At every branchlet's pendant tip,
the vestigial ribs of a seed capsule
(bell-like, a birdcage in miniature)
accumulate and vitrify a water droplet.
Hence this platinum-wired gem tree
gathering December light, dispensing it;
a crystal-chandelier Adventist
illuminating, galvanising, rather,
its weedy, slug-pearled patch
of lavender and fallen harebell seeds;
igniting, with each icy tug,
summer's metaphorical touchpaper.
Comments about Winter Solstice by Jean Bleakney
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You