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The posting of this old poem has become an annual event. So, here we start off a new year and, hopefully, a brave new world:
ANCESTRAL JANUARY
blue cold
cold white
full
moon
false
light
stark, hibernal oaks
which scream at the wind
with the rage of old Lear
that all nature has sinned
cold witch in her hut
that white magic can’t warm
nor the storm’s force be tamed
by the pentagram’s form
clouds freeze to the mountain
that north winds strain to stir
frozen spikes of swift crystal
tear the forest’s stiff fur
starved wolf
white hare
red
snow
iron
air
icy blade of the lake
bleeds the stone of the shore
fetch rags, my love, quickly
to chink fast the door
what footprints are these
what Eskimo this
who trudges toward spring
with purpling lips
woman, play on your harp
thaw the flames with your song
we’ll wrap us in skins
and drink mead until dawn
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