poem for solstice



The ancient ceremony starts in autumn

blessing earthly work and wonder;

Rituals of reaping, burning brightly,

moon arising, leaves asunder.

Barely a blink – a summer dream –

rushing did the warmer solstice fly;

And now we are tucked quietly into winter

under the blanket of a cold, cold starry sky.

-Kathleen C. Cooper, December 2020

poem for Hallowtide

Some will be ghosts

     a psalm: Quidam nunc recordatus

Some are now remembered

       but unknown,

       that is, lives

       concluded –

       acceptably or not;

these are the saints and souls.

Evidence occasional,

      a buffer, interference,

      guardians and watchers;

these are angels.

Life, untidy

      shifting modes of existence –

      entirely reasonable, fair even;

      in the case of a life unresolved,

some will be ghosts.

                          – Kathleen C Cooper 10.28.2020