Summer Solstice
 
The sun comes up on Solstice day,
The bright commander of the sky!
He acts as if he means to stay,
O’er the horizon riding high.
For now we stand at summer’s height,
And all before us we can mark
The days of almost endless light,
The nights that barely kiss the dark.
 
The sun comes up on Solstice Day;
His golden light he gladly spills
Upon the river’s shining way,
Upon the forest and the hills.
And though my heart be slow to rise,
And though I’ve kept my curtains drawn,
I’ll heed the summons of the skies,
I’ll learn the lesson of the dawn.
 
I’ll praise the sun while he is here,
But never with a grasping soul,
Because the turning of the year
Is not a thing I can control.
I’ll celebrate the dance of light,
And when the endless summer ends
Into my home I’ll welcome night:
The moon and stars will be my friends.
 
By Tom Lips, ©June 2020

A Whitehorse Raven
 
If I could be any bird, I’d be
a Whitehorse raven,
blessed with the heft of a hen,
yet sleek when airborne
 
playful as a human child, or sometimes
ominous
a portent of prophecy
a black, dancing gracenote
in the spare-boned symphony of sky.
 
If I could be any bird, I’d be
a Whitehorse raven,
ruffling yet unruffled,
shrugging off cold so deep
it cracks the plastic parts of cars
 
battling other birds for
 broken meats stuck to the sidewalk
cocking at passersby
an ancient, impertinent eye.

                                                                                            © Tom Lips, January 2020