Sunday #Poetry: Mid Winter

“Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.” ~Joseph Roux “Mid Winter” Carolyn Crosby Wilson IF I were God, I’d mould hills rolling low, Smooth them and shape them, sift them deep with snow, And scatter them with furze that they might lie Softly, against the wide deep-tinted sky. In slow caress my forming hand would…

Sunday #Poetry: Woods In Winter

“Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.” ~Joseph Roux “Woods In Winter” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O’er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing…

Sunday #Poetry: Snow Man

“Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.” ~Joseph Roux “Snow Man” Wallace Stevens ONE must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of…

Sunday #Poetry: Ring Out, Wild Bells

“Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.” ~Joseph Roux “Ring Out, Wild Bells” Alfred Lord Tennyson RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light; The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy…

Sunday #Poetry: A December Day

“Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.” ~Joseph Roux “A December Day” Robert Fuller Murray THAT’S no December sky! Surely ’tis June Holds now her state on high Queen of the noon. Only the tree-tops bare Crowning the hill, Clear-cut in perfect air, Warn us that still Winter, the aged chief, Mighty in power, Exiles…