solstice poetry for the light

“Better to light a candle, than curse the darkness.”

My great uncle David S. Richie often spoke those words. He lived them, too, as a Quaker and devout pacifist dedicated to helping others. Even in these very hard times, I believe he would never have paused in his cheerful volunteerism for a more just, peaceful, tolerant, and kind society. This brief piece about him includes another wonderful aphorism from David’s memoirs:

“For many years I have been encouraged by the thought: ‘You can count the seeds in an apple, but you cannot count the apples in a seed.’”

Poetry is another way of scattering seeds to sprout even in the most difficult of soils. Nature shows us the way of renewal if we cherish, protect, and give back with humility and respect. On this solstice, I especially give thanks for the Halcyon Days of Greek myth, when Aeolus calmed the seas so Halcyon and Ceyx (lovers turned into kingfishers) could nest upon the waters. Those days last from seven days before and after the winter solstice. From tranquility in nature and among community, we can emerge renewed and ready for the waves.

Ready for poetry? I’ll begin with an incantation poem I wrote after studying the art below (from an ekphrastic poetry group ). We could use a few spells right now to turn things right for 2026. You might read it aloud:

soften

syllables hush no rush only rustle
river a zither of strum no drum
sliding among marsh never harsh

improvising revising wren song
volution no dilution only translucence
this avian oasis where I seek stasis

tarry no hurry worry or slurry only
halcyon hours in heart bird haven
smooth-shaven surface of verses

unfurling whirling away in sway
of yellow willow and celadon sedge
never a wedge no barriers where

northern harriers limn skim low
no flapping rapping only fluency
my currency measured in feathered

kin of kinship kingfisher bling fling
rings of ripple stipple where water striders
tap runes tunes on my tongue undone

In November, Wes and I spent several hours of a rainy day meandering within the Oregon Coast Aquarium in Newport. The eelgrass aquarium with the herring, pipefish, and shrimp drew us to stand there mesmerized. Notice the light in the art that took my words from the aquarium to far away galaxies.

Below the surface

eelgrass hums sea lullabies
soothing snails in her arms.

Languid viridian blades wave,
loop, coil and fan as a school
of herring silvers by.

Pipefish drift along, slender as poems
stripped of excess.

Their bulging seahorse eyes gaze
ahead and behind like soothsayers
divining future and past.

Disguised as elusive slips of eelgrass
pipefish are the straying stanzas unbound.

Skeleton shrimp are lucent as lyrics
yet to be written.

Flailing twig-like appendages
the shrimp inchworm up ribbons
of eelgrass unspooling ocean song,

while I stand mesmerized outside
aquarium glass, spreading my pale fingers
wide and wondering why they are webbed

as I tumble into a woven wormhole
of eelgrass swirling toward a new galaxy.

For decades, I’ve loved the music of Emmylou Harris and her velvet, soulful, and powerful voice–my can she croon when she sings “Red Dirt Girl.” It’s a very sad song when you pay attention to the lyrics. My grandmother on my mother’s side was Lillian Campbell. In contrast, she had a good life and a kind, funny, and supportive husband Robert Campbell. Her tragedy was in his death in his early sixties. I was just three. She was valiant in going forward without him. She adored England and even went there by herself on the Queen Mary ship. The following is my ekphrastic poem about the Lillian in Emmylou’s song and all the Lillians like her. I felt like I needed to send the Lillian in my poem home to the grace of meadowlark song. Notice the play of light in the storm in the art piece.

For Every Lillian

Driving across big sky country doused in lavender rain
Driving no longer drowsy, roused by EmmyLou Harris

Singing red dirt girl ….when I see the red dirt road,
Singing me and my best friend Lillian as I slow down

Where honeyed light sheaves the shortgrass prairie
Where shadowed hills heave and kick in purple beds

Pulling over, I step into thunder of buffalo hooves
Pulling over, I shudder in hunger of a million ghosts

When lightning rivers from mouth of nimbostratus
When air is petrichor, light ethereal, and time shivers

I walk a red dirt road for Lillian, chasing one slim glimmer
I walk for her dusty rope-worn life, whiskey spilled in storm

Stopped short by a meadowlark lilting smoke rings
Stopped by one bird’s smoldering blues

Whistling my golden grasp of sage-scented breeze
Whistling a wilderness of wooly buffalo rumbling home

This last of my poem offerings has the word “sunlight” at the end– fitting for the solstice, as is the painting by Henri Matisse. I happen to be very fond of the colors that found their way into the stanzas.

Matisse at the Open Window

Brushing his view in blueberry
blue grape blue plum blue day
he dips into sugary white
for cliffside chateau cake
iced in green mint. Spreads
yawn of yellow butter yearning
for blue shadows swimming
seaward for the salt.

The artist paints two vases
periwinkle and persimmon
paired perfectly for windowsill
bouquets. Licorice lacing anise
and cream in caress. Raspberry
buds riding whorled black
leaves in wander.

Sensory seductions scattering
sunlight into blue.

A peaceful solstice to you. May your dive into the coming light be as smooth as a kingfisher entering clear waters and may you emerge with sparkling droplets on your feathers–ready to rise up and join a community of all who care about peace, justice, tolerance, democracy, and protecting nature.

(Thanks to poet Laurel Benjamin for the curated artwork from the ekphrastic poetry group she founded and runs, and to all the poets there who generously share critiques and encouragement).