My New Book of Poetry
~ The Paddock Review featuring A Poem by Elaine Reardon
- ~ My poem, The Coming Time, will be the featured post at the literary ezine Stanzaic Stylings, edited by Joanne Oliverie. It will be published January first, to start off the new year.
- ancient sites
- armenia, carpets, Hye, Hyaston
- art, folk craft, painting, collage
- autumn equinox
- Fine Arts Work Center, Provincetown
- Monica Hand
- Northamptom MA
- pagan celebrations
- poetry November
- seasonal celebrations
- straw dogs writers showcase
- Follow Elaine Reardon on WordPress.com
Three Drops in the Cauldron has just published one of my poems in their Solstice issue.
Ariel Chart, an online literary magazine, has just published one of my poems; please do take a peek. http://arielchart.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-healer.html
St. Augustine Beach
I’m usually in New England when December begins. This year it’s snowed just enough for us to be sure we are winter-ready. However, I find that I’ve adjusted quickly to 65-80 degree days in Florida. I’ve visited St. Augustine and seen more people than I could have imagined turn out for the lighting of the Christmas Tree—and many other trees—complete with a Times Square style very loud count down, complete with the enormous cheering crowd. For this northerner, it was strange to see Christmas trees and lights next to alligator warning signs. Imagine alligators nipping at the reindeer’s toes! Imagine Santa sitting outdoors, shaded from the sun, while kids in shorts wait to see him. Well, I guess it’s easy to imagine if your not from up north.
Near PassaGrille, St. Pete
I journeyed to St. Petersburg area, where I saw Santa a second time. Here he sat outdoors again, with a soft sprinkle of snow falling over him from the balcony above. Florida outdoes itself with lights, especially to a New Englander. Nights are warm and families stroll through Straub Park and along the boulevard to tour the lit up palms, mangroves, and buildings. One can even eat an ice cream cone while looking at the lights. It sure beats memories of Boston Common and Jordan Marsh! And yes, peacocks roam the streets of St. Petersburg; they are wild and beautiful, and seem to take the place of Wild turkeys up north. There’s flocks of parrots, too. I was eating at an outdoor resaurant on the harbor when squawking parrots flew over the water onto a palm tree next to us.
December Comes to Florida
Powder soft white sand,
alligators and turtles
bask in the sun.
Green-gold ocean tosses
shells up at Pass-a Grille
and Fort DeSoto Beach.
At St. Petersburg waterfront
acrobatic dolphins lunch.
Hawks, parrots, peacocks
storks, pelicans, anhingas,
egrets all make home here.
Bougainvillea, starfruit, hibiscus,
Live oak hung with spanish moss,
jacaranda, bananas, avocado grow
Banyan trees fit for Peter Pan’s whole
brood line the street. Mandrakes,
long toes dug in at water’s edge,
stand like ladies in high heeled shoes.
Santa Claus has appeared already,
children climb next to him still wear summer.
Snow falls from above, giving a spicy
dash of winter to the Santa-scene.
Colored lights climb up palm trees,
cover the oaks, and announce
St Pete’s peacocks running around the neighborhood.
The Paddock Review featuring A Poem by Elaine Reardon:
Field, forest, and sea sink into longer times of darkness. By late afternoon the sun sends thin slits of light through branches. There is hoar frost each morning. Snakes, worms, bears and frogs all burrow in deeper, as I do into my blankets. The deer walk along Moss Brook each morning and forage along their walk. The bucks are focused on–well, try to get in their way when they’re in a hurry! Last week a bear ran by me, making a commotion in the deep leaves! And so, in this season, I thank the horned gods for his good company and welcome him here between stream and emerald pool.
The Wind in the Willows has a lovely passage about Pan, and here I have an ancient stones with Cernunnos carved into it from Clonmacnoise, a place would be close to the belly button of Eire.
In the spirit of the changing season, and the spirit of humans and gods, I offer this invocation attributed to Aimirgin, the one of the first Milesian princes who came to Ireland —not as a tourist, but in battle. There are any different translations of this poem, and I tacked on my bedroom wall when I was ten years old. This invocation is so old that we really don’t know what parts might be older than Amergin. It comes from The Leabhvar Gabhala, the Book of Invasions. May Winter’s Strength sustain you.
Amerigan’s Invocation (attributed)
I am the wind which breathes upon the sea
I am the wave of the ocean
I am the murmur of the billows
I am the ox of the seven combats
I am the vulture upon the rocks
I am a beam of the sun
I am the fairest of plants
I am a wild boar in valour
I am a salmon in the water
I am a lake upon the plain
I am a word of science
I am a point of the lance of battle
I am the god who created in the head the fire
Who is it who throws light into the meeting on the mountains?
Who announces the ages of the moon?
Who teaches the places where couches the sun?
For a slightly different version set to melody, visit
I’ve a poem. just published today at naturewriting.com. Thank you Ron Harton!
A thank you to Lisa Shea, for publishing my poem at the ‘just published ‘ review today.
Island Inn, Monhegan Island ME