She stitched the Morning to the Day—
With Thread no Eye could see—
The Kettle sang—a Hymn of Steam—
The Bread—a Liturgy—
She knew the Language of the Seed—
The Seasons—and the Sky—
She watched the Sparrow choose its Home—
Without inquiring—Why—
Her Kingdom had no Marble Gates—
No Trumpet marked her Name—
Yet every Child who learned to Love—
Inherited her Flame—
She held no Scepter—but her Hands
Could quiet Fear—and Pain—
A Garden answered every Step—
With Lilac—after Rain—
The World may barter Crowns for Dust—
And Praise what glitters—Bright—
Yet Hearths are built by Patient Hearts—
Who kindle—Silent—Light—
If Time forgets such Gentle Souls—
The Roses will Recall—
For those who bend—to lift another—
Stand—Quietest—of All.
Oh humble house slippers, you soft little ships of delight,
you ferry my feet through the kingdom of home;
two cushioned clouds that daily take flight,
turning each hallway into a daydreaming roam.
You’re pocket-sized hearths for my wandering toes,
warm as a secret the morning keeps close;
you curl at my heels like a cat in quiet repose
whispering comfort in ways only I know.
Domestic bliss hides in your argyle disguise~
a spell stitched in fabric, comfort in your tread;
you teach me that peace often comes in small size,
and joy sometimes starts where my footsteps are led.
2026-02-12 Write A Beautiful Carpe Diem Poem — Sponsored by Constance La France
I have a butcher’s at sunlight on skin,
warm, tremulous, yet coolly indifferent.
A sparrow scuttles across sodden turf;
its head inclined, inquisitive, keen—
I smile, imagining its quiet thought,
a tiny philosopher of morning light.
The wind threads through skeletal, bare branches,
stirring peat, drizzle, and smoke from hearths afar.
I inhale—letting it suffuse my lungs,
a private liturgy pressed to my heart.
Time traverses my fingers, soft at first,
like river water shaping unseen stone,
then quickens—sharp, insistent in its beat,
resonant within the hollows of my chest.
I taste the acerbic tang of fallen berries,
feel loam yield beneath soles and marrow deep,
and in this fractured, ephemeral morning,
I recognise the miracle not quite mine:
all of this—fleeting, exact, and unbidden—
asserts its plenitude; I am suffused.
Sleet licking its tongue at my window.
Leaves its icy gift on the glass panel.
Logs on the fire still give their glow,
To objects seen in the mirror on the mantle.
Need Apollo share with Artemis his cloak!
On this cold and tempestuous night.
That dark star-spangled overcoat
Keeps from frost with its warmth so right.
The sun has set and retired beyond the shade,
Though its golden faded trace is yet seen.
The moon prepares to begin its promenade,
Making midnight shadows dance in its gleam.
As hearths nobly extend their gentle heat,
The sun consoles itself in a cloudy bed.
Then sweet dreams and solace meet,
As moon tips his cap and bows his head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
my small hands cradle the glass,
the world outside our home
muffled~
inside our home,
a warm, soft glow
illuminates
the delicate
glass snow globe.
inside the lantern of glass,
a tiny village sleeps~
chimneys hold their breath
frozen mid-curl~
a single railroad track
vanishes
into powdered streets~
a church steeple
tilts slightly whispering
to the
snow drifts.
I bend closer,
the world outside~
now forgotten.
tiny windows glow
with
borrowed yellow~
plastic flames radiate
in miniature
hearths.
a tiny pine tree stands
sentinel
near the town square,
its tinsel
hung by
invisible hands.
Shake it! Dad exclaims.
I squeal with delight.
the miniature world blurs white~.
each flake suspended,
mid-fall, mid-flight,
caught between
the weight of sky
and earth.
Nothing melts here, he said, not even time.
Sixty-four years later,
something stirs
when I
shake
that lantern-shaped
snow globe~
the faint ghost
of a winter
I will always
remember.
Can you not be what you made me to see?
My siren song of woven poesy—
Sealing my choice on your brand with a roar—
Am I right, or have you blinded my core?
You are my mountains, my rivers, my hills.
Why, then, indictment after your cheap thrills?
Honeyed lips lie behind lipstick and paint;
My verdure, my air, my people you taint.
Your essence of playful epiphanies,
Perfect, filtered, adjusted sanctities,
Are the dreads of death in the heart of hearths—
A cavernous gloom of illusive arts.
And upon that stand, blow the Judas Kiss:
If repentance fails, who would be your tryst?
comparison steals
the laughter from tomorrow -
shadow's reprimand
strangles joy of tender blooms
by coveting other fields
the spark of the self
wanes beside a brighter flame
lit in other hearths
creativity withers,
its bold wings torn by envy
what dawn promised
fades in light of noonday sun
inception undone
let what has started become
before the light of day stuns
self-worth is kindled
when the gaze is faced inwards
not outward in want
yearning for sufficiency
self-sown seeds of contentment
fountains join the streams
winds entwine clouds in the sky
rivers meet the seas
all of nature sings as one
in bright, shiny summer's day
While hearths glow warm with ember’s light,
I dance beneath the pale moon’s gleam,
Where frosted breath curls in the night,
And ice-bound dreams take flight unseen.
The wind, a whispered song so bold,
It sings of stars in frozen streams,
Of silver landscapes, fierce and cold,
A world untouched by fire’s beams.
With every step, the crunching snow,
A voice that speaks to hearts like mine,
Where solitude and wonders grow,
And frozen beauty feels divine.
The Winter Solstice marks my days,
Its silent magic fills my chest,
The sacred chill, the moonlit haze,
This season feels like life’s own crest.
Though Yule and Christmas warm the soul,
The coolness calls me evermore,
To wander where the frost takes hold,
And where the northern tempests soar.
No words could cage this love so vast,
This bond with winter, fierce yet bright,
A thrill that lingers, unsurpassed,
Where cold and comfort both unite.
So let them stay by fireside glow,
With hands wrapped 'round their steaming cups,
While I embrace the ice and snow,
And drink the cold like boldest luck.
Though all the ways our paths may roam
The goal of every journeys end
Where calls the heart to hearth and home
Through wending weather beaten bends
The welcomed warmth of hearths embrace
Whose comfort cloaked in threadbare wise
No longer wields the power to chase
The moody rain from autumn skies
In Winter
In winter shovels hide up
chimneys, icicles cross
stitch, jumpers go swimming in
lagoons, ice skates go hunting for
gold bars, bonfires make
bed quilts and
pillows, the
dark drinks
eggnog, evergreens wear
earmuffs, fleece bathe in
hot cocoa, hearths sweat
milk, lighthouses wear
knee socks, logs
knit, moose
knit, vapour people
steal clothes pegs, vixens
predict major
disasters, kangaroos mimic
the sound of
the wind, water tanks get
lost in
abstract concepts.
Deep within the hearths and hearts of man
That fans the flame of freedom's fire
Resides the yearning ever burning
Atop the pillars of man's desire
And when the fist of tyranny rises
To smash liberty throughout the land
Then must the brave and common clave
Fight for all the rights that they demand
Let's start ourselves a fire
And I don't mean the kind
That's started up with kindling
I've something else in mind
We'll build it up real slowly
Until we're toasty warm
Who cares what's going on outside
I want a big snowstorm!!
Each of us a matchstick
We'll strike at the same time
Combine our flames together
And watch the celsius climb
Our hearths aglow in love light
Slow burning firewood
This may just be a long night
But it will be so good
In lands where snowflakes seldom grace the ground,
A winter dream in warmth and peace is found.
No icy winds to pierce the soul's repose,
Just gentle breezes, where the palm tree grows.
The sun sets early, casting golden hues,
Painting skies in warm and vibrant views.
Cozy nights by fires, not by hearths of frost,
A winter dream where warmth is never lost.
No need for mittens, nor for boots of tread,
In this winter dream, soft blankets spread.
Embraced by comfort, 'neath a starlit gleam,
In non-snowy realms, I dwell in my winter dream.
Everything Trees
They’re shade
From the sunshine
Shield from the rain
Pulp for the paper
And wood for whittling
They’re body’s
For climbing
Arms for a swing
Markers of time
And fruit for picking
They’re trunks
For the tapping
Billboards of love
Home for critters
High on up above
They’re kindling
For cooking
Heat in our hearths
Leaves for the looking
With your sweetheart
So everybody
Listen to me
Give a big hug
To the
Everything tree
Bill MacEachern
10/29/2021
When December stills souls with its quiver,
Erasing shadows who make life bitter.
Warm hearths silence the heart’s crispy shiver,
Stardust blesses with joy like soft glitter,
Wonders who December will deliver.
Frost’s quickening is no counterfeiter.
Where Winter hastens are soft glowing skies.
Home to cardinals praising with their cries.
When December whispers on graying nights,
Promising its secrets shall grow inside,
Where the soul will remember sweet insights,
Gentle lights unfading can’t be denied.
Singing to lithe Autumn – her last rites.
Writing poetry of faith who’ll abide.
In a sweet voice, her splendor will remind…
December welcomes peace who can spellbind.
When December stirs the moon to glowing,
Stars play across the night, dazzling desires,
Leaving the heart with love overflowing,
Twilight drifts across dreams, troubling wildfires
Calming words of hope from an all knowing,
He cast the stars on skies, never tiring,
December brings Christmas, the birth of love,
Sent to our spirits from heaven above!
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