It’s a sunless solstice
on my bridge over the Ribble
but yet the river flows
as if she has done so
since the beginning of time
in spite of the stopping and
starting of the ice floes.
I remember how once-upon-a-time
I held the sun in my hand
like the monster with the monstrous
and wonder if I am the monster from
beneath the bridge who stole
the girl whose bike lights shine above.
As the streetlights light up one-by-one
I ask Belisama – Great Goddess of the Ribble,
Old One, Shining One, Mighty One,
how many suns and how many stars,
how many daughters have swum
down your river to the GREAT BEYOND?
Will they ever be returned like Peter Pan
and the Lost Boys from Never Never Land,
like Pryderi, like Mabon, like the unnamed girls
whose names never reached the tongue-tip of song?
A sunless solstice, bike lights shine bright,
past Tinkerbell’s Nursery
I cycle on.
4 thoughts on “Sunless Solstice”
I think the last photo is particularly beautiful – as is this piece!
Great poetry! I enjoyed the lush imagery of clasping the sun in hand, and the copious references to Welsh myth in your dedication to the Ribble and Belisama. I think the most significant punch comes from the question if you’re the monster under the bridge who stole the girl off the bike; with the accompanying photo of the riderless bike it conjures up a lasting, haunted feeling. Overlapping sides of self-sufficient personality? Once again, good to see you blogging again!
Ha ha who knows whose who these days?…
Great post! I love river goddesses.