Leaping High to Catch the Sky – A Seguidilla

Surreal Artwork by Ronald Ong

Leaping high to catch the sky
Pouncing down on snow
Still stuck betwixt and between
Spring some way to go
Change is never easy
The nature wise red fox know
Without change no peace

Leaping high to catch the sky
Pouncing down on green
Going betwixt and between
Spirit dare to dream
Find your own true way
The one that makes your heart sing
Whatever the doubters say

Leaping high to catch the sky
Landing in a seam
Living betwixt and between
Nothing as is seems
Let dark doubt depart
You are better than you think
Follow your true heart

©RedCat

Wrote my first ever Seguidilla the other day, and as usual I have to try a new form soon again to set it in my mind.

Written for the photo prompt at the Sunday Muse.

©RedCat

Spring favour – A Seguidilla in three verses

©RedCat

Suddenly there’s swirling snow
Chilling to the bone
Painting pale skin icy blue
Driving us back home
Thawing by the fire
Peeling off our cold soaked clothes
Your curves I admire

Where did the pale spring sun go
Snatched by white Jack Frost
Raging around house and wood
Is Ostara lost?
Strum tunes on the lyre
Dance and song will bring her back
Your wit I desire

As the embers softly glow
Shielding us from cold
As we wait again for day
Green spring myths are told
Your tales me inspire
Maybe you’ll favour the bold
A kiss I’m afire

©RedCat

Written for Poetry Form: Seguidilla at dVerse.

This is a wholly new form for me, so took some work, but you know me. I like these intricate forms. :-)

The Seguidilla began as a popular dance song of Spain. The verse form was established and branched into variations by the 17th century. It has an alternating long short rhythm.

The Seguidilla is:
• stanzaic, written in any number of 2 part septets. (7 lines)
• syllabic, 7-5-7-5 : 5-7-5 per line. There is a slight pause between L4 and L5 suggesting L4 should be end-stopped.
• rhymed by assonance xAxABxB or xAxABAB. x being unrhymed. True rhyme is generally not used.
• composed with a volta or change in thought between L4 and L5.
• sometimes serves as a conclusion for another verse.

Centre de Documentació i Museu de les Arts Escèniques, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Snowflakes Dances Down

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Snowflakes dances down
Tickling nose and cheeks
Covering the world with a down blanket

Muffles every sound
Except the footfalls squeak
The swish of a winter jacket

Breath deep and ground
With your hidden sides speak
Plant seeds for regrowth under the snow carpet

©RedCat
Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Frost and Ice moons, Ekprastic Challenge, February 3

Kerfe Roig – What Grows Here

Under the frost and ice moons don’t despair
The maidens quickening is soon near
The winds turning warm and fair
Singing budding spring for all to hear

In the grove of skeletal birch don’t feel sorrow
Let the cold silver moonlight shadows spear
Beneath the snow hides the seeds of tomorrow
Let purple blue moonlight guide souls vision here

When the world is frozen, ice, snow, white
Listen to what intuition hears
Teeming life comes back with the light
Spring’s awakening is soon near

©RedCat

Kerfe Roig – Winter Forest

I’m revelling in the fact that Stockholm is white and covered in snow. I chase blinding sunlight on snow whenever it’s there. The lengthening days are noticeable. Still in the core of most northerners lies the longing for spring.

This poem has an ababcbcbdbdb rhyme pattern.

To read all poems and see all artwork go to The Wombwell Rainbow.

Also posted to Seasonal Changes 1: IMBOLC at earthweal.

Photo by Frank Cone on Pexels.com
Kerfe Roig

A resident of New York City, Kerfe Roig enjoys transforming words and images into something new.  Her poetry and art have been featured online by Right Hand PointingSilver Birch PressYellow Chair ReviewThe song is…Pure HaikuVisual VerseThe Light EkphrasticScribe BaseThe Zen Space, and The Wild Word, and published in Ella@100Incandescent MindPea River JournalFiction International: Fool, Noctua Review, The Raw Art Review, and several Nature Inspired anthologies. Follow her explorations on her blogs, https://methodtwomadness.wordpress.com/  (which she does with her friend Nina), and https://kblog.blog/, and see more of her work on her website http://kerferoig.com/

Dream Cabin in the Woods


Dawn breaks on the cabin blanketed in brilliant unbroken snow. Sea of white clasping emerald conifer gems. A blank slate for us to fill with whatever takes our fancy.

Playing like kids in the snow until we’re hot, cold and rosy.
Peeling off the isolating layers. Waking the embers from their dozing.
Snuggling close to the fire. Exploring each other’s lust.

Free to live a shared fantasy. As winter night falls, silvery moonlight plays on skin. Wolves howling passions release sing. Soaring counterpoint to the warmth within.

As two heart’s find safe rest in the dream cabin in the woods. 

©RedCat


Inspired by a comment about snow as blank paper, another comment about seeking new paths, daring to dream new dreams. The winter vistas I’m surrounded with, and the image at The Sunday muse #145.

It’s been mostly poetry lately so I felt like writing prose and flash fiction. Choosing the 100 word length.

©RedCat

Tomten Wonders – A Golden Shovel Poem Inspired by Viktor Rydberg, 10 December

©Jonas Norén

Holy Midwinter Night
Your long dark cold is hard
Lonely stars sparkle and shimmer
Dream dust glimmer on all sleeping
In house and barn, the dog in the lonely yard
Lending light to inky night, hours deep
Think toiling late into midnight hours

Vigil kept by the Moon
Bathed in her silver boon, as she wanders her silent whir
Midwinter night, when the snow glows white
painting on pine and fir
Inky shadows and bright light, as snow glows white
Shimmering stars on roof thatch
All dreaming, only Tomten keeps watch

In the snowy night all is silent
Gaia sleeping is
White blanket over wood and plain
Hiding all life
Snug in barrows, as out there
All is still, all is frozen

Slowly from afar only
The murmur of the waterfall
Dreamt as much as heard
Winters death as slow soughing

To thrumming of deep meaning Tomten listens,
half awake and half in a dream
Midwinter Night’s eternal seem
Giving visions to hear
The ebb and flow, life’s echo, of the eternal time stream

Tomten wonders,
from where life came and where it’s going
Tomten wonders,
if Gods or humans where the source
of where the world is is flowing

©RedCat


I had a different vision. But the influence of Tomten was undeniable. And I felt the kind, caring gaze of the farmwifes of my childhood. Living in just that type of isolated farm. Learning me old folktales mostly forgot.
They would have smiled at my folly. Hugged me. And told me, if I put myself in the attention of the unseen, I’d best be willing to pay my due.
So, I sent a message via my muse that all I wanted was to share the wonder of Midwinter, to give Tomten his chance to deep brooding and rest. Without all those Lutheran work ethic lessons.

The poem is a Golden Shovel. The last words of each line are, in order, words from a line or lines taken, another poem. For my piece I choose the first and the penultimate verse of Tomten by Viktor Rydberg. I started with translating them, since I found no translation I thought good enough. Below you’ll find those two verses.

Midwinternight’s cold is hard
Stars sparkle and shimmer
All sleeping in the lonely yard
Deep into midnight hours
The Moon wanders her silent whir
The snow glows white on pine and fir
Snow glows white on roof thatch
Only tomten keeps watch

Silent is wood and plain, all
life out there is frozen
From afar only the waterfall
Heard as slow soughing
Tomten listens, and half in a dream
seem to hear the eternal time stream
Wonders, where it’s going
Wonders, where the source is flowing

©Viktor Rydberg, first published in 1881. Translated by RedCat

Notes on the text

After untold hours reading I decided to keep the Swedish word Tomte. Even Astrid Lindgrens prose version from 1961 is titled “The Tomten”.
Simply because there is no equivalent in English. Tomten is neither gnome, goblin, elf or Robin Goodfellow as in this old translation. Tomten might be mischievous or outright revengeful if treated badly. But mostly he was seen as part of the place, a valued knowledgeable farmer, a paragon of Lutheran work ethics.

Today we see Tomten with a red cap, but Tomten of old was not so garishly dressed – then everyone would have seen him all the time.
The poems second verse start with – “Stands there so gray by the barn door, gray against the white drift”

There is also the word Nisse, which today is much conflated with Santa’s Elves.
Anyhow, a Nisse was so to speak, never the Tomte in charge on a farm, at least in Sweden.

Also linking to Open Link #280 – LIVE! at dVerse.

Searching For A Way – 8 December

Photo by Nikhlesh Tyagi from Pexels

Searching for a way
For the right words to say
I long for the dawn of a new day

Searching for a new life
Passionate, loving, without strife
Filled with strobing nightlife
Abundant wildlife

Searching for a new dream
Asking guidance of a moonbeam
For the path where creativity teem

©RedCat

Right now life feels small, cold and lonely for many, and for me. So I tried for some hope, light and life in today’s Advent Calendar poem.

The midwinter darkness has felt exte oppressive lately. The unseasonable warmth keeps the skies grey and foggy rather than the crisp, nipping, sunny air the season should have (unless there’s snowfall of course).
Today I read that the instruments in Stockholm and several other cities have measured ZERO sunhours in December.

So a warming climate makes the winter darkness more oppressive, by denying us the few hours of sunlight, robbing us off the white cover, starving us from reflected moonlight. A full moon can make a clear snowy December night brighter than an overcast December midday.

Some days I have hope for a new spring, perhaps next summer without a pandemic looming. A world coming together on the pandemic and the climate.
Other days, when the sun has not been seen for more than a week. I feel cold desolation, touch deprivation and failing hope. A world gone to smoking cinders, cascading ecological disaster, all ending in an egotistic whimper.

Not knowing to hope or despair, over the fact that the human race has its destiny in its own hands.



The road might be long and windy,
but with will and intention
we can make the journey the point,
not an unforeseeable future goal.
©RedCat

The Sea is Gray

Photo by Ray Bilcliff from Pexels

The sea is gray and foaming at the tips, in the late November gale.
The wind tries to push me over the embankment, into the chilling,
killing waters.

Like a leaf blow about, my feelings flutter.
Cold and gray isolation. Touch deprivation.

Can one soul, separated apart, weather coming winter storm alone?

The wind turns northly
Clear, sharp, turning the air stark
Cold, dark winter falls

© RedCat


Written for tonight’s Haibun challenge over at dVerse.

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