The Light Fantastic

auroraGlorious though the night skies may be here in Suffolk, sadly this is still probably too far south to have any hope of seeing the Northern Lights. My ambition will be to see the real thing with a trip beyond the Arctic Circle.  For now it will have to be a poem.




A phantom, draped in green, is weaving

through the midnight skies;

gleaming ripples, timeless, silent layers,

sweeping over misted stars.

The music of the spheres is stilled,

as this intruder hovers, shifting

into different shapes, as though adrift

in unfamiliar air.

Ethereal eccentricity.

Hanging swathes unwind and flow

in fading streams, but then reform and glow,

ignited by an energetic show

of power. The winter snowscape glistens

in the sheen, as all around reflects

this light fantastic.

A dance of fiery figures swirl, cavort

then soften into silence. Moments pass,

while floating strands

begin to fade from sight,

and slowly soak away

into the




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