Boastfully, I regret no deeds,
my sins are minor, lame, and weak.
These children, though born dead, are strong,
like a necromancer, I make them dance.
Machineries, and wretched whores,
all linger midst my core's hollow depths.
So violent, I reproach their names,
like demons, they return the favour.
Silence now, no not a sound,
save for my gears, grinding gold.
A littany, these vicious lines,
meant to be enjoyed in Death.
So let me sleep, wake me not,
the Grave is my truest home.
Quietly, I shall decay,
and I will become my art.
Burn this body, this sinful cage,
bound to Earth's pleading ways.
My soul is chained within,
the keys just out of reach.
Pleasantries, I crave emotion,
intoxicated, I find them here.
Cells may rot, the better then,
so that the soul may roam.
Spread the ashes near and far,
somewhere left unseen.
Not valiant, not brave,
I am the Coward's King.
So still my heart of violence,
let the impurities flow.
Diminish all your foolish laws,
this soul belongs to me.
Copyright © Saint Alphonse | Year Posted 2009
If these eyes shall become blinded, and if this
hair shall come to be combed thinly and grey;
No, it would not be the end of the world.
I would still see beauty therein this world through
the songs of Crickets and Feathered Songsters.
The breeze would yet whisper and trees still dance.
I would yet smell the freshly bloom of Spring.
I'd still endure Summer's sweltering heat.
I'd yet feel Autumn's leaves crunch 'neath these toes.
I'd still long to be fireside with Winter.
Disabled or not, perhaps I'd yet walk
therein wonderful imagination.
How I'd be forever young at heart!
Then just as one journey came to an end,
I'd indeed greet another with a smile.
Copyright © Anthony O. Mitchell Jr. | Year Posted 2013
While granules from past season’s flakes
thaw the impatience of my own caprice
amidst the restlessness of mid-winter,
clay gathers new fragrance of tangy moss.
Back at one, infant stars bequeath light
upon clouds resting on a drape of reverie,
the music of firstborn days stirring the wake
of garnet’s ardour with time’s new dial---
a little fiery perhaps---as opposed
to the acrid taste of a cycle’s old debris.
My January, you cuddle the balm of my fortitude
in your arms streaked with breathing hope,
to nurse the fertile seeds of renewal
with ovules so despicably beautiful
that moonlit fireworks glaze steadily
on night’s eyes, grounding my balance
with acceptance that trials and love
come from same flame: how this moment
must be relished in praise of fresh dowry…
Call me home instead and warm my skin
as I roam with you, my January,
fulfilling my quest’s return to a patient self...
the kind which blesses fire and ice.
Hello January Contest
by nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
Retook a relationship,
With an old friend, chip.
Bought lots of new clothes,
There weren’t any woes.
Became a vegetarian,
Not an authoritarian.
Got back to YouTube,
More of the mind cube.
Wrote evolution essay,
Not creationism heavy.
Wrote about my brother,
Who was often my other.
Contacted a technology OT,
I’m not special blatantly.
Downloaded a course,
Won’t become hoarse.
Wrote lots of poetry,
Not ashamed, openly.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
The Sound of Distant Ankle Bells
Memories of those delicate tinkling bells,
casually fastened around calloused feet,
take hold of my waking moments,
and fling my thoughts back to a distant time,
where folk-songs were heartily sung,
joyful, yet hopelessly out of rhyme.
I barely saw her, a construction labourer perhaps,
hauling bricks, cement, anything, on a scorching Delhi day,
while in the semi-shade of a Gulmohar tree, her infant silently lay.
A cacophony of thoughts such as these swirl around,
yanking me away from the now, to my cow-dung littered childhood playground.
Now, a lifetime of displacement has hushed the jangling chorus of the past,
to a faint trickle of sounds, as distant as an ocean heard inside tiny sea-shells,
I know, that the orchestral nostalgic crescendo, rises, dips, and swells,
as tantalisingly near, yet a world of time away, as were the tinkling of her ankle-bells.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
Never be it said that new beginnings can’t be obtained
The endless quest for happiness and futures ordained
Surely worn us all down – books scoured for inspiration
Folk-lore/Yarns embraced for our life’s path preparation
Memory, an eager companion to chastise us and torment
Time we’ve been allotted wasted on slights to ferment
Looking to bring some relief to others in their dire need
This is what brings joy to souls rich in the art of forgiving
Looking in the mirror, inwardly: What do we see and striving
To portray to an outside world? In ignorance, we aim to please
Others are equally busy with their lives; sense of a new lease
On Life. Each calendar marking public festive holidays to celebrate
Thus, in effect wishing our time away, wasted on endless freight
Of regrets; only to be put aside briefly during this Holy Season
SUMMERY: A message within a message (two unrhymed lines), therefore, My New Year's Wishes:
1. Looking to bring some relief to others in their dire need;
2. Of regrets; only to be put aside briefly during this Holy Season.
BTW: Ethiopia, Russia, Ukraine, Serbia, the Republic of Macedonia, and the Republic of Moldova celebrate Christmas on what in the Gregorian calendar is January 7
Please see the About section regarding this form of an Acrostic poem.
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2012
A New Year
Seems like just yesterday
We welcomed in last year
The days and months that followed
With others I did share.
Small steps and better days
I found throughout that time
Found what really mattered
When all was not sublime.
We took ‘one day at a time.’
With effort made a go
And yet time did go quickly
If you really want to know.
So here it is
Start of a new year
With new days
And challenges to bear.
Thankful for my health
And for my state of being
Grateful for my friends
Look forward to just seeing.
It seems as each year passes
We note things we missed before
Life has twists, turns and endings
Of that, I’m really sure.
So pop the cork!
Drink to the New Year!
Good things I wish
For all that you hold dear.
Copyright © Sue k Green | Year Posted 2014
A whole new
Irksome block of monotony
Placed at my door
Climb up or down as you please
Vacuous and silly I am all agog.
Some crazys have not slept
My wife, sterner stuff
Shakes off the ennui
And ignores the banal.
Note: Poem written long ago
Copyright © S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Year Posted 2011
I think about this past year... It “came and went…”
I wonder that kind of life have I really spent?
It almost seems like yesterday
that I was a young man…
“I had the world in the palm of my hand.”
I had many goals, ambitions and dreams.
I wanted to enjoy life and do so many things.
Looking back on time and how quickly it’s gone by.
I gaze up into the beauty of the stars in the sky.
As I get older and think about another “resolution.”
I find myself with another problem with no “solution.”
I think about a God... Who made all of this a possibility!
He’s offered to me love, hope and tranquility!
I’m going to make a new commitment this January 1st.
No matter if things get better… Or things get worse…
I’m going to give my life and family to God above.
And ask him to bless our home with his mercy and love.
I’m going to try to live for him the best way I know.
And seek his blessings wherever I may go!
I’m going to give to God a love and strong commitment.
It’s only in him where I’ll find true fulfillment!
There’s an important fact, I shall always remember…
God is with me from January thru December!
He will be there to guide each step that is taken!
With him in my life… I’m never alone or forsaken!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012
Look and review. Look and review.
The New Year is coming. Review’s what we do.
What have I believed in? What lies have been told?
What truth has ascendance? For truth is my gold.
What lies have invaded and reworked the Truth?
Where have I departed, diminished forsooth?
Where have I veered off from true Liberty’s path,
Compromised integrity, brought on God’s wrath.
The New Year is coming. A new slate is here.
History’s drawing new pictures of fear.
Will it be fear of what people might say,
Or fear of the Good Lord who loves us today.
Shall I pay attention to cultural lies?
Or shall I look Heavenwards, one of God’s spies
Who constantly roam around Heavenly places
To bring back its perfumes in kindness and graces.
The spies of our Father have wisdom to go
From a closet of prayer to the big world below
With the gifts of the Spirit, of wisdom in kind,
Knowledge un-natural, miracle mind.
So how may I check that my pathway lies true?
More time in the Heavenly places is due,
That the words of my mouth, which are weapons enough,
May achieve on this earth all His miracle stuff!
Copyright © Helen Murray | Year Posted 2011
White flakes float from
the white sky
and dogs are rough
housing with the kids.
I remember when Dad
confronted the neighbors
after their son had
bloodied my iced nose.
He was white with anger
and I was cold.
As I walk down the
street to the store
the neighborhood kids
are at it again,
living in the snow,
building snow houses.
I remember how the cold
didn't affect my young bones,
but now I'm old, and I
am making dinner tonight.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
Beckoning fresh views and analysis,
Occasional snow, crystal clear and so bright,
Lively with purity, reversing paralysis,
Distinct, crude phenomenon with so much height.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015
Time moves too slow
when kneeled before oppressive
three by four inch plastic altars
taking communion with fellow debtors
in allocated installments of faith
for blessings of pregnant dollars
and a forecast
of January amnesty
But we all hear December's secrets
in the static whispers
curling away from desperate lips
as if aired concerns
will disappear like winter vapors.
back to flesh and bone liability
will negotiate no cornerstone,
compromise no clause,
and grant no mercy
we make it through December.
Copyright © Jean Marble | Year Posted 2009
I awake to start the new day,
To find all nature stirring;
The bumble bee and humming bird
Around the feeder whirring.
The russet breasted robin
Has caught the early worm.
He'll take it to his lady love
Before its final squirm.
Across the way the flower field
Is full of willing workers.
Spring in my valley scurries on;
It is no place for shirkers.
Not long ago, I too was part
Of the exciting action.
I sit with cup of coffee and
A sigh of satisfaction.
I've served my time, no need to rise
To a bothersome alarm.
Without my help, spring will maintain;
I've rented out the farm.
The days when I met life head on,
Are part of history.
I sit in relaxed leisure and
Let Springtime come to me.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009