Into the fog I fell,
amidst the bone chilling cold,
caterwauled by silence -
eerily the end
of the year, dismal.
With the call of a forefinger,
I float through the mist,
silence switches
to a whisper,
rays appear through the haze.
Into the cradle I amble,
dizzy from 2024 strange happenings.
Lemons and apples fill the trees,
bright, juicy, bountiful, and
plenipotentiary fruit
of a Happy New Year.
Here’s where it gets weird:
we must take care
to love and serve
and the trees will prosper.
Love, joy, peace
patience, kindness, goodness,
gentleness, faithfulness, self-control* -
the kind of fruit that will produce
good results
for years to come.
The Whos in Whoville give praise.
The pennypinching Grinch** gives in.
Bells ring and voices raised.
Cheers, hopeful and kinetic.
*Fruit of the Spirit, bible reference
**Whos, Whoville, Grinch - Dr. Seuss book references
We turned the mattress over,
the world was leaning to one side,
and heads were rolling.
Bodies tipped over in the night,
whole families were found to be
slanted from the slippage.
They say (meaning nobody we knew),
that the sharp cheddar and the gruyere
had saturated the dreams
of our sleeping flesh.
We upended the matrass, slept well
for a night or two,
then the pale-faced fridge began to
groan unintelligibly,
it was joined by the AC unit,
who caterwauled,
and rattled its teeth non-stop.
Slowly the planet began to readjust,
to realign.
The doomsayers were not pleased,
they had expected
so much more
than bad breath and diarrhea.
I caterwauled with the best of them.
I caterwauled with the worst.
I put myself in a side pocket
And I walked beside my purse
My moans had seen some better days
My woes had seen some worse.
The caterwauls you hear today
Are coming from my purse
The Queen’s Parade
Head high, she walked by;
As the crowd caterwauled her,
Guillotine’s blade cut.
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