Poem for the New Year
So far it's suspiciously similar
to the old year: the same wild cold
wind circling the yard,
and that oozy substance
still clings to the carton of orange juice
I lift from a shelf in the fridge.
Also, I notice that my face
in the bathroom mirror,
fresh from the bed's wrappings,
looks a bit worn.
Last night, in my neighborhood,
a few guns went off amid the firecrackers,
surely a sign that something new
was entering the world,
though the sounds were identical
to the small-arms fire
emitted from the war documentary
I was watching on TV.
It's possible
I missed the transition entirely
by not attending a drunken party,
wearing a pointy hat
and tongue-kissing a few strangers,
and so am still living
in the previous year,
where the windows are rattling
in the storm
and the front door suddenly
slams open
and I just as quickly rush to slam it shut.
poem by Kim Addonizio
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Related quotes
Be Windows To Be Shut
Don't open the windows!
Cold air will rush in.
Don't open the windows!
Hot air will blow in.
Don't open the windows!
Mosquitoes are there.
Don't open my history!
Treacheries will snare.
Don't open my memory!
Debaucheries will slip out.
Don't open my very eyes.
I should not be a witness.
Let the windows be shut;
With that the past buried.
Switch on the air-conditioner.
Spray on the bed perfume.
I must enjoy my night
With the world outside shut.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Cold Snow Fall
The snow fall this year will be cold.
How will the homeless surive;
living on your doorstep,
or in your garden?
They will trudge through the snow,
their feet getting wet.
Their hands getting frostbite.
Their lips turning blue.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
Whining for food at your door.
Limping and shivering from the cold.
Why should they be treated like this?
The strays will try to do what they can to surive;
eating leftovers,
scrounging on the bins,
being swept away with a broom.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
You'll be at home,
getting warm by the fire,
opening gifts.
Your door is shut,
the curtains are drawn.
You have no clue what is going on outside,
in the cold cruel world.
poem by Scarlet Outlaw
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Funky New Year
Went to a party just last night
Wanted to bring the year in right
Woke up this morning I don't know how
Last night I was a happy man, but the way I feel right now
It's gonna be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Ooo, Ahh, got to be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Can't remember when I ever felt worse
Nothing matters and everything hurts
They were passin' round the bottle, made me feel brand new
Trouble with the new man he wants a hit too, hit me
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
oooooo, it's a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Lord, mmm, FUNKY NEW YEAR
Nurse I'm worse FUNKY NEW YEAR
I got to perk up a little FUNKY NEW YEAR
My hair hurts FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
A party baby
Never again FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Who's shoes are these FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Party hardy baby FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
What year is this anyway?
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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athem for the year 2000
We are the youth
We'll take your fascism away
We are the youth
Apologise for another day
We are the youth
And politicians are so sure
We are the youth
And we are knocking on death's door
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so sure
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so small
Never knew we were living in a world
And the world is an open court
Maybe we don't want to live in a world
Where innocence is so short
We'll make it up to you
in the year 2000 with...
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so sure
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so small
Never knew we were living in a world
And the world is an open court
Maybe we don't want to live in a world
Where innocence is so short
We'll make it up to you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000
Make it up to you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000 with you
Never knew we were living in a world
With a world that could be so sure
Never knew we were living in a world
With a mind that could be so small
Never knew we were living in a world
And the world is an open court
Maybe we don't want to live in a world
World who cares at all
We'll make it up to you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000
Make it hard for you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000
Make it hard for you
In the year 2000
Build it up for you
In the year 2000 with you
song performed by by Silverchair from neon ballroom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Faithful Witness
To the firstborn of Yahseph,
Of all that is created;
To the secondborn of Yahseph,
Do set set your mind on Mount Zion;
For His name is His glory and,
Of the economic well-being.
Of the year of the rat,
Of the year of the dog,
Of the year of the cow,
Of the year of the bull,
Of the year of the sheep,
Of the year of the dragon,
Of the year of the snake,
Of the year of the pig,
Of the year of the goat,
Of the year of the lizard,
Of the year of the crocodile,
Of the year of the elephant,
Of the year of the scorpion,
Of the year of the turtle,
Of the year of the fish,
Of the year of the earth,
Of the year of the wind,
Of the year of the fire,
Of the year of the water,
And of the year of the bush!
Like the firstborns of slaves.
The hips of romance,
The faithful witness will not lie;
The same day,
The same night,
Of the love shared at where no oxen are;
And the crib was very clean.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It would be neat if with the New Year
for Miguel
It would be neat if with the New Year
I could leave my loneliness behind with the old year.
My leathery loneliness an old pair of work boots
my dog vigorously head-shakes back and forth in its jaws,
chews on for hours every day in my front yard—
rain, sun, snow, or wind
in bare feet, pondering my poem,
I’d look out my window and see that dirty pair of boots in the yard.
But my happiness depends so much on wearing those boots.
At the end of my day
while I’m in a chair listening to a Mexican corrido
I stare at my boots appreciating:
all the wrong roads we’ve taken, all the drug and whiskey houses
we’ve visited, and as the Mexican singer wails his pain,
I smile at my boots, understanding every note in his voice,
and strangers, when they see my boots rocking back and forth on my
feet
keeping beat to the song, see how
my boots are scuffed, tooth-marked, worn-soled.
I keep wearing them because they fit so good
and I need them, especially when I love so hard,
where I go up those boulder strewn trails,
where flowers crack rocks in their defiant love for the light.
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
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Too Tired To Notice The Storm Of The Earth...
i wake up early today
i open the windows and the door
the ground is flooded
the trees shed more leaves
the chickens' feathers are
thoroughly wet
some branches are cut-off
from those old tall trees
our dog is not wagging its tail
the lights at the kitchen are not turned off
by the looks of it
there was a big storm last night
i did not notice it
i was dead asleep
too tired of my own inner storms
my door is closed,
all my windows are shut.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Surprise in Japan - Our Rattling Plates
earthquake
teutonic plates rattle
our plates
earthquake
rattling our nerves
the plates on the shelf
softly rattling
to an earthquake
our plates on the shelf
ratting plates
our seismic
detector
rattling plates
oh it is the earthquake
bothering us again
Ring of Fire
every now and then
our plates rattle
rattling plates
a belief in fate keeps
my heart calm
rattling plates
i put my life in
the hands of god
Japan is on one of the most siesmic proned region of the world called ring of fire. In our apartment, every now and then, the plates we stack one over the other on the shelf would rattle. When the earthquake was
strong enough, they would jump off the shelf. It was a surprise to me at first when I heard our plates rattled every now and then especially at night.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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My Love In A Mirror
She stood there
looking at herself...
at the beauty God bestowed on her
in front of this mirror
I stood behind her, wrapping my soul around her
my dark brown arms against her pale skin,
covering her nakedness
in front of this mirror
Our bodies stirred, feeling the fire
remembering our lovemaking earlier,
and previous times we have stood here
in front of this mirror
Like this very moment, her eyes
arresting me, her soul possessing me,
the warmth of my body against hers
in front of this mirror
poem by Pablo Loves Life
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The Old Year
The Old Year's gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he'd a neighbour's face,
In this he's known by none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more of substance when they're here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall -
A guest to every heart's desire,
And now he's nought at all.
Old papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
All things identified;
But times once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year's Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.
poem by John Clare
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We Are To Play The Game Of Death
WE are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.
The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.
We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.
We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.
My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.
Long have I served her tenderly.
I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.
I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.
She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.
She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.
To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.
My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.
Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.
The push of death has swung her into life.
We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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You Are The Storm
(matraca berg / ronnie samoset)
I see you standing there
Outside the windows of my heart
So cold and shivering
There in your world that is so dark
I wish that I could set you free
From all your insecurities
But you threw away the key
When you locked the door
I tried to love you
I tried to keep you from harm
But I might as well be
Holding the wind in my arms
Oh, I cant give you shelter
When you are the storm
There is a wind tonight
That blows and chills me to the bone
Here by the fireside
Even the heat cant keep me warm
Im haunted by your troubled soul
That rages out of control
I had to let you go
Had to let you go
I tried to love you
I tried to keep you from harm
But I might as well be
Holding the wind in my arms
Oh, I cant give you shelter
When you are the storm
Sometimes I lie here and wonder
If youll ever change
Then I hear the lightning and thunder
Oh, and the rain
Oh, I tried to love you
And I tried to keep you from harm
But I might as well be
Holding the wind in my arms
Oh, I cant give you shelter
You are the storm
Oh, I cant give you shelter
You are the storm
Oh, oh, oh, oh
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There 'Use' To Be A Winter In New England
Pretty soon people will be complaining,
About getting any snow at all.
Especially in New England...
When Summer and Fall,
Seem to rush to connect with Spring.
It is January and there is a dusting of snow.
And people heard strolling on the streets...
Say it is cold.
Wearing nothing but jackets and no Winter coats.
There 'use' to be a Winter in New England,
This time of the year.
And many would ski and slide the slopes.
Prepared in their snow wearing gear.
And every year Winter seems to be taking a backseat,
As warmer days come to tease...
Those who love the snow,
To witness it quickly leave.
There 'use' to be a Winter in New England,
This time of the year.
Pretty soon people will be complaining,
About getting any snow at all.
When Summer and Fall,
Seem to rush to connect with Spring.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When We Meet Again
When we meet again
Springtime is here, and the wind from the south
Blows strong and warm to clean out your house
The sun has arisen and the lies that were told are
Driven outside with the freezing cold
I can remember a spring just like this
I was 19 yrs. old
Now the time is sorely missed
The first year that I left my mothers house
Out to make my way in this world somehow
I cant believe how the times they have changed
All the dreams that came true still seem so far away
I remember the days sittin on the front porch with
The sun beatin down in my neighborhood
Id sit out all night singin songs to the moon
Or try and get some sweet honey back to my bedroom
My friends they were few but to me they were true
All we was trying to do was just to make it thru
Always thought for the future, but we shouldnt have cared
All the best things in life we shared them right there
So to all those old friend God be with them
I wish, I wish I could see you again
In the same corner bar where it all started from
Dig your plow so deep now the stars have all gone
So wherever they shine may it be warm and bright
Out to ease my mind on this worried night
It all seemed so simple and good tidings I send
Ill never forget that one year that we spent
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bedtime Story
It was just after midnight and I’d been reading in bed for an hour
when a sweet sickly smell wafted in, which turned horribly sour.
Cursing, I got out of bed and opened the window some more,
which seemed to cause a draft that slammed shut the door.
I reopened the door much wider this time and returned to my bed,
a draught blew the pages losing the place to where I’d read.
The temperature dropped so I again got out of bed and closed the door,
and also the window slightly, but it was still cold, so I closed it more.
Large goose bumps formed along my arms as I got back into bed,
I picked up the book and tried to find the last page that I’d read.
It was warmer now, but I still pulled the covers up to my chest;
I found my page and carried on reading with keen interest.
The atmosphere in the room seemed somehow unusual and strange
with an unpleasant smell and sudden coldness change.
Above the top of my page I saw a movement at the foot of the bed
and I saw someone standing there, so I raised my head.
The hairs on the back of my neck stiffened and sent a shiver down my spine,
for a second I was speechless; it was an apparition the colour of lime.
Motionless he just stood with his face towards the floor with nothing to say,
his lifeless body sagged wearing a worn out coat that had seen a better day.
“Who the Dickens are you and what do you want? ” I nervously said.
He stared straight through me when he slowly raised his head.
His aged gaunt tired face seemed to stare far beyond my body,
so I turned to see, but there was only the wall behind me.
“Why don’t you answer me, ” I said, “are you unable to speak? ”
Then with a voice that was deep and certainly not meek,
said, “Oh yes I can speak when and if it suits me to,
but what makes you think that I want to speak with you? ”
“Well excuse me, you came into my room and stood by my bed
and you looked as though something just ought to be said.”
“You don’t mean anything to me, I didn’t even notice you
until you broke my spiritual flow, like all you living do.
I don’t think you living realise that restless spirits come and go,
we roam the dead space of time just as the four winds blow.
We didn’t ask to be here, abandoned to wander forever more,
we’re trapped and forgotten spirits behind heaven’s door.
And don’t bother to ask me how I got here because I don’t know,
I never harmed anyone when I was alive and that is truly so.
I freely admit that some of the spirits have become evil and sour
and like the living, insanity becomes worse by the hour.
You the living remind us of how it was when we were there,
but we are enraged by the many who abuse and don’t care.
It is possible that you could end up here in this dead space,
and then with me you’ll be wearing my kind of face.”
As I was about to ask a question he quickly faded out of sight,
the smell and coldness went with him into the night.
I don’t expect anyone to believe me, but I know it’s true
and perhaps one day a similar experience might happen to you.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Okaerinasai
this is the stranger
dusty face and muddy
feet
caulked
he still holds the key
to the old room
his room
opens it
he was away for months
his dog is dead
inside the bathroom
the whole house
stinks
all lines are cut off
it is dark
he arrives at night
dogs are howling
the trees have no leaves
the winds are cold
the path is
grassy and wild
the squirrels left
when he arrives
nuts
the rats stand at
the door watching
his every move
there is a mirror
at the veranda
at the side of the
door
it is hazy
it could be me
in this
horrible
thought
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fence
Around my yard there stands a fence
It keeps the outside world out and I safe within
Though the structure is not that immense
It does the purpose as which it was built for and meant.
Neighbors and strangers it keeps out of my yard
Along with their trash and pets which does it harm
I am my yards protector, landscaper and guard
As it is my beauty, and not a trash bin or someone's farm.
My fence allows and welcomes the sunshine and the wind
Mother nature is always welcomed to visit and roam
The squirrels and the birds are always welcomed in
And welcome are the bee's with the pollen they've sewn.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects my yard from the enemies about
Too me it makes such perfect sense
Better to stop the entering, than for me to scream and shout.
As my yard is not the playground for a child to use
Or a shortcut for many persons to walk or run
As it it my yard which I won't neglect or abuse
And the work that I do on it, it will never be done.
In the summertime there will be plants to raise
And the leaves to rake when it becomes the fall
While hoping mother nature with me will always stay
And because of my fence, it will protect it all.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects and guards my yard everyday of the year
To others though it might cause an offense
As though it tells the people, not to come over here.
It is my yard which is mine to raise it like a child
To cut it and groom it and keep it nice for all to see
But truly it is GOD'S acre, which I saved from the wild
Then through the wonder of nature, in life I do believe.
So as days will come you will see myself in my yard
And sometimes you might see me nervous and tense
I hate clutter and trash so from there it is always barred
Also to protect my yard and myself, is my mighty fence.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Mirror, Mirror, Please Forgive Me.
It's late at night, I'm alone again, every night's the same
And I know the reason why; I've just myself to blame
Stagger to the bathroom, to wash and get ready for bed
Drunk again, I'll never learn, how i'm going to sort out my head
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, please don't cast your seven-year curse
lt seems each time I look at you, I appear a little bit worse
I brush my teeth and I nod support, across to my red-eyed will
Again we pledge, the time has come, self-promises to fulfil
Uttered oft, but seldom loud, only us as witness
These resolutions I set myself, to test my moral fitness
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, please don't cast your seven-year curse
lt seems each time I look at you, I appear a little bit worse
I can't go on, the way I do, it's got to come to an end
Or maybe I'm already to far gone, With no more hope of amend
Should I submit, declare defeat, admit that my self-esteem is roten
For I know, with all guilt ignored, in the morning, all of this will be forgotten
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, please don't cast your seven-year curse
lt seems each time I look at you, I appear a little bit worse
poem by Benjamin Hickmott
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This Day Next Year
Remember this day next year,
My date with you.
Then I'll not see your face,
But that won't stop me
From thinking about you.
This day next year
I'll carry the note in my mind
I'll bear the pain of
Not seeing you again
For another long year
Or beyond, maybe forever.
But that won't stop me
From dreaming your face
As my own days rush into night…
This day next year,
Be sure I'll be there
With you in your memories!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Again and Again
again
ı inhaled
from my cigarette
deeply
again
a night
without you
has worn out
from my life
again and again
you fell into
my dreams
your voice
is still
is jingling
in my ears
again ı feel
your warmth
of your lıps
as though
you are
kissing me
from my lips
again
like a wild wind
your love
is
blowing
on my head
turninmg and turnıng
if you only
you came again
and
slept
in my arms
ı missed you
and
your voice
poem by Metin Sahin
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