Tag Archives: New Year

To Stand and Stare?

How does the time disappear?
Water evaporates under direct heat.
Time evaporates
under a withering glut of
the unexpected
the unplanned
and unremembered.
Distractions distract.
People with no time steal yours
with delays and waiting.

And.
in this century,
with endless updates
on sites you should leave alone.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was first posted by me in January 2018. I think that it is a good way to start the first working week of 2020 too….

 

Friday Poem: The Year

What can be said in New Year rhymes,
That’s not been said a thousand times?
The new years come, the old years go,
We know we dream, we dream we know.
We rise up laughing with the light,
We lie down weeping with the night.
We hug the world until it stings,
We curse it then and sigh for wings.
We live, we love, we woo, we wed,
We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.
We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,
And that’s the burden of the year.

 

by  Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 

Friday Poem: Auld lang syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
Sin’ auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

 

By Robert Burns (1759 – 1796)

Cold

Cold

Foggy days in old Amsterdam
When rooftops hide in the gloom
Hoar frost sparkles tattered bushes
Tram windows mist up

Flying home to unexpected chill
House cold as a tomb
Huddling around an electric heater
Sipping tea, as the gas boiler struggles

Bright morning, glowing sunshine
Garden frosted like a Christmas cake
Hens fluffed up against the chill
We miss the warmth of good friends

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Thank you Edgar, for the photograph…..

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