New Year Returns

So we clock the next Gregorian notch
And reset our lot to resolutely futile promises,
Albeit just as well-intended
As last year’s sentimental whimsy –
As if resolve appears with perfect purchase
Only on the calculated year’s last day;
As though all others be ill-suited
To self-betterment or harm’s arrest

Because no other day is good for
Stopping smoking, drinking,
Eating less and exercising more.
And no one’s ever bored
By all the empty, drunken declarations
Or the stone cold sober tokens,
Are they?

Why gesture yearly,
Merely for tradition’s pressure
Just to fall in measure to a herded fashion?
All that well-meant passion, fleeting;
All that cheated rationale…

Well, bugger that!

But for the want of a perilous crutch,
To your own drum be tuned –
There are much better waves to catch.

~

If wishes were dishes
The breadth of the feast
Would encompass enough
For the whole world to eat.

What a banquet we’d have!
What a smörgås of food,
Quenching palates a-plenty –
Chacun à son goût!

~

Happy New Year!? And take heart: 2017 might well be spectacularly shitty but it’s not a leap year and needs no leap second, so, at least it will be shorter. 😉 Wishing you silver linings and pockets of Light xXx

New Year’s Resolution

As another year
Of choreographed fear,
Institutional rust
And mutual mistrust
Comes to its close
But, yet, projects, without repose,
The TINA thrust,
May we resolve, as seems, we must
To let our righteous cosmic dust
Get right on up the noses
Of all wicked, crony power-lust
In doses Just and just enough,
That greedy gasbags self-combust.

Resolutely Futile

So we clock the next Gregorian notch
And reset our lot to resolutely futile
Promises, albeit just as well-intended
As last year’s sentimental whimsy –
As if resolve appears with perfect
Purchase only on the calculated year’s
Last day; as though all others be ill-suited
To self-betterment or harm’s arrest

Because no other day is good for stopping
Smoking, drinking, eating less and exercising
More. And no one’s ever bored by all the
Empty, drunken declarations or the stone
Cold sober tokens, are they?

Why gesture yearly, merely for tradition’s
Pressure just to fall in measure to a herded
Fashion? All that well-meant passion, fleeting;
All that cheated rationale…

Well, bugger that!

But for the want of a perilous crutch, to your
Own drum be tuned – there are much better
Waves to catch.