What is lost and what is found,
In the ending year around?

Tried hard and could drop a pound,
But the efforts gave a health sound.

Lost a few so called friends,
In this way karmic debt ends...

Lost my way towards depression,
And headed for an old passion.

Good or bad, are the divine grace,
Got the strength to accept what i face.

Made some new awesome friends,
This is how the life now trends.

Gained enormous emotional strength,
And in the poetry, the desired depth.

Thankful to God for all the lessons!
Grateful for the countless blessings!

To accept the life as it comes,
No more new year resolutions!

trip up the island to see all the folk
monopoly, pong => pig 'n a poke
crystalline glass with dark bitter ale
Santa is looking a little bit pale

cherry red cheeks from a chilled chardonnay
one sailing wait for the talk of the day
drum sticks and dressing are the pick of the bird
chestnuts and brandy for gravy being stirred

brussels and taters are pulled from the bake
pears in the salad bring memories of Jake
sparks from the fire with rich amber glow
grey hair and wrinkles will come...don't you know?

gingerbread man with a white icing smile
candy cane schnapps (with its seasonal style!)
pine cones and tinsel that cover the tree
carols are humming from churches and streets

cold winter nights are the best of the year
chocolate and eggnog await with good cheer
a heavy thick fog approaches the sound
the comforts of Christmas, with joy all around!

It has been stamped with dispassionate blue ink,
Signifying its future lack of suitability to sit on the shelves,
Having been elbowed aside by this and that year’s thing
(And the book had not been checked out since the mid-seventies,
Perhaps some young man all but short-circuited
By the prospect of a bathing Julie Christie,
Or some female counterpart shedding bell-bottomed tears
Over doomed love, which, in her cosmology,
All such things were fated to be)
Placed in some temporary cardboard casket
Which once held bananas or copier paper or ancient time cards,
Sitting cheek to elbow with cookbooks, breathless biorhythm tomes,
Buffeted about forces unseen and beyond its control
As it faces the uncertain and uneasy prospect of possible reclamation.

Do you often wonder how you are perceived by those you meet?
What does a stranger think, what is his/her first impression?
Most of us wish to leave a good (?) impression or at least an impression.
So just how do we accomplish this?
Some wish to be remembered as Beautiful
Some wish to be thought of as Smart
Others like to be considered Funny
Or maybe Clever, Caring,... Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful,
Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave,  Clean or Reverent if you are a Boy Scout.
Maybe if you are a Christian you want to be remembered as following  
the Ten Commandments or Being a Good Neighbor, Doing Unto Others as you would have them do unto you.
If an environmentalist, caring about the Earth, loving nature, the seasons and all living things.
If a teacher, then concern for your students' futures
If an investment counselor or banker-wealth.
If a politician, then winning the next election.
Most of us do have some kind of agenda when we meet a stranger
So what is your agenda?
Does your agenda make the world a better place, help other people,
No matter what their religion, race or creed?
Or does your agenda simply build you up in their eyes?
Or do you just assume that you look good to them?
Do you really think so?
In writing this little ditty, I determined to use a thesaurus in order  to improve my writing so that I would be perceived (identified, observed, regarded, sensed) as an intelligent poet of great merit and in doing so I learned a lot of new things which I will pass on to you, my readers. One thing that I realized is that my writing is not without enjambment and maybe yours is too.  In addition my parti pris could be incorrect.  Possibly the driving force behind this piece of writing could be an ulterior motive or an incentive to find out more about myself. It is also probable that I am participating in a bit of log rolling, pork barreling or establishing myself through the cronyism of you fellow poets.  
Help me, I myself am really not sure.