He that hath no rule over his own
spirit is like a city that is broken
down, and without wall...

As Cold waters to thirsty soul,
so is good news from a far country*.

Again, you welcome us with tragedy
With Cold, windy stormy winter blues
The unpredictability of lakes and pond ice,
Becomes every fisherman’s worst nightmare

A dead robin outside my bedroom window
Highlight the day. As the high wind
  Slammed against the lids of the city dumpsters
it was so loud it was deafening

Here I am the last cookie poet to enter eagerly into the new-year
With a different perspective, eagerly rehearsing my thoughts
  Before my poem trail off to believers or non-believers alike

You will not ******* away like the north wind
Every line you shall follow by scanning each undusted I’s
I am the poet to unknown regions stray
carrying words of wisdom,
but do bear in mind

*It's easy to cheer when victory's near

I will not follow in the paths of day anymore
back when our thoughts  were not entirely intact,
we must not make the same mistake we made last year.

The hours were long, our wages were small
Somehow, we need and wants were getting greater
Like mines, I wanted more boxes of lobster tails from Maine
But instead I purchase bags of rotten potatoes from the local grocery stores
Did the customers get the most nutrition out of Idaho Potatoes?
Hell no!

I had to make the connection with the dots to connect to the future
It wasn’t an overlooked of the payroll mistakes
It was the greed of the political investors,
But those classes of people, unions, lawyers, and businessmen
Those ******* laboring class of upper people rob us.

Time has passed and hearts were broken
So many innocent lives were taken away from us.
Either by drowning in the rough sea or they got hit by the city buses

They tear us down on every side till  we were numb
They uproot our hope like a tree
Some of us fought with our body to rise,
But encounters dark passages on the rough seas
We shall not follow on the path of the day anymore
A new year, a new beginning, a fresh wipe, a clean slate

Holding hands is not just for crossing the street
But to squeeze each other hands under the sheet
Is the little joy we find these days in contentment:

My sister as a child and my sister as adult
we are not the comparison and contrast kind of people
Her outlook on life and my lifestyle never clicks
I said more sugar
She wants less, I add more nutmeg,
She adds more cloves,
I am hot; I stood there and watch her shivering

She love Drew and Jonathan Scott from HGTV's
I love Chip and Joanna Barnes the stars of Fixer Upper
I am the caramel base; she is the creamy yellow coated

I have lived so long, with loneliness, it became a part of my family tree
I love the peace and quiet,
I detest the invasion of my personal space.

Under my white tray roofing, I accepted my lifestyle,
But to have my fluffy rug under my toes,
On a cold winter morning is a great start to my day.
Oh, how, I breathed a sigh of relief,
holding on to my cold glass of spiked eggnog

When I see things that is so inhumane
I just have to close my eyes, and shake my head
I am part of a team there,
but I am not happy to be on board
A failing system that’s ruthless
So I put on my gloves,
and do as much as I can
Else I would be living that lie.

When I see things that is so inhumane
I just tighten my jaws and shake my head
To the things that disgust me the most
I burn incense as a symbol of prayer for the helpless