New Year s Eve parties
We “dressed to the nines “
Fancy frilly Dresses
Hair updos, nails, lashes
Dress to impress.
but it’s all for fun.
Ready to ring in the new year
with those we hold Dear.
Remembering
those who are no longer here.

As we count down
the seconds until midnight
A sparkler for delight
Holding our loved one tight
Fireworks,Noice makers
popping streamers Watch them fly high into the sky.strategically position
In the middle of the dance floor,
Five, four, three, two, one…
“Happy NewYear” The crowd cheers
The bells begins to ring,
Well wishes, Cheek Kisses
Collectively, We all begin to Sing.  

Should old acquaintances be forgot
And never brought to mind

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and Auld Lang Syne

For Auld Lang Syne ,my dear
For Auld Lang Syne

We’ll take a cup of kindness yet
For Auld Lang Syne…

There’s actually more lyrics to this, but nobody ever sings them?

Have you ever wondered
What this song means?
After a few drinks,
it doesn’t really matter
A hill of beans!

Auld Lang Syne means,
Old or long since, Old Times

It invokes feelings of nostalgia, especially to memories of good times spent.
Should old acquaintances, be forgot, and never brought to mind

Serves as a reminder to cherish those fond memories that We’ve already had,
Which makes the song
A perfect New Years Eve song.

This song was written centuries ago. A Scottish poem, updated by Robert Burns, in 1788, Who gave a new modern version from the original poem. by author Alan Ramsey.
Please share with me
How do you Ring  
in the new year.

it is the most heightened of times-
tick tock slowly and slowly again-
this 2023 disappearing 23.59-
one second gone going-
and gone again.... welcome 2024
good luck everybody, and poets
your new year songs.

I don't want to be this old
The fried crisp lips and
a neck with strings of
gobbled goop skin like
Christmas lights circle

the end of the days
like cookslices.  The
taglike things,

the straight hairs on my
chins, there are several,
poke into collars raw from
rubbing on butiful jewlry

I refrain my lament
Being 77 yars old
is like the inside
of a soup can
dried on the counter
corner for a week.

Caroline Shank
12.31.2023

think i may like to travel to small places,
old and full of history. deep aged fabrics
stained with the words of time. to touch

~
Time is a dark feeling
—the spell of a vanishing loveliness;
in the present mist
the imperatives in the wind
move less and less.

Haul away the anchor,
this is not a safe place.

Between insufficient coasts
—a land of look behind—
science is dead,
pessimism in the remaining oar,
and flies in the eyes of the Queen.
Their graves decorate the spine
on the east bank
they call Euthanasia,
each crucifix made of plasticine.

There's a discursive quality to the sea,
I can see the pearl fishermen,
the empty dancehall,
victims of latitude and eclipse.

I can see the tattered sleeves
of Edmund Fitzgerald and the pockets
of emptiness inside,
hoping to quell the hunger
of the cruelest month.

I can see an underwater country,
colonized by the unborn children
of pregnant African women
thrown off of slave ships
during the Middle Passage.

I can see myself sinking;
farewell my sorrow,
keeping precarious time
against a backdrop
of silence less and less;
its final sound being
that of seagulls
flying away into the distance
—a force of nature that’s
both solemn and inspirational
in equal parts.
~

Fear not, doubt's dark whispers,
embrace the testing ground.

We face the same old existential dreads -
the unexpected twist, the vague essay prompt.

Genial birdsong mocked our anxious morning
and squirrels still scampered unconcerned.

“You’re a beautiful bundle of stress,”
I assured Lisa this morning
as I handed her her water bottle.

The breeze stretches and cools the season
along the country road
variegated light, leaf-filtered
from trees that lean
in rivalry for my eager eyes.

Their foliaged arms dangle, then drop
an amber snowfall all around
as if to awaken me
to the autumn creep
into my bones that click and tick
with each tottery step.

Earth awakens me to the beauty
in this splendorous season
of the gliding swaying passage
of life in alteration
and spiritual invitation
to bathe in the slow current of creation
along this road
and its cool and bright possibilities.