on january 1st midnight sharp
i thought i heard the voice of new year's harp
fireworks banging
champagne bottles clanking
a new story, a new life, a new chapter to begin
a new year, a new me is ready to come in
or so we all thought...

it came out of nowhere
it started in the east
all cities were flooded with peace
the west still living in utopia
not afraid of the soon to come phobia
fast forward to march - the last big gathering
all forced to stay home and work online
the green spiky ball slathering
the numbers are climbing, what do we do?
wear a mask, keep 1.5 meters distance, don't meet people
otherwise you'll get the new flu
wait, stop, don't drink bleach!
don't trust that blonde, orange-skinned peach!
listen to your doctor and nurses at the front
like a war without guns or tanks

The new year means nothing
Except loving you in new ways
✨🥂✨

As fireworks
kissed the stars,
may it bring
peace and love
to every
aching heart.

When lips have sunk the ships of yesteryear
Man can grasp the mast and pull out the fear
Casting an artful arm beyond the horizon
set down a new game in a new love’s garden.

They’ve done it so; whenever lost and known
As the hull bows to Davy Jones’ show
Let him have it. He only sings well for the dammed
And our light lingers beyond the darkest sands.

There is a lineage that flows
down the years,
when on the street you wish new people "all the best" cheers,
it happened before,
and will do again,
whether your steps are faint
or three score and ten.

It's a hum of the ancient,
a dropping of time,
an impromtu greeting
is totally fine;

the hold of wonder,
a hug from a space,

just for a moment

all

in one place.

The wan light might be tired
but it tries to shine

In this kind of darkness,
this is fine

Good morning.
Lean into the good,
even if a hangover fug
has you in its grasp,
breathe deep.

We still have grey days
to argue with, some tears,
til greenery ensues
when lost, hidden and new truths will return.

So make the morning good,
with toast and jam
or salt, fat and shenanigans.

And for your soul,
despite the impotent bitterness
of prevailing winds,
prop open the door a little.