#newyearsday - Hello Poetry

"New year, new me," a mantra whispered into the dark, as if the stroke of midnight can wipe clean the etchings of who we were at 11:59. We wear the weight of traditions like party hats— countdowns, clinking glasses, resolutions scrawled on napkins, as though promises made in the haze of champagne carry more truth. At midnight, the world holds its breath, waiting for the shift, for time to absolve us. But the seconds press on, steady, indifferent, while we convince ourselves that this time it will be different. Tomorrow, the confetti will settle. The mirror will reflect the same face. Yet somewhere in the flicker of a sparkler, or the echo of laughter, is the hope that pretending might someday make it real.

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Jul 6, 2025

Jul 6, 2025 at 4:02 AM UTC

MatthewDepew

Happy New Year

"New year, new me," a mantra whispered into the dark, as if the stroke of midnight can wipe clean the etchings of who we were at 11:59. We wear the weight of traditions like party hats— countdowns, clinking glasses, resolutions scrawled on napkins, as though promises made in the haze of champagne carry more truth. At midnight, the world holds its breath, waiting for the shift, for time to absolve us. But the seconds press on, steady, indifferent, while we convince ourselves that this time it will be different. Tomorrow, the confetti will settle. The mirror will reflect the same face. Yet somewhere in the flicker of a sparkler, or the echo of laughter, is the hope that pretending might someday make it real.

24

Playground duty, for my sins. I catch you clawing at soil, your small fingers tasting the earth. You hand me a stone you found in the muck and tell me to keep it because it’s special it will keep me safe. I can’t remember the last time I received such a thoughtful gift.

0

Jan 1, 2023

Jan 1, 2023 at 9:59 AM UTC

JadeLW

Giving

Playground duty, for my sins. I catch you clawing at soil, your small fingers tasting the earth. You hand me a stone you found in the muck and tell me to keep it because it’s special it will keep me safe. I can’t remember the last time I received such a thoughtful gift.

9

Lists are what keep me whole all year round. A jar full of happiness, chalk board of errands and phone notes, reminding me I need bleach. In 2022, what will I keep? What gets discarded, what shall I burn? No, actually let’s stick with discard. I’ve always been afraid of fire; I’m a water sign. Keep: Humour, for sanity A helping hand, good karma Animals and plenty of them Mum, my arch and armour Hope Tea Books in the bath The friends who ask me how I am when I’ve forgotten to ask myself. Discard: Quite possibly, everything else. Or, realistically, maybe the lies. Just the ones about my feelings.

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Jan 1, 2022

Jan 1, 2022 at 5:11 AM UTC

JadeLW

Calendar

Lists are what keep me whole all year round. A jar full of happiness, chalk board of errands and phone notes, reminding me I need bleach. In 2022, what will I keep? What gets discarded, what shall I burn? No, actually let’s stick with discard. I’ve always been afraid of fire; I’m a water sign. Keep: Humour, for sanity A helping hand, good karma Animals and plenty of them Mum, my arch and armour Hope Tea Books in the bath The friends who ask me how I am when I’ve forgotten to ask myself. Discard: Quite possibly, everything else. Or, realistically, maybe the lies. Just the ones about my feelings.

23

This is not the world as I knew it And yet it’s all I know

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Jan 18, 2020

Jan 18, 2020 at 2:26 PM UTC

moonlightandclouds

This

This is not the world as I knew it And yet it’s all I know

2

Teresa!?! ~Tanner! Terribly Tardy? Ticktock ;) ~Time? T-minus 10 - - - - - - - 2 - 12:00am! ~2020!!! 2020!!! Tequila Toast! ~Tequilla Toast— To 2020!!! To 2020!!! ~Terviseks! Terviseks! ~Tasty :) Tequilla Tesoro ~Tesoro? Translated "Treasure" ~Tasty Treasure ;) Top-notch! ~Tip-top! (tender touch...) ~Terrific Timing :) Terrific Time... ~Totally Thoughts? ~Tired Terrible Timing :( ~Terribly Tuckered. Together Tonight? ~Together Tomorrow? Together Today! 12:00pm :) ~That's True! Today, 12:00pm :) Terrific! ~Till Then— Tootles! © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

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Jan 18, 2020

Jan 18, 2020 at 12:58 PM UTC

poetry2go

Terrible Timing

Teresa!?! ~Tanner! Terribly Tardy? Ticktock ;) ~Time? T-minus 10 - - - - - - - 2 - 12:00am! ~2020!!! 2020!!! Tequila Toast! ~Tequilla Toast— To 2020!!! To 2020!!! ~Terviseks! Terviseks! ~Tasty :) Tequilla Tesoro ~Tesoro? Translated "Treasure" ~Tasty Treasure ;) Top-notch! ~Tip-top! (tender touch...) ~Terrific Timing :) Terrific Time... ~Totally Thoughts? ~Tired Terrible Timing :( ~Terribly Tuckered. Together Tonight? ~Together Tomorrow? Together Today! 12:00pm :) ~That's True! Today, 12:00pm :) Terrific! ~Till Then— Tootles! © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

69

we were like water filled balloons, dropping from high buildings in the nights december. it was safe to say january leave a good impression but luckily for us, we haven’t seen it since. december, please give me your shoulder. thirty-one/twelve came, and we were waiting for the ball to drop,  and we were waiting for the ***** to drop,  and for boys to become men and for someone to grab our hands and for wrongs to become rights  and for the windows to be opened, for the fresh air to find us amidst the suffocating smoke and mistakes that clogged up our lungs so we couldn’t laugh how we used to. three, two, one: deafening screams, fifty-eight people with two hands on two cheeks with two eyes closed and two lips on two others, and where were we? the fifty-nine and sixty were on the roof of the apartment building, staring at the stars, wondering which one was going to die next. you and I, we were like bin bags overflowing with waste in the kitchen with broken glass. our material was stretching so it was thin and grew clearer with the more waste it took and just like that, one/twelve was here. so I put my two hands on your two shoulders with my two eyes wide open and shook you until your eyes rolled back and your hair was a mess and your ears were burning; and we were waiting for things to make sense, and we were still waiting for the ***** to drop and for men to grow up, and for someone to grab our hands, for those wrongs to feel right for the door to be closed and for the fireplace to burn our troubles away so we could laugh like we used to. by twenty-three/four, we had made our mistakes into those falling stars instead of ourselves, and our memories part of the full moonlight, and on the thirty-first of each month, we’d remember the times where we were like water filled balloons, bin bags, overflowing with waste and emotional baggage, dropping, from high buildings in the nights of december.

0

Sep 19, 2018

Sep 19, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC

mj-dw28

balloon buildings

we were like water filled balloons, dropping from high buildings in the nights december. it was safe to say january leave a good impression but luckily for us, we haven’t seen it since. december, please give me your shoulder. thirty-one/twelve came, and we were waiting for the ball to drop,  and we were waiting for the ***** to drop,  and for boys to become men and for someone to grab our hands and for wrongs to become rights  and for the windows to be opened, for the fresh air to find us amidst the suffocating smoke and mistakes that clogged up our lungs so we couldn’t laugh how we used to. three, two, one: deafening screams, fifty-eight people with two hands on two cheeks with two eyes closed and two lips on two others, and where were we? the fifty-nine and sixty were on the roof of the apartment building, staring at the stars, wondering which one was going to die next. you and I, we were like bin bags overflowing with waste in the kitchen with broken glass. our material was stretching so it was thin and grew clearer with the more waste it took and just like that, one/twelve was here. so I put my two hands on your two shoulders with my two eyes wide open and shook you until your eyes rolled back and your hair was a mess and your ears were burning; and we were waiting for things to make sense, and we were still waiting for the ***** to drop and for men to grow up, and for someone to grab our hands, for those wrongs to feel right for the door to be closed and for the fireplace to burn our troubles away so we could laugh like we used to. by twenty-three/four, we had made our mistakes into those falling stars instead of ourselves, and our memories part of the full moonlight, and on the thirty-first of each month, we’d remember the times where we were like water filled balloons, bin bags, overflowing with waste and emotional baggage, dropping, from high buildings in the nights of december.

99