Sunday, January 6, 2019

A Prophecy for the new Year/the sunday whirl -- poets united poets pantry

A Prophecy for the New Year

I cannot say what your eyes see
Yet, it is very important to me
You are my viewer, you see
You finish my paintings

You come into my studio
Your eyes slip over my paintings
As if they are invisible
You take from your pocket

A prophecy for the new year 
The text declares
Two more years of chaos
This is not what I wanted to hear

I would like to begin the new year
With a clean slate
But it seems 
We are up to our asses in alligators

I suppose we could beg the gods
And ask for a reprieve
But it seems the stars
Will have their way

So, without knowing
Exactly what is in store
We will get up each morning
And live each day as if it is the last

Drink a toast to life and
To all the ones 
We have known
And loved

January 6, 2019

Wordle 385:  text, eyes, slip, kicks, invisible, prophecy, pocketclean, barely, store, drink, beg  Note:  There were two words I did not use, I give myself permission.


brudberg said...

I think the frustrations of the current state is still building... wonder how long it takes before everyone will see that the emperor is naked...

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Two more years is unconscionable. The alligators are biting our asses, and still he remains in state, the mad king. I love, in your poem, that the viewer completes your paintings. What a cool idea.

Mary said...

I would like to begin this year with a clean slate as well, but it seems someone (!!) will not allow this. Two more years. I hope that is it. Sigh. With him there who knows what will happen. I do agree though that we have to rise up each day and LIVE that day as if it is our last. We never know when it will be.

Martha Julio Bogue Henryetta Rosenberg said...

very good.

C. Sandlin said...

This was an emotional read.

Toni Spencer said...

Yes. Let us toast the ones we lost and love. Let us start this year with hope.

Lona Gynt said...

Two more years... sigh, face palm. How did it happen. Living in the midst of an Alabama red state with most around me in a tribal dialing down mode... I fear the terrifying prospect it could be more than two years. This poem is so important! 💜

Sara McNulty said...

This poem subtly packs a punch. Best to toast ones lost and loved. Try hope on again.

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