“New Year’s Day”

c.2021 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-21)

Sitting with my SoCo glass

Peering deep into the crevasse

Opened by a Voltaire verse

A sly post for better or worse

A social media outlier

While I sit by my faux fire

Whipping the wire

Dog on the rug

Hand on the little brown jug

Mind on the matter of a year gone past

In praise of the outcast

Coronavirus

Government trust

Fool falling into the New Year

Toil and tears

Miscast, nonplussed

I feel sorry for us

Under a blunderbuss

Tarnish and rust

Who can I trust?

As the hands swing clockwise

I feel alright

The year change is near

Switch from an old cow to a new steer

Wrecked the rest

Passed the test

I puff out my chest

This is the repeat of a heartbeat

Spat out, complete

Who dares to cheat?

The fool lost in retreat

I give

A dice-roll down the rabbit hole

Look out below

Pork and kraut in the slow cooker

It’s what I prefer

When the cry of a newborn baby is heard

Bird is the word

‘Match Game’ reruns

Reverend X visions

First day of the year

Last page of the calendar disappears 

Looking forward to college football

And beverage alcohol

Trying not to fall

On ice at the front door

Winter weather

Zip up my leather

Sitting in snow

When my dog has to go

Listening to ‘Abbey Road’

On my iPhone

Heart filled with hope

Tight with the backbeat

Black Lab in the street

God help the weary

I’m a fan of MacDonald Carey

‘Lock Up’

Let me sup

Then take this cup

Off the rails I go

Into a year, refreshed

A second chance, a safety net

Where lessons learned

Cause us to turn

Toward the sunset

An end of day respite

While Mother Earth is drowning in shit

‘Maggot Brain’

And me with my canes

Far from the walk of fame

At the typewriter keyboard

Evolving rhymes about days of yore

Tipsy tales, heretofore

Ignored

The marching weeks

That led to soothsayers and circus freaks

Giving God a tweak

The idea of an eternal self

Opposed to a darker realm

Tortoise peeks from his shell

At where I fell

Fleeing a heavenly being

Humbled

Hobbled

Hoary

Hunting

For a clue from Apostle Bartholomew

A word to part the veil

Before New Year’s Day

Tips the scales

January

In you, I see

A roller-skate key

A wry wrinkle

Of Rip Van Winkle

Waking to find the old year far behind

Out of mind

Across the line

Swirled and spat out

Like a mouthful of wine

Watched the clock strike midnight

And I was still upright

Hand on the remote control

Eyes on the scroll

Filled with text delights

Written by the firelight

This primal day is done

The first of many to come

So I bow in reflection

Give thanks for life

To all, “Good Night!”

Written on my iPhone SE