This year is next year’s
The year that was,
Bookended by
The cut of ice.
The crystalline
Days draw blood
As they pass through us.
Like last year,
Tragedies disseminate
Myth and history.
Just as dark-eyed prophesy
Apprehends those who hide,
The dry pain of loss
Surprises us, again.
Astounding, too,
Is the birth of
Flowers in the public
Garden (rosebuds, tulip
Bulbs, truth on their
Newborn faces as
Clear as that on
The newly dead).
We envy summer,
Which belongs
Only to itself.
But now is the happiest
Moment ever–
A memory soon hoarded
Among the cooling embers,
Sorted by the eventualities
That override it,
Smothered by the weight of
Planning to be without.
We promise
The fire next time,
Or do we?
A half-remembered
Cloud of hot breath
Fades against
A cold sky.
Leaves float on the wind
(Yellow, red).
Ice cuts the air and
The old becomes the new
Becomes the trend becomes
The trite becomes the
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2012
Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World 
Comments on: "The (a poem)" (13)
Wow! Loved this . . . I drifted off into the land of your words . . .
Beautifully crafted!
This is a beautiful, rich and complex poem. LOVED IT!!!
Martha, Coco, thank you so much for your comments. I’m glad you enjoyed the poem.
I have to wonder sometime when we will finally come to say, “The world as we knew it.”
Or will it always be just the cycle of birth, death, rebirth?
“We envy summer,
Which belongs
Only to itself…”
This and so many other lines are powerful. Just plain powerful! Ineffable!
Time: does it really change or just recycle? This is a lovely commentary on time, its disguised changes that are actually an ongoing quality of humanity. Loved this.
Debra, Myrna, thank you! Your comments are much appreciated.
You already know how I feel about this one, and your poetry in general, but I had to leave my virtual stamp here.. in public. Thanks for you advice, maybe if I take one style of poetry at a time I might not be so overwhelmed. I do love the sparseness of it.. writing verse helps me with my fiction, and my editing. Thanks Adriene.
Hugs, Brenda, thank you. Also, just have fun with it. That’s the most important part of it all! ❤
My husband and I both agreed your poem is beautiful! I look forward to reading more!
Thanks for sharing my poem! I’m glad you both enjoyed it!
“The dry pain of loss
Surprises us, again.
Astounding, too,
Is the birth of
Flowers . . . ”
And so we go on, reform or not, promise or not, endlessly?
The end will be abrupt, neither a bang nor a whimper.
Scarey.
[…] D. Joyce presents The (a poem) posted at Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World. For me, this poem captures the essence of time […]
I still love this! I hope it continues to disseminate its truth.
ANd I picked the same lines:
Astounding, too,
Is the birth of
Flowers in the public
Garden (rosebuds, tulip
Bulbs, truth on their
Newborn faces as
Clear as that on
The newly dead).
Now I have one (and more) to offer, in a kind of dialogue.