New Year's Eve Weekend

A soft parade

ghosts of auld langs syne

Sweet meats and spicy

victuals

Spirits and figments

of Yuletude imaginings

Saturday

a Visit to

Mountain View

Cemetery

So lovely

so lonely

when the air is crisp

Really a glorious landscape

more celebratory

than mournful

in the eyes of many

who come here

Pseudo-psychedelic

dyed flowers

To decorate

the gaping void

Nothing more

color expansive

than a leaf

Strange sad things

a child's grave

decked with toys

for Xmas

Timeless things

a winter stronghold

for a murder of crows

Xmas cheer

for 95 year old grandma

filing cabinet drawer

of cremains

Red and green

predominate in

Thanatopolis

How fair and green

goes the rainy scene

a pleasure to be here

My soul's recurrent 

psychedelia

Maybe some day we'll rise

up from the tomb

Abandon

this artificial paradise

and go home

30 January 2017

Actual New Year's Eve

afternoon and

I'm on the town already

Expressionistic

 brick wall

On the last day of the year

Little boy blue

brave innocent

stands for the New Year

Old white grandpa

retiring to a bench

like the passing year

A lot of anxiety

along the fraught streets

near me

Did you know that the Potomac

was once scuttled (sunk)

and then was refloated,

like it be a symbol

of this Democracy

The donkey is ailing

Today I've refloated myself

over the Grand Avenue

Home to this stately redwood

which I notice regularly

It's a bustling trendy street

Some things trend

in regrettable directions

You heard,

 Boot and Shoe Service?

I think one should

get out the finery

on New Year's Eve

I've gone a tad Tartan

perhaps a Taddy Porter,

or a chewy McKewan's

Scotch ale?

By all means

wear whatever you think

looks cool

And it ain't no sin

to take of your skin

and dance around in your bones

I need a final secret ingredient

for my holiday victuals

so I'm come by the

hectic supermarket

Then continued a few blocks

over to the Morcam rose garden

a dearly-held respite

An enchanting grove

of adolescent Redwoods

Writhing oaks

not red creature on upper limb

a red squirrel perchance

O Rose of the world

we last but a short time

in our glory

Forget balloon drops

and confetti,

The sky at sunset is

enough celebration for me

The explosions

will commence

round about midnight

But first the clouds

become as roses

in front of my eyes

31 January 2017