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April 2014, vol 10, no 1

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Ken Jones

Happy New Year


New year
a pale light
ebbing into darkness

My eighty-fourth year, in my terminal decade, has so far failed to show its hand. It is still crouched in winter.

Waves pound the sea wall
pelting with pebbles
the Christmas lights

The greetings cards have all been taken down, exposing us to the unknown. Only a skeletal turkey now remains. Its arrival had, anyway, evoked mixed feelings.

Our festive turkey
how pitiful
its nakedness

We make gestures of bravado, to defy whatever fates lie in wait for us. On our New Year’s Day walk we splash whooping across a swollen stream that bars our path. Our boots fill with new year chill. I update my twenty-year old address book, and buy more “snowpak” for future shrouds. So many old friends among the deleted dead.

Fireside rocking chair, but through the window –

On my old car’s muddy flanks
the fleeting gleam
of a new year sun




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