The end of the old,

the beginning of the new –

what is up for you?

~

Elevated ire

on the closing of the year

breeds a rage a wise man fears.

There is no justice

when pain rears it’s ugly head

in this season of joy.

~

Justice there may not

be, but love abides and drugs

remain to remove the pain

A cathartic meal,

sharing of dyspeptic pasts

tempered by a fine repast.

~

Good food combined with

honest talk can make what was 

hard easier to digest.

The way that youngster

disregarded Trump’s Santa

question shows Congress a path.

~

 From the mouths of babes

springs forth the withering truth

old grey men fear to utter.

Family gathers –

what happens next? – your guess

is as good as mine.

~

Merriment ensues

punctuated by bloodshed

and alternative carols?

When the packaging

costs more than the gift, we must

be in Trump’s America

~

When the poetry

is less engaging than the

title – Mondo Sedoka.

How can we find time

in this chaotic life to

Wish you Happy Holidays?

~

And yet, in your own

style, in the midst of it all,

you found a poetic way.

~

When agreement and

praise come knocking, can you guess

who is opening the door?

~

Whoever’s knocking

with sycophantic fawning

won’t likely find who they want.

Someone is to blame!

Naturally, of course, we bear

no responsibility!

~

The world we know would

 be irrevocably changed

 were it to be otherwise.

How can they begin

to make America great 

again? Start by not lying?

~

Maybe recognize

that America’s greatness

remains, despite their efforts?

Waiting three hours

to see the bloody doctor!

At least he gave us good news.

~

At the end of three

hours your glass was emptied.

Glad it was refilled.

Knock, knock, who isn’t

there? My fellow poet, please

come near. I won’t bite.

~ 

You may not bite me,

but the same can not be said

of my car’s knock, knock, noshing!

If we play, rainy

days can lift us up instead

of getting us down.

~

Glorious summer

rains are made for outdoor play;

winter rains for indoor games.

As the snow slowly

loses its pristine, white sheen,

is there something to be gleaned?

~

As with everything,

purity loses luster

the longer it a-lingers.

The birds are very 

clear: ” Go to the store. Look. Buy

some birdfeed. Winter draws near.”

~

Bird’s all a Twitter,

demanding we meet its needs;

hungering for attention.

Hercules labored.

Conspicuously absent

was shoveling snow.

~

Or all the mundane

daily tasks that those who care

do regularly.

We are skidding on

thin ice literally and

figuratively.

~

Skidding and skating,

even on the thinnest ice,

sure beats falling through.

Drawing a deep breath

opens up many options

beyond those deafening screams.

~

A good response to

tweets from individual

referred to as # 1.

Just a reminder.

Seventy-six years ago,

your awesome mother was born.

~

How many more ’til

she begins to acquire

a patina of wisdom?

Our first scattering

of snow, pretty, but to all

kids’ dismay, it will not stay.

~

A fleeting dusting

to be sure, but winter’s young.

I’m trusting more is coming.

All our denial

can’t suppress the growing dread

borne upon this shifting breeze.

~

When hope grows grounded

roots of will and willingness,

we withstand such breeze borne dread.

The weather’s become

a quick-change artist and has

left us to quickly adapt.

~

But adaptation,

an evolutionary

process, is not a quick change!

Even though we know

better, we still succumb to

anger’s bitter tongue.

~

Some vomit anger,

others cultivate drama;

neither solves any problem.

Why must folk complain

about all they do not like

yet take no action for change?

~

Why pay full price when

talk is cheap, action costs, and

those armchairs beckon?