Old Year

December 28, 2012 at 6:51 pm (history, humour, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , )

Old Year rolls towards the edge:

all but cliff-tipped and crown-cropped,

he grizzles over sticky mince pies

and thrice cooked turkey,

downs a last guzzle of mulled liquor

and stuffs his pockets with fruit cake.


He will have none of party preparation –

“like celebrating my own execution”.

Instead, he catches up on old TV

plays Cluedo with the kids, who call him Mr Black,

and packs for emergencies:

no-one knows how it will happen this time.


Still,  warm gloves, tin of family biscuits,

and swimming goggles,

he’s ready to put his legs in one elastic

and catapult himself  into the next place.

If it turns out less than nice,

chances are, he won’t be there for long:

Years generally quit before outstaying their welcome.



  1. onlyfragments said,

    He will have none of party preparation –

    “like celebrating my own execution”.

    ^ I LOVE those lines!

  2. nobodysreadingme said,

    This really infuriated me at first. It did, seriously.
    Then the tin of family biscuits just got me
    So now I like this. Well done

  3. erakanksha said,

    A nice way of bidding Goodbye 2 the ending year…
    Wish you & yours a Happy New Year ahead..!!

  4. unfetteredbs said,

    I think we can all relate to this.. brilliant painting here Julia 🙂 and I wish I had a quirky fellow like Duncan visiting me at the library

  5. Russ L said,

    Nicely done! Happy New Year!

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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