The old year hobbles to a close
like a wrinkled, wise old crone
with a pocketful of secrets.
The new year dawns,
as fresh and pink as a young maiden,
the crone handing her those secrets
and pointing a gnarled finger
down the Path of Tomorrow.
Her head is heavy with remembering,
her ears full of the cries of wild creatures,
singing songs of lost habitat,
and floods, and fire.
But wait! Through the forest comes a message
from a young dreamer, a seer with eyes of truth:
"Change is coming,
whether you like it or not."
(Yes, whether by legislation or cataclysm,
Change will come.
And the young, brave-hearted, are rising.)
The old year has passed wearily into the new,
which straightens its shoulders
in readiness to face
whatever comes.
Trees and waves and shore
eternally sing their songs of beauty,
of hope, of Tomorrow.
The Crone of 2025 feels her heart lift
in response. She takes up her drum
and begins to sing.
It is hard to write a hopeful poem right now. I picked this one, written in 2019, and changed the date, because I am feeling very much like a tired old crone these days.
Let us hope the vision can manifest into a positive time of change. Always ready to take up my drum and sing. Hope keeps the dream alive.
ReplyDeleteSix years on, the wild creatures are still singing on lost habitat and floods and fire... with the Paris Climate Agreement almost nullified now, it is really is hard to hope...
ReplyDeleteI like the message of the dreamer. Hopefully the brave-hearted are rising again. It is time...it is time!
ReplyDeleteI am glad you still have the power to sing and guide us through your words - Jae
ReplyDeleteI agree, it is hard to write a hopeful poem right now; all we can do is try. There’s nothing wrong with being tired old crones, just as long as we keep singing. I love the contrast of the wise old crone and the young maiden, especially ‘the crone handing her those secrets / and pointing a gnarled finger / down the Path of Tomorrow’.
ReplyDelete"a young dreamer, a seer with eyes of truth" I have seen her, many youth not yet organized, but there and on the march and in the towns and on the farms. I am glad the old crone sets the tone here, but is willing to change and to anticipate the joy that may yet come. Your poems, Sherry! Scatter them far and wide. They inspire; they show people where to look to regain a full heart.
ReplyDeleteI threatened my son that I would give my granddaughter a drum for Christmas. I didn't though.
ReplyDeleteThere is hope Sherry in the fact that we can commiserate with each other, share our pain and pleasure, be understood. We poets are lucky little duckies. We have each other.
ReplyDeleteI especially love the image of trees, waves and shore singing their songs of beauty. In my mind, I could see them all waving and that is "music" to my ears (my mind!).
ReplyDeleteI like the fairy tale imagery and that the older woman gains hope from the younger.
ReplyDeleteOh, those beautiful bits of hope are such gifts. It helps us believe in new beginnings. Beautiful writing Sherry.
ReplyDeleteI love this ballad of hope. Yes, I feel it rising too. ❤
ReplyDeleteMy son is interning for a senator this school term in DC and was able to attend Booker's filibuster yesterday for a while. There are young people dedicated to democracy, Sherry, despite all the bad news. While we can't ignore the criminals, we also can choose to continue fighting the good fight and not let their base actions determine how we continue to appreciate this ephemeral world.
ReplyDeleteoh this poem sings I love the dreamers and want to believe that change is coming
ReplyDelete"Trees and waves and shore
ReplyDeleteeternally sing their songs of beauty,
of hope, of Tomorrow."
This is the true earth spirit; always leaning on hope. Love this beautiful poem Sherry.