The Gregorian calendar tips into 2024 this week with all the typical fanfare, meanwhile Lunar New Year falls on the second new moon after the winter solstice (Saturday, Feb. 10, 2024). In Chinese astrology, we will be moving into the Year of the Dragon, fifth animal to cross the finish line in the Jade Emperor’s race. Traits of the dragon: good luck, perseverance, courage and wit. A dragon will face down any challenge with gusto. Additionally, each year is ascribed one of five elements, progressing from metal to water to wood to fire to earth and back to metal, with a masculine then feminine expression of each element. Therefore, we remain in the same element for two years at a time. On Feb. 10, we go from a yin (feminine) water year into a yang (masculine) wood year, signifying the patience and trust necessary for enduring growth.
Trashing Through the Snow
By Deborah Holt Williams
Trashing through the snow, in a noisy garbage truck,
The bins are hard to empty, with boxes good and stuck.
Crumpled wrapping paper, chunks of Styrofoam,
Packing peanuts everywhere blow home to home to home.
Oh, garbage truck! Garbage truck! After Christmas trash.
Dump it in the garbage truck and watch it mash and smash.
Garbage truck! Garbage truck! Haul it all away.
What looked so festive yesterday is now J-U-N-K.
Mounds of piled-up pines now clutter up the roads.
It makes the driving tough, collecting heaping loads.
The garbage man works hard, no time to rest or pause.
He wishes he had elves to help like good ol’ Santa Claus!
Oh, garbage truck! Garbage truck! After Christmas trash.
Dump it in the garbage truck and watch it mash and smash.
Garbage truck! Garbage truck! Haul it all away.
Shiny decorations now are just J-U-N-K.
Dried-up wreaths with bows, Lights that didn’t light,
Toys already broken, sweaters far too bright.
The garbage man is tired. He’s handled lots of stuff.
He wishes folks could see that they already have enough.
Oh, garbage truck! Garbage truck! After Christmas trash.
Dump it in the garbage truck and watch it mash and smash.
Garbage truck! Garbage truck! Haul it all away.
Lots of presents yesterday are now J-U-N-K.
The garbage man goes home, and hugs his kids and wife.
They eat and read together, a calm, uncluttered life.
He’s happy with his job, but wishes people knew
That things don’t bring you happiness, but times together do.
Oh, garbage truck! Garbage truck! After Christmas trash.
Dump it in the garbage truck and watch it mash and smash.
Garbage truck! Garbage truck! Watch it mush and mix.
Love won’t turn to garbage on December 26.
Untitled poem
By Adam Kreft Mercer
In early winter’s quiet embrace,
A lonely soul finds a solemn space.
Beneath the pale sky’s muted hue,
Frost-kissed whispers, echoes true.
Amidst the barren branches cold,
Loneliness weaves its tale, untold.
Like leaves that fled in autumn’s gale,
A heart in solitude sets its sail.
A single crow in the wintry sky,
Loneliness echoes its plaintive cry.
Fleeting shadows on the frosty ground,
Solitude’s embrace, profound.
Silent snowflakes softly descend,
A dance of solitude, a lonely trend.
Leaves, once vibrant, now decay,
Mourning deepens in the gray.
Yet, within the solitude’s cold art,
A resilience, a quiet, beating heart.
For in the hush of winter’s chill,
Loss finds its solace still.
Beneath the muted sky’s somber hue,
A figure wanders, whispers askew.
Barren branches, stark and cold,
Echoes of vanished stars, stories untold.
Amidst the fading autumn’s gloom,
A soul adrift in a quiet tomb.
Leaves, once vibrant, now decay,
Footprints of departed warmth, in the gray.
The crow’s solitary flight, a lament,
A winged sorrow, in shadows spent.
Footprints in frost, a path forlorn,
A heartache’s embrace, weary and worn.
Silent snowflakes descend with grace,
A poignant dance in open space.
World draped in sorrow’s heavy cloak,
A tapestry of memories, hearts provoke.
In the quiet where shadows weep,
A figure stands in grief so deep.
Branches reach in mournful trance,
A eulogy in nature’s mournful dance.
Yet, within the stillness, a tear,
Heartache, trapped in a frozen sphere.
How we mourne, a silent art,
Memories linger, never depart.