2023 New Year's Image Prompt

It has been a roller-coaster ride
This Slip stream mounted slide,
Oft' times we must partake and abide.

Out with the olden days,
Let us come out of this haze
with a well turned phrase...

On the appointed hour, raise
your voices and glasses in praise,
As we promise new ways in coming days.

We shall seek each others smiles,
repair to embrace a while
enjoying the others styles.

Let there be lilting mirth,
raise your voices high
on the eve of our rebirth!

3am came late again,
my tongue feels like a root.
I thought about our summers past
of youth, now lost and destitute.

A glass of water woke my teeth.
My vocal cords were freed.
There grew three words from blossomed lips
"I miss you" fell like sterile seeds...

From cloudy thoughts dripped salted rain
my slippers shuffled through.
Yes, 3am came late again
when I remember you...

Kiss all your friends
Give names to the inanimate
I’m telling you when the weeds start growing from your head again
You’ll remember your vow to never regret it

You stand before me in your garden, digging dirt to lay your tulip seeds beneath
Prancing around me as you scatter them fruitlessly
I almost want to flee
Until I watch as you hurtle to the ground rolling in the fresh soil
Giggling like the child you wish you could have been
I decide to join you

I ripped my heart from my chest
and it turned to ash in my hand.

Still standing,
still breathing,
I watched as the wind blew it away.

I'm damned to this earth,
forever.

Heartless, cold, worthless excuse for a human.
If I am even that anymore.

The warm golden shower
glow from above felt like a
melting whirlpool of
Chocolate in a hulking mug

Butter golden spears of light
Cupid arrows of toasted love

Crimson sunlight, through windows at six

Inspires ideas, please let my future be bright

Music on; showered; dressed, and news channel one

No excessive spate: a sprightly daily fix

The hope to cope, with life is helped

By music and people; food, daydreams and wine

Birds when they sing: no need for a clock

Planning a meal – fried duck in a wok

Soup of the day, on the day I get paid

Reading, writing, ambitious plans to be made

Looking up at the sky, awaiting the stars

I’m thankful for life, knowing I’ll die

Nicotine yellow tin ceilings
dark cupboards, blue-white table top
I see them now, in my dreams
with the love that never stopped

Gran's kitchen shared with aunt Kitty
The smell of something sweet
swing music from the radio
the gentle tapping of her feet

My world was there, heart of the house
or in the dry grass of the yard
I have lunch on the porch with my sissy
she falls asleep; from playing too hard

Write, write, write!
The glitch is vanquished

The golden roman shaped shield
like a disc above glinting
Like a polished coin Punching the

Sky waking it up. The Feathered
snipered hungry cadaver eyes circling
Watching as I look above. crys of

Starvation. Below the scorching
Powdered biscuit Devils sauna pit

The air as dry as dust
My body already claimed
signed my soul over

To hell and to gold sprinkled dust

Long black train moves silently
alòng its eñdless track
Up there in the distance
someone stands upon its track
With a thrill thè rush
of silver wheeĺs mòves
quickly down the its path
Acknowledging thièr presence
no time left to react.

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