Tom Simard

Poetry, Music, and Prose

The New Year

The New Year
In that spacious house
near where the gangster dwelled,
America’s most wanted in
a Fedora hat,
the two of you sat,
the new year having earlier been ushered in
elsewhere,
and from your treasure chest
you both took a few,
and with the music
already soothing
the resolutions sworn off,
you watched the wind
blow snow about
the frozen lake.

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4 thoughts on “The New Year

  1. My sister lives in a spacious house where a gangster dwelled. No joke.
    Tom, I have to admit, often I don’t understand poetry. Probably because I’m too literal. But those first two lines struck me. How do you know my sister?

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    • It’s a small world. :-)

      Nothing wrong about being too literal – I think I am, too. I think most of my poetry is pretty literal as well. This is actually a true event. My cousins lived in a house on a lake just up the street where John Dillinger once dwelled.

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  2. Like the first commenter, I tend to be more literal, and I sometimes struggle with poetry as a result (must be that left-brain predominance). But I enjoy the way the words trickle through my brain like this does: “you watched the wind blow snow about the frozen lake.” :)

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