Poems

The First Pickup of the New Year

The First Pickup of the New Year Poem

New Year Poem
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The First Pickup of the New Year Lyrics, New Years Day is a special day, A year has gone and a new fresh year is starting with song and dance. It is said, and rightly so, that each new year gives one 12 new chapters and 365 more chances. “Tomorrow is the first blank page of a 365 page book. Write a good one.” – Brad Paisley. This quote is extremely meaningful for the new year. Stepping inThe First Pickup of the New Year, one must also be thankful for all the people who are a part of life.

Family and friends constitute an important part of our lives and having them by our side is a true blessings. However, apart from friends and family, someone who is a huge part of one’s lives are our life partners. They are the people who stand by us through thick and thin and shower us with love and care, sometimes unconditionally.

Forgive the people who may have hurt you, let go of some people and start 2019 on a bright and fresh note as there should be no room for hate in the new year. Also, remember to pamper yourself in 2019 with a new hobby or a solo trip or a spa session. Remember to make a new year resolution because what’s the fun of celebrating new year if there are no resolutions – some to keep and some to break by mid-January, right?

The First Pickup of the New Year

(the way bed is in winter, like an aproned lap,
like bushy mittens,
like adolescence crouching below tables)
The 9th Day of yuletide, within the morning black
out of doors our window: clattering cans, the whir
of a hopper, shouts, a whistle, move on …
I see them in my warm creativeness
the way I’ll see them later within the cold,
heaving the big cans and running
(strolling!) to the following residence on the street.
My vestiges of muscle stir
uneasily of their percale cocoon:
what movements those guys accessible, what
drives them going for walks to the next house and the subsequent?
midway back to dream, I speculate:
The Social Weal? “permit’s make accurate vintage
Bloomington a purifier region
to live in—proper, men? Hup, tha!”
healthful opposition? “Come on, boys,
allow’s burn up that path nowadays and beat the ones dudes
on truck 13!”
Enlightened Self-interest? “every other can,
another dollar—don’t slow down, Mac, I’m puttin’
3 children thru Princeton?”
Or something else?
Terror?
A half of hour later, sunrise comes edging over
Clark avenue: layers of coloration, laid out like
a flattened rainbow—red, then yellow, green,
and over that the black-and-blue of night time
nonetheless placing on. Clark avenue maples wave
their silhouettes against the pink, and thru
the twiggy trees, I see a stable chew
of rubbish truck, and stick-figures of fellows,
like windup toys, tossing little cans—
and running.
All day they’ll move like that, till dark once more,
and all day, humans fussing at their desks,
at warm stoves, at machines, will jettison
tin cans, bare evergreens, damp Kleenex, all
things which can be Caesar’s.
O garbage guys,
the brand new year greets you want the vintage;
after this primary run you too may also rest
in beds like brilliant warm aproned laps
and realize that humans anywhere believe:
placing from them all things of this world,
they expectantly bide your 2nd coming.

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