Something's moving in,
I hear the weather in the wind,
sense the tension of a sheep-field
and the pilgrimage of fins.
Something's not the same,
I taste the sap and feel the grain,
hear the rolling of the rowan
ringing, singing in a change.
Something's set to start,
there's meadow-music in the dark
and the clouds that shroud the mountain
slowly, softly start to part.
New Year
Carol Ann Duffy
I drop the dying year behind me like a shawl
and let it fall. The urgent fireworks fling themselves
against the night, flowers of desire, love's fervency.
Out of the space around me, standing here, I shape
your absent body against mine. You touch me as the giving air.
Most far, most near, your arms are darkness, holding me,
so I lean back, lip-read the heavens talking on in light,
syllabic stars. I see, at last, they pray at us. Your breath
is midnight's, living, on my skin, across the miles between us,
fields and motorways and towns, the million lit-up little homes.
This love we have, grief in reverse, full rhyme, wrong place,
wrong time, sweet work for hands, the heart's vocation, flares
to guide the new year in, the days and nights far out upon the sky's
dark sea. Your mouth is snow now on my lips, cool, intimate, first kiss,
a vow. Time falls and falls through endless space, to when we are.
This was the year that was not the year
Brian Bilston
This was the year that was not the year
I repaired the bathroom tap
and emptied out the kitchen drawer
of a lifetime's worth of crap.
This was the year that was not the year
in which I launched a new career.
516 A West End hit eluded me
as did Time Person of the Year.
This was the year that was not the year
I became a household name.
Action figures were not sold of me.
I wasn't made a dame.
This was the year that was not the year
I spent less time on my phone.
Nights of passion did not happen
in boutique hotels in Rome.
This was the year that was the year
I didn't get that much done -
much the same as the year before,
much like the one to come.
