Kale salad
King of Greens: Fresh kale salad
December 28, 2017

The year 2017 becomes 2018

Sunset over Bar in 2017 on its way to 2018

The year 2017, as observed in the rear view

Another twelve months have now risen and fallen
Four seasons of weather and feathers and pollen
We searched and we pondered and wandered afar
But who would’ve guessed that we’d wind up in Bar?

Perched upon high among great mountain ranges
A spectacle too: we’re the strangest of strangers
I seek out the meaning of structures around us
The peaks and the canyons that daily astound us

A boundless horizon laid out for my eye
And rubbing up shoulders with old Father Sky
In summer the Sun will return with its fury
Till then we’ll enjoy every winter white flurry

With Catalan gusto we throttled our log
We now look ahead to the Year of the Dog
Consider the canine: companion to Man
Play fetch with the future and catch as catch can

The story unravels, and just like they said
The robots and Bitcoins are surging ahead
The economy’s changing, the bill has been signed
With less than twelve digits, you’re falling behind

Autonomous cars and R2-D2
So the truck driver’s screwed, and guess what, #MeToo
Under and Uber and self driving rides
Just one thing is certain: the Droid abides

Now Boomers want assets, served up on a platter
Soon they’ll be chanting that Grey Lives still Matter
While Hipsters rise up against wage inequality
Waving thousand dollar smart phones unaware of the comedy

Elsewhere in science the progress is blinding
Just look into space, all the planets they’re finding
Will this be the year that they contact our world?
Or have too many alien insults been hurled?

In vain I still search to flesh out my Persona
In Spain close to France just above Barcelona
Where the natives are restless, demanding their say
Yet the spirit of Franco looms large to this day

And some days are warmer and some days are colder
And every day makes us another day older
And every child undergoes blessings and losses
For Fortune is fickle consigning her crosses

But next year bodes kindly with prodigal gifts
Expect some surprises and unlikely shifts
Twenty eighteen, what a treat to unwrap
As the Keeper of Time rises up from his nap

Fred Hornaday once considered writing poetry for a living, but then thought better of it. Contact him with your questions and comments at hornadaytoday@gmail.com.

1 Comment

  1. Gayle Leaf says:

    Enjoyed the poetry very much. Thank you again for sharing.

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