Paulelmo's Blog

With What We Have (The only New Year’s poem I have, which was written back when I still knew everything)

With What We Have

 

In a perfect world we realize

That every moment begins a new year,

Rather than choosing

one moment out of each solar cycle.

 

In a perfect world every day is Rosh Hosanna,

That Jewish Day of Atonement when we are asked

To look back 365 days, before we are asked

To look an equal distance into the future

And to project positive into the latter

From knowledge gained in the former.

 

In a perfect world we understand

that seconds are seconds

And that time is a broken notion

Constructed by humanity.

 

In a perfect world every day is the right day to resolve

To be more than we have been,

If any day is the right day to resolve

To be more than we have been.

 

In a perfect world we see the pin light of positive

That shines from the center of the mass of negative,

Focussing on this light,

Settling into a chair,

Allowing our shoulders to relax

Down and into our centers,

Folding our vision upon itself

to double the size of this light,

folding it again

to double the size of this light,

repeating the process enough times

to totally remove the mass from our sights,

and perfecting the habit until our eyes

don’t know how to register sight

of the masses when we see them.

In a perfect world we always note

that there is someone somewhere

who would give anything to swap positions with us;

that there is someone somewhere

who would look at all we view as wrong

or tough or barely bearable in our lives

and say, “Yeah, I could handle that;

it sure is better than what I got going;”

someone who is maneuvered by socialized

ignorance and narrow-sightedness

that they can’t understand that what they’ve got

is theirs, that they will get no more,

that they might as well set about to making do.

 

In a perfect world art would never have to be anything

But a celebration of beauty.

 

In a perfect world my pen would get some rest.

For that alone, I’m glad the world’s not perfect.

 

1 January 2002

 

Like many of my older poems, this isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Still, it ain’t great. There is some merit here, though, and I hope it can be of value to someone.

Be well. I pray that 2018 is all you hope it will be. Love.

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