Time is Deaf

My 2026 new year's poem

Every year, on New Year’s Eve or Day, I write a poem. Every year, I’m sure I don’t have another in me; the well is dry. But then a first line leaps out of the creative chaos I call my mind. And I jot the thought down on a scrap of paper or a new window on my computer screen, expecting to return to it later, when the day is quieter or the current task I’m tackling is finished.

Of course, that’s not what happens. The first line leads to the first stanza, to the next and the next. Then the nitpicking begins, carving away the dross, adding a bit of flesh here or there, redressing words or phrases, fighting rhythms and emotions. Hours later, the day’s tasks might not be completed, but the poem sits in front of me, something beyond me, that couldn’t possibly have come out of me, though it encompasses all that I feel or think or am at that moment. It’s often the only poem I publicly share that year

So, here it is, my welcome to 2026.