Happy New Year 2021

After a year where nothing has been certain, we are embarking on a new year filled with hopes and uncertainties. We would like to share with you this poem from Bruce Meyer’s 1967:Centennial Year collection. It is a poem that encompasses all the dreams of a great year that were dashed, but it offers hope in spite of this. We offer this to you in the hopes that this year will be better than the last, and that the dreams that were set aside will be a little more reachable this year.

From our family to yours, Happy New Year.

The End and the Beginning, Forever and Ever

The one great year ended.
Fireworks were over too soon.
I lay in my single bed.
We hadn’t touched the moon.

Tried and failed. A skyrocket
burst amiss having flown
off course to the parking lot.
It hadn’t touched the moon.

Fact: they told us cars will fly.
Dinner will be pills on a spoon.
Life will amaze us. So why
haven’t we touched the moon?

In the space age, our history
burst like a child’s balloon.
The past is the first thing to die.
Who wants to touch the moon?

We set our prints in cement;
someday our feet on the moon.
The silver geese were spent,
each one shone like the moon.

We are not as great as we seem.
Our glories strike an odd tune
and celebrations become a dream.
How far can it be to the moon?

Time, if you are merciful,
or just merely kind, consume
my fears, and fill me full
of wonders. Give me the moon.

Future: are you still out there?
Are you listening? In my room
second hand light is everywhere
but it is not from my moon.

Hyperbole always sells.
Backwoods voyagers, plume-
hatted nitwit nobles –
is that the path to the moon?

The cottage echoed with snores
before sunrise on a foggy dawn.
My aunts were drifting to far shores.
A loon cried for the fallen moon,

Its weeping touched my soul
with promises lying strewn
across an unwritten chronicle:
you will grow up to touch the moon.

So, on an autumn night half
a century after a year none
of us were certain of, I laugh,
raise my hand, and cradle the moon.

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