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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com. No simultaneous submissions. Use "Verse News Submission" as the subject line. Send a brief bio. No payment. Authors retain all rights after 1st-time appearance here. Scroll down the right sidebar for the fine print.
Showing posts with label auld lang syne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label auld lang syne. Show all posts

Thursday, December 31, 2020

AULD LANG SYNE, AMERICA

by George Salamon


"'Auld Lang Syne' is a staple of every New Year’s Eve, but few people are aware of this song’s original poignant purpose. Singing it began as a way to recall friends who had died in the previous year. In America in the middle of the nineteenth century, though, it became a way to reclaim the unity and purpose of a nation increasingly riven by divisions." —Roger Lee Hall, "An Early American 'Auld Lang Syne,'" We’re History, December 31, 2016


We hadn't been together
for so many years and
had so much to talk about
as we sat out in the cold
at a table frozen and bare
as we talked and talked until
my voice got hoarse, still
hoarse from the fairy tales
we had told each other when
we both were younger.


George Salamon came to America in 1948 when he was thirteen. It seems like it was very different from America this New Year's Eve, but how was it and how was it not?  For a 2021 better than 2020.

Saturday, December 19, 2020

POSTLUDE

by Chris Reed

Image source: In the Hills


You wanted a requiem
a dies irae,
a solemn Gregorian chant,
or maybe just a photo album
of those who’ve left,
a chorus of auld lang syne,
some cup of kindness,
or the rage 
of trumpets blaring
through the sepulchres,
a judgement.

I hear the drip
of too late rain
in burned forests,
a tremulous rhythm.
No more news please,
no rising harmonic summary. 
The dead don’t want repose,
they wanted to live.

Year of misery,
death and deceit,
it’s almost time to go.
You’re already shrugging
into your jacket,
No need to turn around
and show me your expression.
You don’t have to say
goodbye.


Chris Reed is a writer who has found meaning and solace and connection in the reading and writing of poetry during this pandemic.