This week's New Year Poetry Bus is being driven by Jeanne in Connecticut and there are three great prompts to help you claim your ticket.
Sadly, my time is somewhat curtailed at the moment, so I am simply going to post up a poem I posted this time last year, which I think fulfills Option 3. And I will not link back to Jeanne because I don't really think I'll be able to get around to all the other contributors' poems.
So if you happen to land on this , a very Happy, Prosperous and Productive 2011 and I'm very sorry I can't pay a return visit.
New Year’s Eve
My mother was the middle child
Of seven very different girls.
I’ve seen her photos, running wild,
Her face a mass of golden curls.
Her sisters are like chalk and cheese,
Three are noisy, three are quiet.
The older three say thanks and please,
The younger set of three runs riot.
On New Year’s Eve, the six aunts come
To see the New Year in chez nous.
Alas, it’s too genteel for some,
And far too loud for one or two.
Last year we made a big mistake,
Did not invite the older three.
The younger three conspired to make
A bonfire of our Christmas tree.
This year, poor mother has been put
With this dilemma on the spot –
The younger aunts are coming but
Should older, quaint aunts be forgot?