New Year’s Peeve
I. Cassandra’s Countdown
The Eve arrives in sequin-spangled zing.
The clock ticks on as tipsy cities glitter
With beams of glee eclipsing sorrow’s glare
Till midnight kisses burn with bursts of spring
Abloom beyond abandoned dreams that litter
The gutter neath the rockets’ garish flare.
The New Year greets the dazzled on the street.
The Old Year withers at Cassandra’s feet—
An ashen husk, a grim and frigid thing,
A piteous cadaver licked with frost.
It conjures scenes of feckless revelling—
Of cups o’kindness drained and kinship lost.
Her heart knows of the thrill beginnings bring.
Her soul knows well what woeful endings cost.
II. Nothing New
Beneath the sun it’s much the same.
Things barely change from year to year.
Post Hogmanay the peeved proclaim:
Beneath the sun it’s still the same!
The whim of Father Time’s to blame.
He prompts the past to reappear
Beneath the sun. It’s such a shame
Things rarely change from year to year.
III. Apocalyptic Hiccups
A growl of thunder startles sooty skies.
A blast of smoke and brimstone mists the moon.
As skittish critters howl and fretters swoon,
A pooh-bah points at falling stars and cries:
Wolf! A wolf! A wolf with snarling eyes
Is prowling through the ash and wishes strewn
Across the firmament and very soon
The mud will boil, and roiling seas will rise!
The huddled hordes have heard it all before.
They watch imperiled snowflakes swirl and drift
To settle at the feet of seers who sift
Through doomsday hokum polar bears ignore—
Too busy with the baddie at their door.
The wolf’s arrived—a timely, toothsome gift.
Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.
Ah, Cassandra, the famous Greek priestess of Troy known for her accurate prophesies of doom that Apollo cursed to not be believed thus condemning the unbelievers to a terrible fate. What an accurate insight for us all and fitting ending to the poem! Despite optimism for each New Year, your second poem is well designed to curb our enthusiasm along with the third poem that tells us the wolf may be at our door as the baddie we try to ignore. The swirling alliteration, as always with your writing is so intriguing as our mental tongues savor the flavor.
Roy, thank you very much, and a very Happy New Year to you! I hope it isn’t as grim as my Muse has hinted at.
Happy same-old-year, Susan! I love “Nothing New”. I’ve read Ecclesiastes so many times, and it never fails to fascinate me. There is, indeed, nothing new under the sun! Perhaps that’s why I’ve never been enthusiastic about New Year’s parties (in addition to having a hard time staying awake until midnight). And the irony in “Cassandra’s Countdown” is so well-expressed: it seems unbelievable that new year celebrations continue every year, as if no-one remembers that the new year becomes old and dies and is reviled, and in just the same the same amount of time as every other one always has!
Cynthia, you are a New-Year non-reveler after my own heart. I take great delight in ignoring all invitations and wallowing in my hard-earned wisdom. The grimmest view of the New Year means any joy sent my way is all the sweeter. I will raise an early cocoa toast to your sensibilities and head for bed as the moon rises. Cynthia, I am basking in your words – thank you!
Yes, it’s old: we know it’s Susan by the end of the 1st line. But it’s new, too–new smiles, new wonder at the powers of this word wizard. C’mon, would we want the whole of 2026 without Suan? What a revolting novelty that would be!
HAPPY New Year, all!
Julian, I just love your comment. Many thanks and a Happy New Year to you. I am over the moon this miserable cow of a poet would be missed. I’ll be back in 2026!
A nice trio of solidly substantial pessimism, linked with classical mythology (Cassandra), folktale (Father Time), and scripture (the Apocalypse). I’ve never liked New Year’s celebrations because they always seem so staged and forced and lacking in any real sense of change.
About Cassandra — the reason Apollo spat in her mouth and made all her prophecies unbelieved by anyone has to do with sex. Cassandra had promised Apollo to give her virginity to him, if he granted her the gift of true prophecy. After he gave her what she wanted, she blithely welshed on the deal, and refused to sleep with him. Since he couldn’t take back the gift of true prophecy, he spat in her mouth to make sure nobody ever believed what Cassandra would say. So I suppose one could argue that the reason we continue to imagine that the coming year will be better (in spite of Cassandra’s dismal prophecies) is because of a one-night-stand hookup that went wrong.
Joe, I am aching with laughter – a rare wonder for me on New Year’s Eve. If only Cassandra had whipped her kit off for the lascivious Apollo, planet Earth wouldn’t be in this miserable mess. This wasn’t my intended message – yours is much better and much funnier. Joe, a very Happy New Year to you with much gratitude for your sagacious and saucy eye.
The official beginning of the new year means nothing to me, other than that I’m a year older than I was the last time the year turned. Birthdays are even less a cause for celebration, but both are often occasion for somber cerebration. In the last line of the third poem we are nowise reminded of a tin of fruitcake, which, for some, would be worse than a wolf or, dare I say, a polar bear.
C.B., I’ve joined your club and I am proud to be a member. As for the tin of fruitcake – I have a burning urge to serve you an blazing bite of boozy-fruit Christmas pudding… the snarling tiger of all desserts!
One’s better off to try coping with these 3 foreboding pieces on New Years Day than Eve, Susan. Being teetotalers, it will now be a bit tougher for Connie and I to enjoy tonight’s celebration. Thanks a lot!!
Enviably well-penned – Happy New Year anyway
Mark, thank you for reading, appreciating, and for commenting. I hope you enjoyed your teetotal celebration and wish you and Connie a very happy New Year! I find as I get older, all it takes is a stroll in a rose garden or the song of a bluebird to intoxicate me. I consider myself very lucky.
The English Queen of English mesmerizes us again!
Aww Russel, I’m blushing and smiling. Here’s wishing you a very happy, poetry-packed 2026! We all need more poetic morsels of Winick wisdom in this mad, bad, and maddening world.
These are all so good, Susan!
When I was an engineering student in New York City (circa 1978), I once tried to make it to Times Square on NYE to watch the ball drop. In the event, I got there way too late and became hopelessly stuck in a human gridlock at the Times Square subway station. I don’t think I made it home until 2 am. And I never even made it up to street level. For this, and many other reasons, I love each of these poems!
Possibly my favorite line is: “The huddled hordes have heard it all before.”
Paul, thank you very much for your kind words. Also, I love your story – one I can relate to having lived with the City of London almost on my doorstep for most of my life. I do not miss the fuss and bustle… and that break-neck run to the catch the last train after partying or going to the theatre. Missing the last train meant waiting (often hours) for an excruciatingly long journey home on a packed night bus full of characters that have my Muse mulling as I type.
I. Cassandra’s Countdown
I liked how Cassandra feels like the only person not swept up in the party, standing there staring at the dead weight of the Old Year while everyone else is busy kissing and cheering.
II. Nothing New
I enjoyed how the poem basically shrugs and says, “Yep, here we go again,” and even the form itself keeps looping to prove the point.
III. Apocalyptic Hiccups
I liked how this pokes fun at end-of-the-world panic while quietly reminding us that the real problem usually isn’t some cosmic disaster, but the mess already sitting on our doorstep.
Michael, I am so pleased to have pleased you. Thank you so much for your appreciative and encouraging words – they mean a lot. In spite of my poetic curmudgeonliness, I wish you a very Happy New Year!
Perfectly expressed as usual, Susan. I’m groping for a word which sums up the cumulative spirit of these three pieces. Indifferent, cynical, weary? Yet you obviously enjoyed writing them, and reading them made me smile. To me, a new calendar year is an arbitrary, merely notional milepost, and I don’t observe it. Having said that, have a happy one…..
Martin, you have made me smile. You are spot on with your “Indifferent, cynical, weary” observation – and I am so pleased my delight in writing the poem still shines through. However dire the subject matter, the act of writing nearly always cheers me, which is why you see me complaining (poetically, of course) so darn often. Ever the optimist, I’m hoping 2026 will prompt a few poems on daffodils and daisies. A Happy New Year to you, and thank you very much indeed!
Clever, creative, thought-provoking sonnets, Susan!
Paul, this is a wonderful compliment coming from such a fine sonneteer. Here’s wishing you a very happy, poetry-packed New Year! Thank you!
Her heart knows of the thrill beginnings bring.
Her soul knows well what woeful endings cost.
Indeed! Magisterial. Happy New Year!
“Magisterial” – what a word! Thank you, James, and a very Happy New Year to you too!
Susan, you know I’ve never gotten too excited about New Year’s Eve. I think I’ll just stick with 2025 for the next few months!
Your last poem is my favorite. The worst has happened… and the circumspect bears are feasting on it!
The triolet is the perfect mirror between the sonnets.
And “Casandra’s Countdown,” the Dorn sonnet, with its mirrored form and central turn, is my favorite. I recently read, and saved, a meme that fits perfectly here with your gorgeous creation… here are the words from that screenshot:
“Trying to help people understand what’s going on right now is like going back into a burning building to pull someone out. Only to have them keep punching you in the face and demand evidence that the building is on fire. Even after they admit they can see the flames.”
Thank you, Biggest Fan, for your thoroughly engaging comment and your year round support of my passion for poetry.
Another Dorn sonnet – yeah, Susan!
Cheryl, you inspired me with your beautiful Alfred Dorn sonnet. I simply had to have a go – this is my first one and I loved every minute of the compilation… all down to you! Thank you!
In the “Cassandra…” poem, I just recognized your reference to “cups o’kindness” from Auld Lang Syne. Great that you included this!
Well spotted, Cheryl. I always slip a bit of Burns in my New Year poems… it wouldn’t be the same without him.
Keep speaking the truth, Susan. Keep telling us what you know the Future holds. I, for one, believe you. You know I do.
As for the poetry — all excellent, of course. I especially liked the sonnet and it’s unexpected structure, I love the wordweariness (Weltschmerz would, I believe, be the German term) of the second poem and the surprise (at least to those myopic huddled hordes) in the third. Who could ever, ever imagine that the predictions were true and that a toothsome wolf would actually arrive at the door? Despite the prognosticator being dismissed as a pooh-bah, it turns out he was right. Another variant of Cassandra.
But Brian… AFTER the toothsome wolf arrives at the bears’ door, they EAT him!
Now, since I didn’t write the poem, I’m not sure what that could mean…
Biggest Fan, the Wolf Moon has the answer… you may catch a waning glimpse of the mysteries and the magic of poetic conundrums tonight.
Brian, thank you so very much for your kind and encouraging words, and your ever-engaging observations. I am elated to discover the term ‘Weltschmerz’ – to think I studied German at high school and was never introduced to this gem! Although my poems say otherwise, I am still smiling and still hopeful. I wish you a very Happy New Year, Brian, and hope 2026 brings all you wish for.
Hey Brian, if Susan is Cassandra, truthful but not believed, then Al Gore is Sinon, who lied but WAS believed… Gore to the detriment of America, Sinon to the detriment of Troy:
https://justthenews.com/politics-policy/energy/al-gores-inconvenient-truth-turns-20-and-critics-say-only-disaster-its
I feel your New Year’s peeve Susan. I was in bed by 10:30pm on New Year’s Eve with my big farm dog at my feet, expecting to console him when the guns and fireworks go off around midnight. But for the first time in 30 years it was a dead quiet New Year’s Eve in Turtletown. No one within earshot of us made any loud banging noises, which is unprecedented. We slept blissfully into 2026 and I feel a lot more like I do now than I did on December 31st, 2025. Happy days and I look forward to all your poetic contributions in 2026 Susan.
Yael, that sounds like a perfect New Year’s Eve to me! I wish you all the very best in 2026!