From January to June

By V.M. Sang

Take a lyrical journey through the first half of the year with V.M. Sang's FROM JANUARY TO JUNE.

This anthology captures the essence of everyday life, nature, and the world around us through the versatile medium of poetry. From haiku to narrative poems, and the humor found in limericks, From January To June is a diverse collection of poetry.

A calendar in creativity, a diary in verse; this collection is the perfect companion for daily reflection and inspiration, providing a poem for each day that resonates with the diverse experiences of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Nov 23, 2023

Book preview

January 1st

Coming back from visiting a friend, I noticed that the hazel catkins were out. This is very early.

Catkins.

The catkins are hanging down from the bush

Little lambs' tails have been hung out to dry.

But the dark grey clouds pass with a rush

Threatening snowflakes that fall from the sky.

Hazel trees think that the spring has arrived.

Deceived into thinking, but it's all in vain

For they have not winter's depth yet survived

Icy cold temperatures, and lots of rain.

Promise of spring yet to come gives us cheer.

Look at the catkins and think what's to come.

Warm days of spring when birdsong fills your ear

And daffodils bloom and the winter is done.

The years go round and spring always returns

Fills us with joy, and defeats all concerns.

January 2nd

It's supposed to be getting cold again, so in anticipation, here's another poem about cold. This one a Haiku.

Cold.

Snow lies on the ground.

Painted flowers grace all windows.

Jack Frost has his fun.

January 3rd

There is so much conflict in the world. I cannot understand the mindset that seems to think it's OK to pile up weapons. Why have them if you're not going to use them? And I don't buy into the 'defence' argument. If no one has them, there's nothing to defend against.

Become neutral, like Switzerland. Who threatens them?

Why?

Why

Do governments think

They should have

Bombs?

Why

Do governments think

They should have

Guns?

Why

Do governments think

They should have

Forces?

Why

Do people agree

To go and

Fight?

Why

Do they not understand

All wars end in

Negotiation?

Why

Do they not

Begin with

Talks?

January 4th

We drove past the Wilmington Long Man this afternoon and it made me think about other hill figures in England. Many of them are horses.

Hill Figures.

White horses and giants sit under the sky.

Chalk figures were built many ages ago:

Our ancestors cut them, but who knows why?

Perhaps to their gods, so when they sow

Their crops, much food they could grow.

Gog and Magog stood on the hill

Near Cambridge, but can no longer be seen

Grown over with grass, and the mosses now fill

Where these two proud figures have been

All over the grass does grow green.

We still have white horses that we can admire.

Built to goddess Epona to worship with cheer.

Goddess of horses, leading souls when they die,

And fertile pastures and wheat; many an ear.

To have a good crop every year.

Long Man and Cerne Giant also stand tall.

Represent gods? No one knows.

But maybe one day, we will know all

About these figures on hillsides that pose.

Why folk thought the need for them arose.

January 5th

A robin was pecking around my garden this morning.

That last poem actually took 2 days to write, so today's is short.

Robin.

Little robin, sitting on the fence

Singing your song so bright,

Bringing joy to all who are tense

Making the world seem light.

January 6th

Today is Twelfth Night. The traditional end of Christmas.

Twelfth Night.

The feast of Christmas has ended.

Trees are taken away.

Baubles are carefully tended

Stored for another day.

New year has come and now passed us.

The parties all ended at last.

Now back to work and the rush

Of always having to dash.

Remember all through the year

The fun we had during Yule.

We ate too much food and drank beer

And some of us made ourselves fools.

January 7th

I saw an advertisement for Disneyland Paris last night. It said you don't need to grow up. It inspired this.

Grown Up.

Grow up,

They said.

Why?

Said I.

Be sensible,

They said.

No,

Said I.

Get a good job,

They said

No need,

Said I.

Behave,

They said.

Boring,

Said I.

Live real,

They said.

I'm a writer,

Said I.

Be happy,

They said.

How, if I follow

Your rules?

January 8th

Jack Frost.

Jack Frost has brought out his brush

And painted ferns, trees and bush.

But when the sun shone.

It soon was gone.

And the beauty was turned into slush.

January 9th

January is winter. It's cold and dark. Here's a poem about it.

January.

Dark in the morning.

Dark early on.

The year is in mourning

For summer just gone.

Tree branches are bare.

Their leaves they have shed.

Animals in their lair

Asleep in their bed.

All nature is mourning.

The cold wind does howl

Giving a warning

Of snow on the prowl.

Frost whitens the ground

And everything shivers.

Ducks wander around

On top of the rivers.

Icicles hanging

Under eaves of the house.

Shutters are banging

From wind, there's no doubt.

Fires giving heat

In the fireplace within

Keeping out sleet

When the snow does begin.

January 10th

Devoid of inspiration.

What should I write today?

Give in to temptation

And put my pen away.

January 11th

Wind

Tossing seagulls into the sky

Like bits of paper.

Tearing the clouds apart

Like rags of silk.

Trees bend beneath his assault.

The wild West wind howls his anger.

Bringing freezing snow and ice

Jack Frost rides on his wings.

Cold, the north wind blows the snow

Into blinded eyes.

Making everything shiver.

The North wind blows his indifference.

The Beast from the East he was dubbed

With teeth that bite and rip.

He is lazy and goes through you

And not around.

He storms in from Siberia

And screams his hatred.

The grasses ripple and blow.

Clouds float in the sky.