The First Morning

You carry a light that holds against the wind,
A soul that has weathered the seasons of this year
Without losing its fragrance. It is a rare thing,
Like finding a spring that stays clear in the mud,
And I find myself wondering, in the cooling air,
If my own shadow provides a place for you to rest.

The calendar marks a line we are about to cross,
A fence between the old hay and the new growth.
I have no map for what lies on the other side,
No towering design or blueprints rolled in my palms,
Only the simple desire to walk that uneven ground
With my hand finding yours in the spaces between.

Let us not be like the summer travelers who meet
Only where the view is easy and the sun is high.
There is a deeper labor in the soil than just joy,
I would rather we be the stone walls that hold,
Building something well-weathered, inch by weary inch,
Instead of a tent that collapses when the birds fly south.

It should be a slow abiding chime, like the pulse of a clock,
A turning toward one another to ask, “How goes it?”
Not out of debt, but because the garden needs tending.
I can carry the heavy end, and you the light,
Or we can switch when the day grows long and lean,
So neither of us has to walk the furrow alone.

We must come to this without the polished masks
Or the hollow hope of what the other might provide.
True love is not a merchant weighing out silver,
It is the acceptance of the bread on the table,
Finding grace in the plainness of the wooden grain
And the warmth of a fire we both labored to feed.

So, if you are willing to step into the white frost,
Find me as I am, unadorned and standing still.
I will look for you in the same honest light,
The new year is coming, cold and bright and wide,
Shall we see what the morning has to say to us?

@doddyokelo

Plain Dealing

Your pastor clears his throat behind the wood,
To trade you prophecies for silver coin.
He’ll promise that the coming year is good,
A holy harvest that the stars will join.
He’ll say the year is yours to fence and keep,
As if the seasons care for what you claim,
Or that the seeds of luck are sowed so deep
They’ll grow for anyone who speaks a name.

He’ll warn you of the way the year begins,
That if you start it weary, or in pain,
You’re destined for a winter of your sins,
A long and bitter walk through freezing rain.
But I have lived enough of life to know
A blackout at the start is just a night.
The dirt is indifferent to the things we sow;
It’s up to us to find the morning light.

Don’t mind the bells that clamor in the town,
Nor all the talk of what the year will bring.
A man must pull his own bright vision down
And do the work that makes his spirit sing.
Listen to the wood that builds the frame,
And drop the rot that seeks to make you slow;
A life is not a prayer or ancient name,
But just the steady way you choose to go.

The things that harm you have no place to stay,
So shut the gate and let the latch fall tight.
It’s better far to walk a lonely way
Than lose your footing in another’s light.
Go find the task that fits your heavy hand,
And tend the field that calls your heart to be;
There is no luck within this frozen land,
Save what you strike from flint and mastery.

Be happy in the marrow of your bone,
And make the memories worth the time they take.
The path you walk is yours and yours alone,
With every choice a promise that you make.
You are the master of the coming day,
The only one who holds the final key;
So turn the page and walk the winter way,
As certain as the tide upon the sea.

Happy New Year.

@doddyokelo

First Light

The bells will ring to claim a brand new sky,
And men will preach that luck is bought with gold.
They’ll say the way you start is how you’ll die,
A weary tale that’s long been over-sold.
But shadows do not haunt the year’s first cry,
Nor does the dusk dictate what days will hold.

Go find the work that makes the spirit tall,
And lean into the craft that you adore.
The world will try to make you hear its call,
But you must learn to shutter up the door.
If something seeks to break or make you small,
Then let it fall and find your side no more.

The soul is mended by the things we choose,
By quiet walks and whispers in the dark.
You have no debt to pay, no time to lose,
By chasing every faint and fleeting spark.
To save yourself is all the path you use,
Let joy become your only steady mark.

Happy 2026.

@doddyokelo