Apologies for the late start. And apologies to Sara for leaving her hanging. We tap Ecclesiastes for today’s prompt. I have been obsessed with time of late and the fleeting nature of life and such.
My delay is due to some serious health concerns on the home front. Poetry didn’t seem important at the moment. And so I have been focused on time. There is indeed a time for everything. A time to laugh and cry, a time to live and die… a time for every purpose under heaven. So this week, we’re writing about “time”. There’s pumpkin time, harvest time, Halloween time… as the days grow shorter we notice time’s part in our living. It’s about time we write something about time!
WALT’S POEM(S):
SHE LIKES MANY CLOCKS
(THE MANY FACES OF CLOCKS)
1.
She makes time
for the time she has,
should she run out
she’ll wind herself up,
minute by minute!
2.
How many faces can she see?
How much time will she need?
It isn’t continuum greed!
The lady loves clocks.
They knock her socks off!
3.
Digital is all I command.
I can’t stand analog any longer.
The time is stronger in the dark.
4.
Three in the bedroom,
five in the kitchen,
three in the living room,
and my daughter’s room,
and the computer room.
The bathroom has one
in the shape of a toilet seat.
A shower gift from an aunt.
She doesn’t have the heart
to part with it!
5.
Her internal clock
keeps me awake at night.
Right when I think
I’m on the brink of slumber,
she wakes up alarmed.
I sleep with one eye open.
I know it’s coming!
6.
Does anybody really know what time it is?
Does anybody really care?
~ Chicago
She cares about time.
Rarely ever late.
Great at punctuality.
Even with the fragility of life,
my wife is rarely late.
But, one day we will all be!
7.
Every hour on the hour,
our hours are ours.
Every waking minute
I’m taking stock in our
continuous clock.
Tick-Tock,
tick-tock,
tick
8.
Time is fleeting,
it is eating away our days.
If it stays in sync
I think we’ll be okay!
9.
Passing the time
in her company,
I’m finding my peace
in every numbered face I see.
Is it me or is number seventeen
running a bit slow?
10.
I make time
for the time she has,
should she run out
I’ll fall apart,
minute by minute!
There’s no disgrace
in losing face!
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
WE NEED TO LIVE TODAY
If we could find the moments we have lost,
the ones we’ve heaped upon the mound of Time,
perhaps we’d hold them dear, this once not toss
them away like bruised fruit from summer vines.
We need to live Today, not stretch to reach
Tomorrow yet unborn, the vague Unknown
when the Present has lessons it must teach.
If only we’d learn to make them our own!
Enjoy the seasons, smell the flowers, play
in winter snow, as in your youth do taste
the flakes melting on your tongue, those snow days
out of school, the good laughter you’ve misplaced.
It’s not too late to put yourself on track,
to set aside bad habits you must break.
Joy in life will return if you come back.
To stay away would be a grave mistake.
We cannot gather up the passing years.
They’re locked in vaults no one can find.
Savor the moment! The laughter and tears.
Avoid regret; to yourself be kind.
#
Beautiful!
Wise, too.
Love the comparison of throwing moments away to bruised fruit. Wonderful poem, Sal!
Excellence, Salvatore!
Walt, Loved your medley. Out of all the lines these stood out to me-
Time is fleeting,
it is eating away our days.
Hope all is well!
Hoping the same, Walt.
Thanks friends. We’re dealing day by day, minute by minute. Unexpected on a couple of fronts. I appreciate your concerns.
Time is the Essence
Time is the essence
Of presence and air
Past swells, future lessens
A moment-ous affair
Nobody can still it
Or deter its course
Only One can will it
This breath by breath force
Ephemeral treasure
Appears, disappears
Pain, passion and pleasure
Shaping yester-years
When will it expire?
This temporal lease
Hinged to Something Higher
Someday Time will cease
…ah, then, in Time’s ending
Its crux is revealed
Death’s Awesome Awak’ning
In thin air concealed
Thanks for this Janet! You know I enjoy your work and it was comforting to find your words today. An expressive piece!
Measured Moments
Closer attention we pay
to time, swifter it seems
to fly. Sometimes I sit
in my favorite writing chair,
music off, television dark,
dogs asleep. Hands on
grandfather clock resound–
TICK, TICK, TICK. Clicks in
my head–reminder of passing
hours, fears of allotted time
running out.
There is a theory which claims,
if you have trouble sleeping,
ignore clock during those breaks.
Try it. We are too conditioned
not to look.
We measure everything
by time. How many days
until the election, until school
starts, holidays arrive, rain ends,
next season sails in.
Difficulty exists when you try
to live in the moment. Unlike
a horse with blinders, you see
those moments moving on.
(No apologies needed, Walt.)
This paints scenes beautifully.
Thanks so much, William!
Wonderful poem, Sara. My sleep battles border on legend. I’m guilty of midnight clock watching! I need to stop that!
Thanks, Walt. STOP!
Autumn…
That careful work of bloom is rent
Time takes its toll on living things
It dulls hulled heath and pulls night’s tent
Across long, pink-glossed evenings
The aftermath that time begets
Is scarlet-amber-hunger hued
Dusk-skylines highlight silhouettes
Where laughing leaves become unglued
Into the vat of that and this
The fruit of what we had is tossed
The wine of life is what it is
A vintage pressed with moments lost
Darling, before these dwindled hours
Once we were sassy as spring’s breeze
But now we empathize with flowers
That bow beneath grief-stricken trees
We are not foot-loose dreamers now
But, perhaps here and there we gaze
With careful envy at the plow
That tilled a field of yesterdays
This is a deeply satisfying poem. Many thanks.
thank-you:)
A stunning poem filled with color and rich imagery.
Loving your multiple responses as well, Janet! Glad you’ve been inspired!
It’s a rare quiet night so I’m indulging in a little extra writing-time…writing Time into poetry so someday somewhere someone still young will come to their Place of aha…and understand:)
Time writes a road-map on our skin
At night we might trace it with touch
And wonder at the cool chagrin
Of its insistent such-and-such
While we make plans and love and war
And pine for more than what we hold
But know we cannot jar the door
That bars us from yesterday’s gold
And so we go from where we were
To where we are; half-glad, half vexed
The law of clockwork does not ere
Yet tells nothing of what is next
While we, with looking back surmise
That not much stays the same for long
And so we strain with hungry eyes
Toward the dawn of a new song
Because time’s fast-forward affair
Though it never alters its pace
Since first it sipped its draught of air
Can still surprise the human race
Captivating, from the first line forward.
Exactly so!
Great!
DIFFERENT CLOCKS
In youth, the urge to meet and mate
was the crux of his prime;
he was impatient, could not wait
for the drizzle of time.
But that turned different as he aged,
when to wait was a crime;
then, as he died, he he cursed and raged
at the torrent of time.
Your first stanza captures in word my thoughts yesterday as I watched my son and a house-full of his friends (all 17 or eighteen yr. olds) carry on the way only boy-men can!
I envied them(a little) as they ‘endure’ youths constraint…the drizzle of time. LOVE the taste of that line.
btw…forgot to say your ending…perfection!
The drizzle to the torrent – what a perfect description!
You never disappoint, William. I learn much from you!
DON’T YOU TELL ME NO
It’s too easy
waving a hand down
at all life’s bugaboos
or rolling your eyes
as if what I say
just can’t or won’t
be done
in your lifetime.
Listen up.
Life’s a challenge
only fools reject.
It’s time to put on
your big-boy pants
and get to work.
Don’t you tell me no;
don’t you walk away.
Don’t you join the herd
and bury your thick skull
in sand and let time
race by without you.
Roll up your sleeves.
Put in your two cents.
Speak up; it’s time.
Put up your dukes and fight
#
Sounds like Pop talking. Love it.
me too!:)
Thems fighting words, indeed! Great insight, Salvatore!
MEASURES
A digital clock fits a football game,
for they both loose demands;
but baseball lets me come home again,
like a clock that has hands.
True, baseball was meant to be analog, Bill!
Ten/Three
Dark of the Monday morning moon
I can no more sleep than fly.
Open the window and listen for signs.
A solitary coyote; trucks
on the invisible highway
restoring lost time.
Haunting work, this.
You need earplugs to deafen the silence.
wonderful.
Intriguing, to think of restoring time. Lovely, Barbara!
Another comfort from you my poetic friend! Seeing your poem was wonderful. and it’s expression, outstanding!
A Scrap of Time
I am surrounded
by clocks day and night.
This strange state
that I’m in. This time.
Every scrap of it
is stone blind and dumb.
Its hustle. Its bustle.
A shuffle moving on.
I once had
an abundance of it.
Now it’s just scraps.
Gather up those precious scraps!
A time quilt in the making? Those scraps can have purpose, Marilyn!
For me, this poem is a reminder that time was ever thus. Wonderful work.
Time
T ime ticks away
I ncessantly, persistently
M inutes, hours, days, weeks, years till the
E nd. Then like fireworks burst in a night sky…timelessness.
Brilliant.
Clever, Connie!
Indeed so
Always love your acrostic poems, Connie!
Clocks
Longcase
Mantel
Cuckoo
Lantern
No matter how grand,
decorative, clever
or charming, they are not
the time machines
we wish them to be.
Would it be that they were, Connie! A second outstanding piece!
So thoughtful.
So true.
11:59 PM
The last minute
Most of the time unknown
Unexpected
Uninvited
Unwanted
Yet it rolls around
The last minute
Right before the lights go out
The eyes close
The heart stops
The brain shuts down
At the midnight
Of life
11:59 PM
If we only knew the time
We’d have a chance to prepare
To look back on our lives
To right what we did wrong
To say our goodbyes
And get right with God
Before midnight
11:59 PM
Tick tock
Tick tock
Tick tock
Tick tock
11:59 PM
Is it nearly the end
Or nearly the beginning
Of forever
Time’s up
Excellent poem, my friend.
Amen