IT’S ABOUT TIME. It’s always about time. Dinnertime, Wintertime, Somewhere in Time, making up for lost time. As the year begins its runoff to January, we’re writing about some kind of time that we celebrate. Give us your time and we’ll do the rest!
MARIE’S TIME:
“The world waits for a miracle. The heart longs for a little bit of hope.” ~ Light of the World, Lauren Daigle Now, We Wait. His feet left Paradise to touch earth’s soil as we, embroiled in distress, tried to access His heart. Some walked with Him, and He unlocked their closed souls - leaving their lack exposed and showing them His plenty in the face of His poverty. They learned Him. They loved Him. But the moment He upturned death, they truly knew Him. And now, we wait for His return. We yearn for the Prince of Peace to increase, and our anguish, decrease. Light of the World, right us. Lift us. Gift us hearing ears, seeing eyes, and hope, realized. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
WALT’S MINUTES:
A TIMELESS CHRISTMAS Christmas is eternal. It comes independent of time. As far as we can remember, December has been a magical month, for as long as the calendar records it, every bit of the Christmas spirit lingers in the span of ages, the stage is set. You can bet there isn’t a better reason to celebrate the season. Christmas is ageless. It is seemingly unaffected by time. We grow in chronological years, but our fear is that we will outgrow Christmas. But it is the joy of the season that keeps us young beyond reason. We should never stop believing. I believe in you, so you should never eschew me, the man who takes pause as Santa Claus. Christmas is timeless, and my guess is that it will always be. You see, it has been with me for as long as I’ve lived. I carry the spirit of Christmas in my heart as my father did, and his father before him. I come from a long line of Claus men who honor and defend the Yuletide. You cannot hide the pride I feel. It’s a big deal. Everyday should be Christmas. © Walter J Wojtanik - 2022
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
EARLY DECEMBER
When
winter
comes calling,
caterwaulling,
and snow starts falling
to form a white carpet,
and chills snap across the air
and Pegasus shows its great square
as Orion enters the night sky,
then it is time to let bygones go by.
Love this.
POW! Did NOT anticipate that brilliant final line in this beauty. Well done!
So perfect, in theme and length and rhyme. We must now hope for a future prompt of “caterwauling”
Great idea!
This is wonderful, William!
Walt, I admire your piece very much, and amen to that last line.
Agree with William, Walt. I love your spirit!
Marie, Your piece should be in the parish priest’s mailbox. That’s a pulpit poem if ever there was one.
Oh, thank you! Such kind words!
Love these offerings Walt and Marie! In the holiday joy we call Christmas that the entire world senses, we celebrate His first coming, who like our benevolent Claus, brought “gifts to men.” That symbolic hope of returns each year is like His promise to return for us at a time we look and long for. Christmas is a season of balanced affirmation and hope, perched in our hearts like the star atop a tree. I will always thrill at the meanings of our traditions that reflect our faith in Him, and this time full of wonder we celebrate.
Amen, my friend! And thank you for your always-poetic heart!
Brilliance shines its light once again, I see. Bravo Walt and Marie. 👏
Thanks so much!
PAST TIME
It’s well past time
to raise pen to poem
dreams that breath life
breed the things of hope
that bring blessing upon
blessing.
Benjamin Thomas
… and this poem is a blessing to me this morning.
Like the use of plosive sounds here.
TIME TO REBUILD
You may demolish
this wretched house, the life old;
for I am told it is wrought
with burden. Run with ruin.
You may bring it to naught, down to its knees.
Its broad wooden beams, the horror
filled themes, its bannisters and halls—
save the pen.
For with it, I am skilled and shall build again.
A luxurious mansion, a glorious estate,
a newborn castle, a garden
with a score of trained men.
©️Benjamin Thomas
“save the pen.”
Oh. My. Word. Benjamin, this is a skillfully built poem that is creative, pleasing to the ear and tongue, and has such depth. A WOW!
Indeed so.
This is excellent, Benjamin! Creative building with others.
Thanks!
A Time to Celebrate
As one who likes to travel,
sometimes when I roam,
I wonder if home’s vacation
or if vacation is my home.
I’ve been on the road
five weeks today,
Arizona, Nebraska,
Kenya along the way.
Next week in Colorado,
I will celebrate
when I arrive home
and enter my own gate.
Oooo, not being a traveler, I feel this with you. It both makes me wish I was a traveler, and thankful for home all at once. Well done!!
That first stanza is a poem all its own, it seems to me.
Absolutely.
Adventurous travel is wonderful, until you tire and retire to home.
Walt, I always love your I am Santa spirit and poems! In this one, I admire how the opening lines of each stanza seem to open doors to rooms of your Christmas heart. LOVE THIS!
Time for Love
The calendar is never wrong.
It’s time for another anniversary song.
We’re mostly healthy, far as I can see,
as young as we will ever be.
Perhaps we’ll let our inner child
go crazy, running wild.
We’ll share a perfect day,
just a twosome is our way.
You’re still in your prime,
and there’s no better time
for love and joy and peace,
may they never cease.
So let’s share a super smile,
one which lasts a wholesome while,
welcome in the next new year,
express our gratitude in cheer.
Whatever time thinks it can do,
I know it will look fabulous on you.
Any woman would be tickled pink to receive this poem. I love the love you have for your love, and how lovely and lovingly you express it.
So romantic!
This poem is fabulous too, in my opinion.
Sorry about the misplacement; I was referring to Dan’s piece.
Whispers of Time
1.
After a morning drive
I’m doing laundry
and sitting at my laptop
writing another poem.
It’s another day
and it’s fall
as it whispers
the winter to come.
2.
During the drive
I drove through places
I’d driven through before
as if I was living
my life again
but really
I was thinking
of what to write
when this moment
would come.
3.
I look out the window
at the bare silhouette
of a dormant tree
waiting and waiting
as if it, too,
will live again.
4.
And as I write
I think about
friends lost
through the years
and anticipate
all who I’ll see
this afternoon
but for now
I embrace
a moment of solitude.
in-between.
Pensive beauty, this.
Yea
Moments of solitude should be embraced. Beautiful, Mike.
Time flies
Never stopping
Forward ticking-tocking
Moving toward eternity
Where time will never run out
True, this, and something that is amazing to contemplate.
IN BETWEEN THE TIMES
after the bell chimes
all the cheer
has been left here
smiling faces
no longer in their spaces
left over bows
clutter is gone
from all the tiny places
Christmas wrap
is a wrap
and the time that’s left
reserved for a nap
Christmas music
stays and will stick
as we tap our tired toes
and our grin grows
that Christmas just left
we smile as it goes
and New Year’s Eve
is not yet here
to make us believe
we’re already in a new year
so this subtle time
most sublime
allows us to drift
and be a bit lazy
not quite so crazy
in the sweet time in between
where we can sit
with the slippers up
with our coffee cup
and play Queen!
happy in our own way
we survived
another Christmas Day
and before New Year’s comes
if we move fast
we can still
go out
and play
no further mess
I confess
I think I’ll treasure
without measure
this fire
one more
day
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2022
Goodness, yes. And it will be gone before we know it. Well done!
This poem feels like it’s falling asleep. Love it.
Thank you, Marie Elena and William! I appreciate your comments!
The holidays seem to fly by faster and faster each year. A time-out is needed. Wonderful poem, Janet!
under the oak tree
bare branches sport green buds
time enters new season
Sara, this is marvelous! I could feel it start to finish! So succinctly put from ‘sport green buds’ to ‘time entering a new season’! Love it!
Thanks, Janet!
I absolutely love the simplicity of this, and the moment/season captured at once. Wonderful!
Indeed. Seventeen syllables forming a short story.
Thanks, William!
Thanks, Marie!
The Time we meet…
I know that there will be a day…
Nothing I put on will fit right, and
All I will see is my faults
When all I want to see
Is your eyes dancing
When they look into mine.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
December 5, 2022
So touching, this.
thanks
Love this, Mary!
Considering Kinnell
Morning time when the house
is still and no one walks the boards
save the barn cats scratching at the door
until I hush them and they quiet again
here is the time Kinnell might’ve written about
that still time that silent space
where there is just breath and being
although he might’ve meant there is still
time enough to be to fight the rush of time
itself that pushes at the mind and body
until we race ahead of it never realizing
the futility of our footsteps our very heartbeats
but in this still five o’clock morning there
is just this rinsing of blueberries the breaking
of eggs and stirring of flour and oil
the filling of muffin tins until two dozen
sit the oven to puff golden brown and still
there is still silence broken only by the splash
of faucet the whirr of can opener the layering
of garbanzos and turtle beans tomatoes
the scent of cumin and chiles hanging
in the air and then the soundless simmering
until day breaks through the east windows
and traffic moves toward town so that
the moment’s lost silence subsumed by time.
Takes me back to New Mexico, this does.
Beautiful, Pat!
AS THEY’D SAY ON THE FARM
Suppertime
is time to shake off mud and dust;
suppertime
is time to wash your hands of grime
and dig in, till your insides bust.
Don’t need no fancy dinner, just
suppertime.
Oh yes…simple rhyme, simply rhyme, at its best