It chips away. It casts a pall.
The face of time affects us all.
For: https://beckybofwinchester.com/2018/11/01/the-clock-is-ticking/#more-12391
Getting Square with Time (Becky’s Timessquare Prompt)
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Tag Archives: time passing
Listless
Listless
I don’t have any strategy, I don’t have any plan—
no recipes for muffins, no plots to meet a man.
My life is so unstructured that I have nary a list.
With no clearcut tomorrow, my future’s in a mist.
If I were only twenty, I guess they’d call me fickle.
To be so directionless would land me in a pickle.
At seventy I’ve joined the list of lives that are expired.
I’m finally giving up and saying I’m fully retired!
My alarm clock’s in the cupboard––abandoned. I don’t need it.
I gifted this year’s calendar to someone who will heed it.
No meetings on my calendar. No notes upon my fridge.
I don’t attend aerobics. I gave up playing bridge.
How do I fill my life out now that I’ve come unwired?
Now that it’s gone unplotted and its furnace gone unfired?
I’m letting every day I meet just unwind and unravel.
Letting fate determine what pathway I will travel.
My compass needle disengaged, I’m floundering in “free—”
All things now determined by serendipity.
The prompt today is strategy.
Retired (For Daily Prompt: Clock)
Disclaimer: Naughty word implied in this poem. Do not read if easily offended.
Retired
Mr. Clock, Mr. Clock,
though your advances I try to block,
my attempts you seem to mock
with your continuous tic tic toc,
echoed by my neighbor’s cock
crowing from his noisome flock.
No longer cheerleaders or jocks,
nor femmes fatale with flowing locks,
in Birkenstocks, flip flops or Crocs,
(worn in the winter complete with socks)
we huddle safe behind our locks,
afraid of terrorists with glocks
or neighbors’ children tossing rocks.
We hear your phone calls and your knocks,
we know you gather in your flocks,
your PTAs and your ad hocs,
while each of us sits in our box
as stubborn as a mule or ox,
busy in our painters’ smocks
or cooking spinach in our woks.
Our homes all sealed up like Ft. Knox,
we have no need of the world’s shocks,
its pestilence and chicken pox.
We have our pensions and our stocks,
our Lean Cuisines in our ice box.
We shun your CNN or Fox!!!
Our TV sets set to the past
neglect to show the latest blast
as all the world seems set to cast
Armageddon, coming fast.
So as you watch the latest drone
on your notebook or your phone,
as you predict and hate and moan,
please leave us the f— alone!
Triple Tricky
Triple Tricky
Who knows what each new day will bring?
Three dogs wiggling outside my door–
my feeding them, them wanting more.
The world reaches out for me and more.
Those worlds imagination brings
come whining louder at my door.
Now and always at time’s door
I offer words and ask for more
than what, I know, the years will bring.
Agape once more, that final door brings me at last to face my fears.
I bring myself to cross its sill, still hoping there will be some more.
The WordPress prompt is “Tricky” and and NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a tritina–a poetic form that involves three three-line stanzas and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line. I cheated and used two concluding lines instead of one. This poem meets both prompts. Tricky.
http://www.napowrimo.net/day-seven-3/
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tricky/
Flow Chart
Flow Chart
Ebb and flow, ebb and flow––
at first our lives seem very slow.
Once the Christmas tree came down,
vacuum cleaners all over town
removed needles curled and brown,
and echoed each child’s yearly whine
as they picked up remains of pine.
Why did Christmas have to go?
Then that slow tick of passing time
through other holidays sublime:
Valentine’s and Easter and
Mayday with its sleight-of-hand
as a basket-wielding band
(before they quickly pushed the bell,
turned on their heels and ran like Hell)
moved silently as any mime.
July 4th and Halloween
moved across the year’s broad screen
as days both secular and holy
that children loved came on so slowly.
Holidays just seemed to creep
trudging up a year so steep
impatient children had to weep
impatiently and make a scene.
Thanksgiving filled with birds to stuff
should have pleased them all enough,
but thoughts of Christmas swirled instead
through each greedy little head.
Christmas music, gifts and trees
pervade the brisk Thanksgiving breeze
bringing children to their knees.
Waiting for Christmas is so tough!!!
But years pass quicker as we get older.
From fresh to hot to crisp to colder.
Time that used to flow so thickly
suddenly moves by so quickly
that that dread April holiday
wherein we pay and pay and pay
does not seem far enough away
as we search for our taxes folder!!!
(Click on first photo and then on arrows to enlarge and move through gallery.)
Time is a Wastrel
Time is a Wastrel
Vagabond lover
packs his valise
and is off at a gallop–
leaving me in his wake.
Profligate seducer,
Tied to no one
except
inevitability.
Foolish, I
should have known
even I could not keep up
with fickle time.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 