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Introspection Time Poems | Introspection Poems About Time

These Introspection Time poems are examples of Introspection poems about Time. These are the best examples of Introspection Time poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet | |

A Ripple In Time

A new borns cry
Tearful last good bye

Swaying waves of golden prairie grass
Shifting desert dunes - an hour glass

An acorn dropping among forest leaves
To mighty oak - a lifetime of dreams

The changing moon - to full again
Each morn' the sun - new skies begin

Eagles soar high - our hearts go there
These ripples in time - we all share

©Donna Jones


Details | Quatrain | |

Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.


Details | Verse | |

Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM



Details | Rhyme | |

Time

What is this unseen power
It changes all that exists into dust
It shapes our lives and our landscapes
It sculpts and changes us.

What is this unseen power
That rules the world of men
That heals and teaches and equalizes
That triumphs again and again?

Time is that great master
Of power and wisdom and grace
Which by doing nothing but passing
Leaves its mark on every place.

Time...yes you can waste it,
But be aware when you do
Time will return the favor my friend
And eventually start wasting you.


Details | Couplet | |

The Seamstress of Time

I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair

She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke

The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm

Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said

As she once again started to dissipate 
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”

As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face

Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”

Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true

I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways

The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight

Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble 

From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me

I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth

I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way

I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain

She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”

“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”

With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”

As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”

“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”

One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”


When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I 
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day. 



Details | Free verse | |

'A Thousand Steps'


A thousand steps in between 
who I was and who I am now 
do I wonder about the detours? 
do I wish I took the dirt road instead? 

Would my path have been smoother if I said no instead of yes? 
Would the worries have been less then what they are today? 

I guess I’ll never know, 
unless I go back in time 
choose a different path 
choose the least attractive offer and run with it

pipe dreams that is all my journey back in time would be 
‘cause I would not have met you 
and you would not be reading these words.... 

Everything in life boils down to an immaculate plan, 
it may not be my ideal plan or yours 
but in the end the voyage continues 
whether we want to or not…

‘Cause it is all part of the bigger picture 
and 
in that image is your life and mine... 

We just got to embrace the journey 
no matter how uncertain it might be...


130720111340

Contest: Anything Goes
7th Place


Details | Tanka | |

Where Reveries Reside

Tears subside,
hushed breaths draw ebbing tide,
soft virgin sands, un-walked and damp, shine.

A delicate filigree of silvery brine
brings an interlude where grief and beauty entwine,
gently swaying between now and then.

Thoughts of ‘remember when’
stir again.

Scattered far and wide,
bygones shimmer in rock pools,
scents on breezes ride...
elusive remnants of love
under bitter-sweet moonlight.

There is a place where reveries reside,
ensconced in time between the lows and highs,
where troubles disappear in ocean’s sighs
and hopes return with happiness inside.

Where shades of blue, and rose hues coincide
to nurture promises of sweet reprise,
there is a place where reveries reside,
ensconced in time between the lows and highs.

A haven to reflect on love’s divide,
recall that smile, the twinkle of those eyes
with fondness, then let woven dreams arise
with threads of gilded memories to guide...
this is the place where reveries reside.





**For Jared Pickett's Trois Par Huit /Tanka/Rondel contest


Details | Lyric | |

BANGED PENDULUMS


Just when twilight and dawn finally meet in the quiet passage of breaths released... there in that moment, I witness a thousand wishes dancing through the shadows of my mind, each and every one in the form of chiaroscuro marked by restless eclipses black to white. The yearning streaks of a journey creating long and endless days born from arrival and death of flowers as season's rhythms cross the border etched on zodiac runes : a pathway dictated by calibrated blows of a horn trilling spaces in moments caught in the web of hours, to seize glimpses held by ticks of banged pendulums. I find myself wrapped so tightly in woven memories and places that I can hardly breathe or pause when a traffic of past, present chapters slices the flow offered by life as chain-link of minutes quickly grinds collecting people and milestones along railways, while I desperately try to escape the rising and falling by moon-sun, endlessly bartering for more grace... dear time, you steal my " now" through your eternal, impertinent glide. Giorgio V's Surprise Me Contest by nette onclaud


Details | Narrative | |

And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 
money.

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.


Details | Imagism | |

ANOTHER AFRICAN DAWN

ANOTHER AFRICAN DAWN

The silence of the dawn even before
the first bird sings its unique little composition to the world
crispness of the previous night fills the air
encouraging a deep breath of purity before daily issues pollute 
how easy it is to replace this beautiful time of the day 
perceived importance of one or two extra hours of slumber
only the wisdom of an Omniscient Creator could perfect this orchestration 
each new day with such peace and promise-
the Eternal assurance of a new beginning

Dry, dusty, icy, bouncy, luxurious….. Land Rover 
morning expectancy contrasting half awake awareness
novelty of a time spent inconsistent with the predictability of standard sunrise routine
a contemplative- life assessment at break of day
wrapped up in awareness of the cold beauty and African spaces


Red Sun Competition    
 March 2013


Details | I do not know? | |

That Bullet Was For You

While walking through a hospital one day, a veteran I did see
He was in a wheelchair with both legs missing, and he did it for you and me.

I turned around a corner and down another hall
Only for my eyes to behold a family who has lost it all

A five year old cried out,"Why did daddy have to die?"
The mother held her son closer while she greived and began to cry

The mother of that young Marine, who had fought over in Iraqu
Wandered why her son so brave, didn't survive the enemie's attack

The father of that soldier, hung his head to cry
He was a retired soldier himself, why couldn't he have been the one to die?

His heart broken sister, sits in shock and tries to deny
The death of her older brother, he was killed and don't know why

A few days later, a family, everybody all dressed in black
Went to the funeral of a twenty-five year old who too our bullet in Iraq

The Bible says "thou shalt not kill." and "Love your neighbor" too
Maybe our soldiers aren't doing what's right, but they still take your bullet for you

They sleep in foxholes, and eat in trenches, and do all that they know to do
They rest in the sand with no comforts of home and they take your bullet for you

The restless nights turn into days, you wouldn't believe all they go through
THe rest of us sit at home and gripe, and still they take your bullet for you

The next time you hear a 21 gun salute, don't condemn as others do
The next time the taps are being played, remember, they took that bullet for you.


Thanks, Veterans for your sacrifice.


Details | Free verse | |

The Day That Died Forever

When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...

I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky

The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn

I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe

The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul

Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through

Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost

I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art

As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow

Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place

The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost

Day was Life,Night is Death

And the latter has given counsel on my final steps


Details | Free verse | |

Freedom

This disconnected intellect of society in retrospect
Is nothing but a retro spectrum of colors.
Gold chains and disco lights,
Black, white, and grey faces, red Adidas stripes with no laces
Cardboard boxes unfolded on concrete streets
Where the founding fathers of modern culture would meet
And write our Constitution by moving their feet.
With a spectacular repertoire of flashy moves
And a deep reservoir of verbs that mingled with words in the mind’s river
That flowed from the banks of lips as the first freestyle
When style was really free.
Not compromised, chopped up, glamorized, marketed, processed, pasteurized 
and then subliminally delivered as a shrink-wrapped, shiny medium of bad ideas.
Back when people actually had ideas,
Not just the regurgitation of pre-chewed vomit music.
The DJs cooked up beats in their basements
Just crack for the bass-heads
Denied treble ‘cause trouble was all they were faced with.
There was music laced with dope, and dope was good.
The evolution.
Darwinism of hip-hop.
You know what I mean?
Of course not ‘cause these young bucks would rather spend fifteen dollars on 50 
Cent
Then spend fifty cents on a education.
Flagrant, our testimonial to a religion that’s pagan
We pray to money, pray to greed, pray to fame, pray to succeed
And denounce life when we pray that our bullet hits its target.
The Boogie Oogie became the Boogaloo
And the Electric Slide met the electric chair.

Time is money.
Money is life.
Life is a game.
I invest Monopoly money in the New World Clock Exchange
To collect interest in fate and become disinterested in buying my life back.
My soul is currency, currently spent on reverting from the current state.
Back to when sex was more taboo than a smile
Back to when freedom didn’t equal censorship
Back to when love for family didn’t negate the fact that times change.
Back to when the Big Hand spun backwards two seconds too late.
And minutes were miniscule and minute, hip-hop was rediculed
Not because it was demeaning, but because it represented Revolution.
An occurrence that has come and gone with the wind.
My name is Hip-Hop O’Hara and I am in love with Civility Wilkes.
Reverend Run preached gospel, now he rolls in his grave
If musical revelation is impossible, than who will be saved?
The essence in lyrics is kept underground in a cage.
Struggling to survive like illiterate slaves.
Reaching for freedom, which lies on the next page.
Free the music.


Details | Blank verse | |

Quiet - I'm Weeping.

Arrow's echo

bouncing off birch trees

capturing sound in it's wind:

blue birds at the screaming peak of hunger,

rustling of ants with the last haul of insects before winter
down deep into quiet tunnels of perfectly rolled soil and sand,

the singular first drop of rain on a crackling red leaf 
still holding it's breath 'till it turns brown,

four hawks in a circular flight
bleeding the wind in wings

and me, lost in autumn

shot from your bow

last year.



Details | Rhyme | |

Every Time We Fall

Every time we fall we lose a bit of  are selfs.
Untill hollow becomes the heart.
bare as a vacant stores shelves.

The dreamer finds solice in every new face.
That new love's illusion.
Cold is the afterglow when we reflect apon that 
once passionet embrace.

Can the bitter heart find a reason to try?
Skipping stones alone across dark water.
We keep setting are selves  up without 
a single question as to why.

A room smoke filled yet every thing shows 
clear.
Sometimes  we play the cards.
And hold the best one aside in fear.

As vast as the ocean  from its shores 
the  the innocent crawl.
Trying to capture only a glimmer of that true passion.
Every time we fall.


Details | Rhyme | |

Evergreen

So stay the gold.
foolish thoughts wasted 
apon the old.

Your never alone except day and night.
did we forget the cause.
Or just grow tired of the fight.

Evergreen moments dont exist in books.
Or pictures trapped apon the page.
The wisdom of life is nothing without the rage.
 
Into a maze we go blind.
Far past  the moment.
Nothing is left to remind.


Motions are not feelings. 
Along with contracts and lies.
So many loser's  with there double dealings.

Taken from the city lights
I lost all that was obscene.
My pasion was turned into my evergreen.

Time you change all but me.
Casting many storms.
That turn  so very deep  within the sea.

Erased are thoose moments
apon the slate  is clean.
I wonder do you ever reflect my sweet evergreen.


Details | Free verse | |

Do You Ever Think of Me

Do you ever think of me,
though much time has passed and
we have not talked, we have not met?
Do you ever wonder how I am,
what I've done, where I've been?
Do you ever picture in your mind
how the years have changed my face,
lined my brow, slowed my pace?
I often think of you, as you were,
when I'm blue...how we two
would talk the night away then
greet the day with smiles and laughter --
ready to face the roads ahead,
the crooked miles we'd walk alone --
but, after, waiting to relax again,
to smile once more, trusting that
we'd meet some time and talk till day,
with nothing changed that counts at all...
still all smiles, all hugs, all laughter.


Details | Free verse | |

The Cost of Water

Flight of stillness;
idle,
ditch-wise.

Ladders point up
but they say the ground is greater;
sunlight knitting to their brown feet green socks.
They crestfall and
buckle at the knee.

Hear guts clap thunder off somewhere else
but no storm in sight to maitre d' this mesa;

got to rot the mud lest 
an urge to ripen ripens.

But hear now
the locusts flood this rut,
hunt for want,
         impelled to eat each lunch of your decay.

         Earth uncorks her pores.
you drift upon the grass, lift the damp from the sod
like a pillow of cloud sopping Earth's steam-
       
         to be made the steward of this land;
lightning
flash! ladders
shatter!
 
Pay in full the cost of water,
less labors not yet lost.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Park -- Part One

Pigeons flutter in the park
eating refuse from the grass.
Noon comes; the hours pass.
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Silence reigns throughout the park.
A crumpled headline, a forgotten toy,
lifeless, do not hear a far-off bark.
In the park, not a single little boy.
Midnight comes; the hours go --
soon, the sky begins to glow...
morning breaks, and with it, sound.
In the park begins the morning round.
White skeletons of benches -- slats --
in all the wintry parks of Age
fill up in morning. Deserted flats,
each with the aspect of a cage,
become an unused, waiting gauge
that measures dull and wasted years --
floods of loneliness -- rivers of fears...
The weak and battered, pallid crowd
which, daily, parks ingest
speak in muted tones; but loud
is the message all suggest.
The clangor of the beaten Belles,
trampled in the slime of years,
entreats the mind to plug its ears;
yet, if it will, it hears...
memories, perhaps, keep active still
the shriveled and the loosened flaps
that are the mouths of all the Bills --
reduced to gray and ugly gaps...
Down the graveled pathways come
children bent on carefree play.
Belles, though silent, are not dumb,
nor will the Bills forego their say.
But warnings fall on ears too deaf;
around are eyes too blind to see.
And so the tots, too young for Death,
play on and on till time for tea.
Day after day after day
children come and children play.
Pigeons flutter in the park;
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Once more, deep silence claims the park.
Midnight hours come and go.
The sky again assumes a glow.
Wind stirs dead leaves to rustle.
Starts again the aimless bustle
of the battered, weak, and infirm-eyed:
those whom living failed -- who died
but still must play their signal role
of unloved, friendless, unhailed Old;
who gather daily in the park
to envy tots their vital spark --
the hope, the promise in their eyes --
before it fades, before it dies.
But tots at play -- the young, the bold --
must laugh and sing -- cannot be told
that youth's not long and Time is cold.
Time devours -- a ravenous beast --
and men are the courses at his feast.
Some he swallows in their prime,
 On some he waits too long a time:
 these rancid morsels, Time's midnight snack,
explore their memories. They hie them back
 to that old moment, deepest black, 
when they first dared to know -- and first said --
that Time's the master all men dread.
(Please read The Park -- Part Two, which is a continuation of
this poem...due to space limitations)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seasons and Imaginations


Wind so cold.
Blowing.
Fondles my face.
Tickling.
The tears from heaven.
Pouring. 
Tapping. 
Dancing.
Unrelenting.
I wonder if i wish
    to stop them
From numbness,
    to waking,
          then sensing.

The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
                                                  I'll play.
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin 
     with the pure coldness that you bring.
Unusual,
     like it's my first time in the snow.
Somehow, 
     the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
    that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.

The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here. 
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
   And again I fold.



Details | Free verse | |

'Rediscover Me'


- "If you can walk away today, would you?"
Somehow that question stuck in her mind as she was packing things in her suitcase Can it really be this easy? I hope not she thought - How can one just pack up and go? How do you forget the things that you cherished for half your life things that made the most sense even those you identified as your own? How did you become the stranger in the family portrait? So unrecognizable lifeless hair, a face that reflect weariness With an absent smile I never realized I've lost myself somehow, somewhere I got stuck while everyone around me continued to grow stagnant I became - because I worried about everybody else and forgot to love me maybe it's time I rediscover me - 'cause how can one give love when you don't love yourself? So this is not goodbye, no I'm not leaving you... Just taking some time out to rediscover me ---
*Inspired by so many situations out there* @270620121100


Details | Free verse | |

'The butterfly within'

I always dwelled on my faults my shortcomings never saw the beauty others saw hidden beneath the insecurity falter in search of validation from the things and people that would never mean a thing trying to hide until that day it was easier to face the truth or maybe not easier just a time where running away and cheating myself ripped through the core of everything that is me you come to a point where lying to yourself is not second nature anymore trapped in a space where you know it’s time for change it’s time to take the blindfold off time to embrace you and not what others see, not look for gratification from outside try to feel within, even if it means having to deal with pain in the now instead of chucking it away and bounce around on an emotional see-saw
©160920121608


Details | Free verse | |

The Grand Reunion

The time will come...Then, let me lie easy in a box of natural pine
And please, no bouquets of store bought flowers will I want
Give the money instead to a soup kitchen, they need it more
A flower from your garden or the fields will do just fine

I'd love music; if there is I will hang around a little longer
Just listen as the soft breeze blows, I'll be whispering good byes
Should it rain that day, I'll dance in the puddles as I did as a child
Filled with excitement as cool drops rivulet down my face

As music wafts upon the wind, perhaps I'll frolic bare feet in lush green grass
Perchance it'd be a sunny day, I'd twirl in fields of golden wheat
Then anxiously, run to the whitest of white, sugar- fine sands
Stand on blue green ocean's edge; be teasingly chased by crested waves

Suddenly, I'd realize that I have all eternity; that time no longer has claims on me
I'd stand upon an ageless boulder; feel the vibration of rolling waves
All the while laughing as the ocean sprays cool mists gently wash my face
As I await the awesome moment - the grand reunion of light to light

~*~
For Paula Swanson's "When" Contest


Details | Ballad | |

Estimate The Cost

You look back and dream of days long gone
You can feel the tears as they're coming on
Just realizing how much you lost
It's no way to estimate the cost

Once you walked with purpose and your will was strong
Wouldn't back down now somehow it all seems wrong
Never found out how the dice were tossed
Just count the chips and estimate the cost

Oh the price was more than you thought it would be
You just turned your back so you wouldn't see
There were limits set but those lines you crossed
Never took the time to estimate the cost

Now time is closing down that open road
Memories become such a heavy load
Autumn years will bring an early frost
Too late to sit and estimate the cost

Now you're just a few steps ahead of the hell you made
It wasn't supposed to be how the game was played
Total disregard, oh how the rules were tossed
Now the time has come to estimate the cost.


Details | Quatrain | |

we our souls will spend our time repenting

we our souls will spend our time repenting 
but the body of truth always comes to light 
in drawing an end to come with true believers 
so they can see the many faces of the devil 

greed in this world money takes over always
as they worship first with the devil’s tools 
invading our space all for the sake of black 
liquid gold tainted hearts in its color so pure 

shame on this world absolutely for mankind
has not learned at all given profound problems
aplenty and stands the testimony of our times 
while war does not resolve anything—death’s end 

only when family lives are directly affected 
they have the fighting right to protect and live 
wherever they choose but we are all controlled 
and always told what to do openly or furtively 

in a system rolling unto the end of mankind
shut eyes in the face of truth and honesty 
the whole setup is a joke makes one laugh 
countries run amok and history repeats itself 

doing the devil’s work at command or by one’s will 
while throwing our money around with profligate zeal 
like they are usually royalty by some birthright and 
this says so much for the world we live in today 

looking at their greed it’s oh so clear for all to see that
with food dished out on silver cutlery and others starving
our priorities have run afoul of charity and common sense
running everything into the ground to support their lies

present catching the past and past is the future’s prologue 
Earth soon develops a chasmic breach at depths reaching a 
heart's song unheard powers unchanging with a most awful
and pronounced Quest of more which destroys the very Soul 

in a such a pitiful world so desolate and blind 
are pure souls who wish with love to shine bright 
one chance will come with a golden sun shining 
but will human kind seize the golden glory at hand 

two paths lie in tomorrow’s dawning shadow dark— 
the path to the end or to the new beginning for mankind 
we live ever together striving for a peaceful endeavor 
we live at war forever on the very fringes of Hell itself 

the way to Armageddon lies open and wants to greet us 
the way to the golden life of peaceful bliss is still possible 
but at tomorrow's dawn do we change our path or will we 
sing the song of stupidity and be dark from tomorrow on 

We must have peace . . . In Our Time or Perish Forever!

Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke – 
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved 
(December 4, 2014) (Quatrain unrhymed poetic form)


Details | Rhyme | |

Fading

Parchment turns yellow in time's orchard,
and colored ink disappears with age.
Written papers crumble into dust,
traveling back to Mother Nature's stage.
Store bought treasures feel the decay
from the invading touch of deadly mold.
Rust caresses with corrosive fingers,
feasting upon the metal bodies of the old.
The dazzling colors of pampered clothing
ebb with the endless load of years.
Stains paint their limp fabrics,
weaving memories of life's fleeting tears.
A human's decaying body accepts
the priceless gifts that noble time brings.
As a troubled youth fades into time's whirlpool,
growing wisdom lessens life's stings.


Details | Rhyme | |

There Was A Time We Weren't Ashamed Of God


There was a time in America, when the Bible was taught in the schools. The ten commandments were displayed, as “God’s set of rules.” There was a time in America, where the cross could be displayed. Even in public places, people came together and prayed. There was a time in America, there was no “church and state” separation. As people all across this country asked God to help this nation. There was a time in America, where people knew right from wrong. You could see it in the way they lived, and could here it in their song. There was a time in America where one was proud to be a Christian. One could take stand for holiness, without coming under “suspicion.” There was a time in America, when mom and dad were together… Now, any kind of a commitment to marriage seems lost forever There was a time in America, where many were proud of “tradition.” There seems to be a lack of any kind of “spiritual nutrition.” There was a time in America, where so many could proudly say; “I’m going to read the bible and go to church on Sunday.” This is the time for America, to wake up and try to understand. We need to seek God right now! All over this land! This is the time for America, to listen and begin to hear… The coming of our Lord is drawing ever so near! NOW is the time to seek the Lord, while he may be found! The word of God needs to be read in every city and town! Won’t you too seek God and listen to his voice today? Simply give him your heart and life… This could be YOUR day! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Lyric | |

Road To Freedom

Which road would lead me to heaven?
I've been looking for that road.
Which road would lead me to freedom?
I’ve been a slave since my birth.

Which road would lead me to sanity?
I’m going crazy with all the rules.
Oft voiceless 'neath society's shadow,
it’s time to get out of this life.

My mind's aching, my heart's slowly breaking,
they don’t realize what they are doing.
I can’t bear it all it’s time to get home,
they’re making me a fool I can’t go on.

Which road leads me to that long-lost place?
where everything is love, no trace of hate.
I’ll find it someday, tomorrow maybe,
although they’re blocking my way.

Which road would lead me to laughter?
I’ve been crying all my life.
Take my hand and come with me,
just say the word and we’ll be free.


Details | Rhyme | |

It's Time to Change

How did you feel when you woke? Were you frightened or lonely, or was your heart broke? Do you feel alone or sometimes afraid? Is it clear that your life’s not meeting the grade? Do you feel uncomfortable in your own skin? Do you feel that you’re losing, but just want to win? Are you having remorse about what could have been? If so, then it’s time to grab paper and pen. Jot some things down you’d like to achieve. Then read them each day and start to believe. We cannot go back and change the past! Standing still today, just won’t last. So get ready, prepare, and take care of your needs. It’s time to firmly plant His seeds. Start with yourself and the rest will follow. I know right now it’s hard to swallow. Be gentle and patient, for there is no doubt, you’ve been hurting so long, both inside and out. If you know in your heart that something’s askew, you must be willing and ready to start anew! There’s help for you along the way. You’ll receive it for sure, so start to pray. Dear God, Please show me where to start. To You, I know I must open my heart. So say each day, “Thy Will Be Done”, and you’ll see it, I’m sure, but just don’t run. Be open and willing to hear and see, all that He is calling you to be. Follow His signs and stay on the road, and when you ask He’ll help bear the load. Don’t bring excess baggage for this trip. Keep it simple, you see or you just might slip. You need to remember to stay on track. Once you start, hold nothing back. For the new road you find is the only way. You’ll get there soon, if you just don’t stray. Now is the time for discipline and prayer. You’ll start to believe you’re in His care. As you practice and try to do the right things, you’ll be eager to see what the next day brings. Your life will be flooded with joy and gladness, and you’ll know he’s there in times of sadness. Life is still life, but just stop and think. Nothing is solved by making a stink! So put all your worries in God’s hands today! There’s no reason to keep them, let go and just pray. I know that miracles do come true. Have faith and His promises will be given to you.
Michelle D. ©October 17, 2006


Details | Narrative | |

Hands Across Time


Pink faced, and warm, I stand at the kitchen counter rubbing flour and butter briskly through my fingers into a large mixing bowl... Apples are already peeled and sliced, that lay like petals, pale green, in the pie plate, waiting for a crumbled topping I know they are mine, these hands, I see, deftly working... So skilled, they are, that even I am amazed,.... Even before my own eyes, there is a moment, I watch, from outside myself Yes these hands are mine... proven by the swirls and the valleys as I when I'm asked to write my own name,... as when I scribbled this new recipe, in a familiar, weary yellow notebook Yet, as if I were wearing gloves, my hands seem to live inside the skin of others... I watch their motion and have no control of every small detail, Rote tasks, of which I have seen before No hand has held the amber weight of sun or tugged in summer wind, but silently some root has crooked a finger into the flour, intent to foster a long connection, some ancient comfort, a deep knowing, of heart and bone, of mind, and soul that assures me, I never will stand alone, with flour on my hands I will always have centuries at my elbow
__________________________________________________________________ Submitted for Nette's Contest: With These Hands Carrie Richards 12/21/13 Image #6