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Poem written for and submitted to "Time Traveler" poetry contest, Tom Woody, sponsor, November 11, 2025.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My vessel is ink on folded pages; I don’t need TARDIS* or a Wayback Machine*~ my words alone bend time, each line stretching moments into constructed poems that create a time dilation. I travel freely, unbound by time or place~~ my pen is my sextant, guiding the course of my thoughts. I hitch rides on comet trails, crawl through worm holes, and write poems on the strata of extinct volcanoes. I disappear, traveling backward on a filament of myth, landing softly in the ruins of ancient cities, slipping into ancient dust and the sound of bronze, tasting the abhorrent ash of forgotten fires, recording the tenor of moments lost to history. I leap ahead on metaphor’s swift stream, glimpsing the future and tasting the sterile air of generations I will never physically meet, documenting futures that might still be avoided. I move through time never aging, returning to the present, a silent witness, to fragile cities built of glass and vapor burdened with visions and heavy truths. No passports stamped, no customs declared. I leave no quantum footprint, only ink~ the residue of my translocation depositing strange knowledge on folded pages. *The Wayback Machine was a fictional time travel device from "Peabody's Improbable History" allowing users to travel to any point in history. TARDIS was a time-traveling spaceship from "Doctor Who," known for its exterior resembling a British police box. (Source: denofgeek.com)
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