Best Fugit Poems
TEMPUS FUGIT
In a short life why must men be grave? We must all be grave men shortly.
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Entered in David Williams’s Chiasmus Competition
LVI Elapsed October 17th's Bore Witness To A Girl Born With True Grit
Tuss ben big goo me newt to write
and how though trite
thine complex edifice immersed in spite
which doth nobody any good RIGHT
hence hie exerted effort
from within this quite
mindful sib bull ling to detach himself from his own plight
and fashion attempt (however feeble)
to complete before this night
a communique (my apologies if thee cognition strikes thee
with dumbfounded hard to comprehend patois),
but perchance a mite
bit of the following - dashed off in a huff - epistle sheds light
on ceasing to ignore yourself (envious
of yar fierce sticktowithiveness) scaling height
of apprehension (more insurmountable than
natural mountain peak, versus taking flight
and shuttering ye out of my humdrum life (orchestrated
with mild sax and violins), yea not mooch to excite
but, this effort pressing fingers
upon select keys eventually generated a byte
size message sent via FIOS fiber optic and mostly airtight.
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Tis with great difficulty birthday cheer proffered, when psyche still stung
by lash of acrimouny, calumny, effrontery, finality rung
humility indelicacy,...zealotry as if spoken with glee from your tongue.
unwise to sustain estrangement caws
each of us imperfect, aye kin attest mine past awash with flaws,
and admit crushing impact felt from others, especially late Zison inlaws
but, now yearly occasion of your birth opportunistic
despite being annexed by anxiety based on uncertain laws
sans human behavior, how ye might respond,
me owning modest kudos buffer as oopahs
to risk brokering a detente (which avoidance
toward thee) undermines cumulative, endearing hur rahs
visited times gone by,
which recent past found me unstoppably gurgling
invariably vibrating uvulas
(yes, ja probably forgot, this bro' born
a mutant Ninja Turtle) xy awes,
speaking severe nasal sounds,
when exhalation boyhood memory draws
obvious twang – another ace in the hole for bullies –
gnashing identityguard where gauze
superfluous, and those hurtful ingrates lobbed words,
when they may as well swang fists at me upper and lower jaws,
though decades in the past, the imprimatur indeibly etched,
yet stinging rebukes from maws
and faux paws trigger remembrance of things past
(analogous to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -
in my case countless acromonious, denigrating, execrable names
contributed to Schizoid Personality Disorder –
though predisposition for sundry mental illness
most likely incsribed within mom and pop sic cull genes),
now greater enlightenment reacting/responding to stress
comprehending my biology, chronology, ecology, geneaolgy
(fyi – Amelie paid consultant at 23andme.com for blueprint
denoting fabric housing jumbled, linkedin, nested past –
results surprisingly showed 1% Neanderthal
comprise inherited) psychology,
thus explaining insatiable hunger for bananas,
and intermittant urge to swing from tree to tree,
whereby I willingly accept arboreal, corporeal,
generallly less than ideal traits
which pro active overtures arrest
(without a warrant), contest, assent everest
(albeit metaphorically) satisfactorily
extending virtual olive branch (pitted)
recognize immutable imposibility to confront
excrutciating bygone feelings,
this endeavor, a quest to test mine kempf zone, and endure
current flow of uneasiness (clammy
and sweaty hands fostered by andiety),
yet exorcizing mailer demons critical
to experience mindfullness, and requisite
to fast tract expeditious deliverence,
whereat ye ought not be deprived
THIS SIBLING (HAN SOLE BROTHER)
WHOSE LOVE TOOTH HE
(on account of dentures) DIDST OFTEN BESPEAK!
Gluteus Maximus
That Gladiator of Rome
Got into such a rage
That his mouth did foam,
He cursed and snarled
And snarled and cursed,
Yet things didn’t improve
But got much worse;
His fists beat the ground
And he spat into the air,
No one dare come close
When his temper did flare.
Obviously struggling
To undo a knot so big
Wasn’t his strong point,
He couldn’t give a fig!
Unable to get to grips
With those darn leather laces
His sandals caused such scowls
And grotesque grimaces...
So, aren’t you grateful
That he isn’t alive today?
That bad tempered warrior
Your life he would slay
Just with one of his black looks
Or a growl at your face,
You’d probably explode
With only a trace
Of smoke and shoes
Left where you did stand,
Nothing but grey ashes
On the Coliseum’s red sand!
I have slipped into the darkest of mindsets,
and it is only now that i see the light.
I have seen the bright nights and dark days,
and they are no different from one another nor my soul.
Who knew the abyss was like a spotlight....
The devil-may-care attitude I so humbly embraced,
has become more devil and less 'may care' as time flies into oblivion
with naught care for feeling or form.
Feeling and form loses hope in a act of defiance and despair,
we all cry for the pigs that do as time does, but they hear us not.
We watch the skies with eyes of fear and conformity,
we watch, we wait, with bated breath and cold hearts.
The pigs never come,
we are forced by time to find the swine in all of us.
We understand evils that are not meant for us,
we weep not for holy hogs but for ourselves.
This is the darkness.
We understand joys not meant for us,
we weep not for ourselves but for the world.
This is the light.
Time stops for us and teaches us its greatest lesson,
I fly over the horizon to greet the pigs....
Tempus Fugit.
Memories are imprinted,
through moments,
and fleeting minutes,
as,
they fade like polaroid stills,
dimmed by the flight of time,
caught between,
the banal and the sublime.
Years trickle by,
stubbornly trudging ahead,
straining to embrace echoes of nostalgia,
yearning to hold them near,
seeking new memories,
carved by the trail of a lonesome tear.
Tomorrow may not arrive,
as it lies at the mercy,
of time's fickle flight,
and as it slips under the blanket of night,
it flees into the arms,
of a hope, warm and bright.
The flight of time sounds its warning bell,
with smug assurance it beckons all,
to hear the tale it has to tell,
knowing someone must heed its call.
Time flies, and rapidly too,
teasing us with promises of days yet to be born,
and so we linger, wasting slices of precious time,
as we walk on,
numb and in an anaesthetised trance,
devoid of all passion,
and,
ever weary to take the plunge,
or to hazard a chance.
TEMPUS FUGIT
I seemed to be going through a change,
Maybe the male menopause.
Or perhaps a mid-life crisis,
But I had fun whatever the cause.
I purchased a Harley Davidson
To roar about the place
And I rescued my flares from the wardrobe
That I’d held on to, just in case
With a cowboy shirt and a shoe-lace tie,
I reckoned I looked pretty cool.
But my wife said they weren’t back in fashion
And I simply looked an old fool
I dug out my vinyl collection,
Mostly Bill Hayley and Elvis,
And tried to relive the days of my youth
On the dance floor, rotating my pelvis.
But, last week, I fell off the Harley,
Performing a series of dares
And it caused great amusement in A & E
When the nurse had to cut off my flares.
So now it’s out of my system,
I’ve reverted to acting my age.
As I sit with my pipe and slippers,
Dressed head-to-toe in beige
Elvis has gone back in the loft
And I have to say he’s not missed.
For now, for relaxation,
I listen to Mozart and Liszt.
5th February 2022
Latin Lessons poetry contest
Sponsor - Margarita Lillico
You watch it haste and watch it fly,
Why try espy it flashing by?
Now you see it, now you don't,
Then you heard it ~ now you won't.
First, it's here and then it's gone,
Much the same for everyone.
Like a cloud high in the air
Glance once more and it's not there.
Like a bubble drifting past,
Though you know it cannot last.
A tranquil breeze, the bubble stops ~
Attempt to touch! the bubble pops.
Where it stems from no one knows;
No one sees to where it goes.
You know it's there but you can't find...
As not a trace it leaves behind.
But man can't beat this mighty force,
To try and try he'll fail, of course;
He'll never grasp the wheres and whys
Quam tempus fugit ~ how time flies!
Someday we'll all see the sky and not rebuke the rain
The sun will shine the morning dew will glimmer
But not one there to baske upon it's day
The trees will shed leaves with it's seeds as it breeds
And mountains will fuel causeways turned into Oceans
The depth of the canyons so rich and eroded
Hold secrets forever unbroken
A long lost past with no use for an ending
In the blink of an eye neither point for a story
The beautiful silence with nothing to share
And noone to receive love as a token
Tempus Fugit
time flies
opportunities come
and pass us by
may spend your life
questioning why
the hindsight of the past
always more open to the searching eye
somethings we regret
til we die
somethings
we let walk on by
without a second thought
tear or cry
but when things mean alot
is there any other option
to go after at all costs
a train of locomotion
in your mind
nothing but commotion
if its what you want
to you this notion
oppurtunities
come and go
but if you don't try at all
you'll never know
My oh my, how time doth flee!
Seems only yesterday I was at my Mother's knee.
So much water has trickled over the weirs,
Now, here I am well advanced in years!
Off to school for a proper education,
Teachers filling my skull for my edification.
Some of the stuff actually rubbed off on me,
And shockingly I obtained a college degree!
A job I must get my folks did insist,
So off to the Air Force I went to enlist.
I thought, this ain't a bad career to pursue,
So for thirty years I wore the Air Force suit of blue!
I married and have a very sweet wife,
That's an experience that'll change your life!
Along came kids to make the family complete.
Being a husband and father is really neat!
Becoming a grandpa left me amazed,
But when a great grandpa, I was really dazed!
Too bad there is no way time to postpone.
I look back and wonder where time has gone!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Does anyone else have the feeling
That life is escaping too fast
That passing of time leaves you reeling
As present reverts to the past?
A blink, and the baby is crawling
Then walking to school on his own
Too soon university's calling
And full independence is sown.
For time cannot stall in its travels
And yes, we should treasure what's gone,
But shape as each new day unravels
Fresh memories that will live on.
11.11.20
( My son turns 30 this month!)
While in my youth
I racked my brain
to fill up Time
Taken aback
By Time’s fast pace
Once in my prime
Dismissive still
that Time ticks on
indeed clockwise
Not feeling yet
that treasured Time
so fleeting flies
Of trite excuse
« for lack of Time »
I had no fears
Time’s metronome
hounds hastily
in golden years
Wisdom whispers
that Time is up
beyond a doubt
Implacably
relentlessly
Time’s running out
My train of thought
of Time that strikes
its closing chime -
A wistful wish
that I could buy
a tick more Time
April 24, 2021
Contest: T contest Time
Sponsor: Constance La France
They say time flies when you're having fun,
That merely minutes pass between each rising of the Sun.
That quicker than you blink, the sands have all but run,
That faster than you think, the deal is dead and done.
Time flies they say
If so, may wings
each day soar high
May not regret
as sunset falls
beget dismay
Each new sunrise
With fresh eyes seize
And prize the day.
31.01.19
'Any Theme Than Bauk Poetry Contest'
Sponsored by Charles Messina