Best Time On My Hands Poems
Do deadlines and due dates
ever rattle my brain
No, no - I'm a poet
It's not fair to complain
I’m free to sit
and dream up ideas
Or try my wit
my reader to please
O, lucky me
with time on my hands
When the hourglass drains
~ just flip the sand
Some fellers like to sit around and sip bourbon on the rocks.
I prefer to sit around admiring my collection of old clocks.
At last count I reckon they number about seventy-five or so.
Much to the chagrin of my spouse, the number continues to grow!
I just can't pass up a bargain at the local antique store.
I suppose I'm like that old horse heading for the barn door.
When I spot a lonely beauty displayed there by its self,
I feel sorry for it and take it home to display on a shelf!
My den looks like a museum with clocks of every pedigree.
There are wall, mantel and cuckoo clocks staring back at me!
Even a grandfather clock stands against the far wall,
Made of solid oak and rising nearly seven feet tall!
Nigh on forty years ago my interest in antique clocks began.
Some are from from Germany, England and a few from Japan.
Do they all chime and clang at once you may rightly ask?
No - to keep them all wound would be an onerous task!
The chimes, bongs and cuckoos the old clocks emit,
Would surely drive one insane, I would readily admit!
'Twould be lonely around here, though, sans those friendly faces,
And their graceful, sweeping hands and ornate wooden cases!
Entry for Julie Leigh Rodeheaver's "Hobbies" Contest
(21 February 2019)
Obviously this man's got lotsa time to devote totally
To actively pursuing this rewarding endeavor called poetry
Meeting folks of like minds
Sharing passions in kind
At my stage in life nothing equals my verbosity
Some fellers like to sit around and sip bourbon on the rocks.
I prefer to sit around admiring my collection of old clocks.
At last count I reckon they number about seventy-five or so.
Much to my spouse's chagrin the number continues to grow!
I just can't pass up a bargain at the local antique store.
I suppose I'm like that old horse heading for the barn door.
When I spot a lonely beauty displayed there by its self,
I feel sorry for it and take it home to display upon my shelf!
My lair looks like a museum with clocks of every pedigree.
There are wall, mantel and cuckoo clocks staring back at me!
There's a grandfather clock standing against the far wall.
Made of solid oak and rising nearly seven feet tall!
Nigh on forty years ago my interest in old clocks began.
Some are from Germany, England and a few from Japan.
Do they all chime and clang at once you may rightly ask?
No - to keep them all wound would be an onerous task!
The chimes, bongs and cuckoos the old clocks emit,
Could drive one insane I would readily admit!
'Twould be lonely around here, tho', sans those friendly faces,
And their graceful, sweeping hands and elegant wooden cases!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Time on my hands.
Ain’t got time to have no time on my hands,
Because I’ve got to learn to fly before I leave this land.
Time stands still and goes in the blink of an eye,
But I don’t believe I’ll ever find my paradise.
Scared of leaving with this weight on my mind;
All I have left to give you is my time.
Trying to face the world whilst wearing nothing but a smile;
But life is dragging me down and leaving me to die.
Time, time, time, time, time. It’s time to live or die.
Time, time, time, time, time. It’s time to fly so high.
I’ve lost my mind and I don’t know why,
I still believe in my paradise.
Seasons come and seasons pass on by,
But I’m still here waiting for the end of time.
Sat here crying in front of the wailing wall;
I wish I could explain to you the way I fall.
Time, time, time, time, time. It’s time to live or die.
Time, time, time, time, time. It’s time to fly so high.
I’ve lost my mind and I don’t know why,
I still believe in my paradise.
I guess it’s time for me to say goodbye.
My only feelings are, I’m feeling alive.
I’m gonna fly so high, I’ll touch the sky,
The day I finally find my paradise.
(C)2012 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Time on my hands,
Exhaustion in my heart,
Spending my nights,
Finding the parts,
So many peices,
Just scattered on the floor,
From where you walked away,
Where you slammed the door,
Time on my hands,
Distance on my mind,
So hard to enforce,
A spine I can't find,
Tougher than I look,
Smarter than they think,
Catching on quick,
Balancing on the brink,
Time on my hands,
Love on the line,
Nothing left to do,
Lie and say Im fine,
Time on my hands,
Heart on the floor,
Where he stands,
At her door.
Time on my hands....
Another ponder day came by
And looked me right square in the eye.
I just sat and with a sigh
Grabbed my pencil and began to write.
The sky is blue dotted with white
The grass was green but turned brown over night.
The flowers all droop out on my stoop
Another summer's flown the coop.
Then the winds began to blow
Followed by white flakes of snow
I closed my eyes and began to dream
Of tomorrow's brand new painted scene,