¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ unwilling step ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
Shuddering to the mirror.
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
This morning she is thirty.
Shining ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ star,
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ twilight shining,
Haunted ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Miranda is a-pining.
Silly ¦¦¦¦¦ silver girl,
Draw ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ toward you;
Time ¦¦¦ makes the years to whirl
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ he adored you.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ timelessness for you;
Calendars ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?
¦¦¦ Night will not see thirty again,
¦¦¦ soft ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ Miranda;
Pick up your glass ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
How old is Spring, Miranda?
(Blackout of A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty by Ogden Nash)
all calendars types
based on Moon, Sun, and some stars
see for example
Julian and Hebrew
Gregorian Hegira
Mayan Indian
"Nothing changes but the date on the calendar." By Poet
We love our pretty calendars holding our favorite pictures.
Many pictures of cute animals,
some of majestic land or sea views.
Each month changes with new pictures to enjoy.
We circle the dates we need to remember,
never wanting to forget our appointments or events.
I like to write in the date box a couple of words,
these words helps me to remember why I circled the date.
When December shows up,
our calendar must be put to rest.
The many dates on the twelve months have served us well.
Now off to shop for a new calendar,
one holding new dates and wonderful pictures.
people never change
history has all the proof
dates always changing
Calibrated Calendars
02 4 2025
David J Walker
Celebrate
The day
the month
the year
The way
We calibrate
our calendars
In gear
For another round
Around the sun
Another day
A week
A month
Is gone
Another year
I fear
If fleeting fast
Beyond the
Mornings cast
Of sun rays
Along the path
Of life in ways
We will never understand
As we stand
And demand
Answers
We will never understand
And then
again
It’s gone
The Wardrobe of a Temporary Condition
David J Walker
I had to admit
It might have been an illusion
The first morning home
Without a plausible conclusion to
Calendars past and
No witnesses left to
Attest to the
Long intrusion into
My young life
Nothing in the room
Was mine
Anymore
The clothes now three years old
Left hanging in the closet
Where I left them
The duffle bag of OD Green rags that
Might never be opened again
Thank God I was young
When nakedness was not
So much a sin
As it was
The wardrobe of
a temporary condition
Calendars
Like bank lenders
Lending date products
Per head all in spread
Again and again
Since birth to death
Say life time
Once in a year
Quarter day in success
In Four years a day in excess
Lending date products
Calendars
I always bought my calendars
On this date in December.
The prices had been cut by half
And that’s why I remember.
I purchased two for different walls
And one for desk-top viewing,
With different pages every day
To read, as I’ve been doing.
The local Barnes & Noble
Had a lovely huge collection.
I got there when it opened
So I’d have the best selection.
Alas, that store fell victim
To the Covid shut-downs here
Though I wouldn’t have set foot inside,
My paranoia clear.
The calendars, like everything,
I located online.
I paid full-price, but got them quick
And that worked out just fine.
Calendars lie
I know they do
Never could I be
As old as they say
All the years past
They must be lies
I don’t remember them
They can’t be true
Pages must be turning
In the middle of the night
Years slipped in
When I turn out the light
Adding up slowly
To a big lie
That must be it
It is all a plot
I can’t be this old
Today I bought my calendars
And boxes full of cards
To send next year conveying
My best holiday regards.
For after Christmas, things like these
Are sold at half the price,
A little gimmick stores employ
To clear their merchandise.
It’s become, to me, tradition
For as long as I remember,
I’ve bought calendars and cards
The 26th day of December.
I get up early each day
to sit by my windowsill.
And enjoy a glimpse of life
before taking my first pill.
Only half awake, my dreams
drift as I try to recall.
For, although sleep postpones pain,
it quickly resumes its crawl.
My room's as small as my needs,
an efficient little box.
And watching time slip away,
I hate calendars and clocks.
As dusk darkens the night sky,
I bid farewell to the sun.
And when sleep slowly arrives,
I dream my life here is done.
But though I'm ready to leave,
it's not up to me to say.
Only God can decide: if
I should leave this Earth or stay.
(Quatrain)
10/27/2015
Each year they send me calendars
To garner a donation,
No matter if in years gone by
I met that obligation.
I must have half a dozen now
With varied scenes depicted;
But though they’re nice, those knowing me
Could surely have predicted
Not one of those would grace my walls
‘Cause even though they’re free,
The only calendar I want
Is one picked out by me!
I save old calendars,
Hey, you never know,
Time might slip backwards,
So where else could you go?
For planning, etc.,
You'd have to call me,
And I'd make good money,
From my calendar fee
I don't save old bandaids,
Milk cartons or beer cans,
That would be silly,
Like saving old pots and pans
So keep me in mind,
If backwards we go,
Cause I'll be the one,
You'll have to know!!
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