Life seems to be on a time schedule
Depart here to arrival there
A stop watch to nowhere
Precise timing
Rush to everywhere
The long and short hand have accelerated
Timing to catch up in maneuvering
Humans are not an electronic device
We are flesh and blood
Every given step calls for movement
Timing is continuous components and humans have a pause
Every day calls for an agenda
Thoughtful possibilities
Time keeps moving
It is not easy to keep up the pace
There are times when feels they are in a race
Race against time
Tick tack being on the more
A schedule has been made committing to time
Today the present
Tomorrow the next
Doing it all again
Time doesn’t stand still
There is so much to fulfill
Time seems to want command and demand as a response
Test of time
Gaining a factor
Time to capture.
As I wake up in my loft
I ask myself what’s in a day.
Is it the woman who left me behind
or the one I’ve yet to meet?
My ears ring and I feel
I’m living for the next poem
and the song I sang last night
lingers. It always comes back to me.
Someone downstairs is on the phone
talking about wars in other lands
and dirty dishes he left last night
filling the kitchen sink linger.
A rabbit waits in the back yard
until I take a walk to my car
to take a drive by the river.
The sun hides behind a veil of clouds.
The river has carved its way
long before I was born, and after
I was a twinkle in his eyes
he would say with affection.
Of the river are born
many songs and poems
and together they live
well beyond their time.
ALLUSIONS OF A VANISHED NOW*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
stainless-steel womb
welded shut,
buried beneath the oak's gnarled roots,
remnants given to the earth.
allusions of a vanished now~
faded sepia photographs,
a girl's clumsy drawing of herself,
a compact disc, its molded plastic brittle,
a mix of forgotten summer love songs.
headlines tell of wars, violence, and bloodshed
tidings of momentary joys~
the scent of potpourri, a best-selling book,
a poem scribbled on frangible parchment,
a smooth, grey river rock,
pocketed on some long-ago walk
treasured remembrances.
When unearthed decades from now,
will future inquirers understand
the echoes,
the desires,
the fears,
the loves,
invisibly etched in these ordinary relics?
Will they see us in the dust motes dancing
in the beam of their curious light?
Or will it all just be
a mysterious puzzle,
a murmur,
quickly forgotten,
returned to the earth's clutches?
*Note: Poem published 6/27/2025 then deleted; (Poetrysoup.com/poem/allusions_of_a_vanished_now_1737437) This is my original pom
Astronauts stranded,
at the International Space Station
heard strange noises recently
emitted from the diabled
Boeing Starlink capsule:
"I'm sorry, Dave."
"I'm afraid I can't do that."
Something inside wants to shine
But do I dare let it breath
What kind of harm would it cause
When it reaches out
From with in
Where it never has been a popular choice
Should I let you see how ugly it became
As tme as gone by I felt ignored
I felt insignificant
Should it be aloud to live
In a less than perfect world
I am the time capsule of change
The one that now sees
I am free to be mè.
A shored life
awakes the old
patience is a virtue
a wondrous light
a way for the world
one way passage
yielding trifles
abundant returns
nameless faceless
novelties in scrolls
constant to air
The Book of Life
accounts tallies
clearly visible
hidden from sight
chance of a lifetime
warps through glass
bottled sealed.
Time Capsule
I am lying in this bed in this room.
My bedroom that has become my tomb.
A time capsule of the past.
Of days that didn't last.
My children have chosen not to visit me, nary a call. They've left me in this tomb of yesteryear.
Hoping for the day they once again will. appear.
I had a stroke.
I assure it's not a joke.
It left me dependant on others for care.
All this is, for me, one giant scare.
In my room, memories encompassing me of days long past.
Awaiting when my children will call, dare I dream, they visit me at long last.
Until then, I am in the room.
That has become my tomb.
In this tomb of memories, I silently & solemnly cry.
Fearing, I'll be here alone & forgotten by my children, until the day I finally die.
Copyright © Ashe "Kristy" De La Keur Scoville
This is a flag planted in territory I could not hope to control.
A buoy dropped in space that will never be sighted again.
A desperate note protected by a fragile bottle in the fathomless oceans.
Why does a craftsman labor to build an instrument that he knows cannot possibly function?
I have no answer, though I must be driven by that same force as I vainly attempt to tether time.
14 April 2021
__________________
Just a Little Scribble
~ Simply me ~
Sunday October 25th, 2020- Poem of the Week
Surging through memory,
all time was expanded
The past and the future
—beginning and end
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Time Capsule
Written: by Tom Wright
February 2015
I carved a name upon a tree,
Like a time capsule, I thought.
In twenty years, I returned,
But God, the great time keeper,
Thought this was not to be
For upon my arrival,
I found the tree had burned.
My Mind,
A Time Capsule
Written: by Tom Wright
1/27/2016
With the clock un-laboriously doing its thing,
I start today with blank canvas.
No chambered thoughts, tarrying from the dark side.
My mind functions as a stopgap time capsule,
Where is interred each thought,
Concisely framed, that my existence lay’s in.
Occasionally I excavate thoughts
Meant only for myself, while questioning,
At what depth into my seclusion
Will I permit my pen to reach?
The farther my steps Journey,
The more these thoughts become frozen
On things Eternal;
I SPEAK THEE AS IGNORANT
AND AM PROUD TO SAY WHY.
HE SHUDDED HIS SHOULDERS AND LOOKED
TOWARD THE GROUND,
I SPEAK THEE AS IGNORANT, THAT YOU ALLOW
WORDS TO RILE YOU INTO ANGER
THAT SUCH PUT YOU BENEATH ME AND
SPEAK AS YOU ARE MY EQUAL: YET
WHEN SUCH IS SPOKEN YOU ARE MADE MAD
AS IT IS SCRIPTED FOR PERFORMANCE.
HE LOOKED AT HER AND SAID
THAN I MUST OBEY YOUR WORDS
AS YOU ARE AS EQUAL IGNORANT AS I.
THAT YOU SPEAK THRU THE TONGUE OF MY
BROTHER, AND STAND IN THE WAYS OF
THOSE WHO WISH TO BE RESPECTED.
YOUR WORDS COME THRU ANGER
BUT WHAT YOU WISH IS SOMETHING
UNPROVEN AND WRONG
AND IF I'M TO DO SUCH, YOU WILL
SPEAK ME AGAIN
AS IGNORANT.
THE WAYS TO DO SO HAS BEEN PROVEN
THE DIFF FRO MORE DESCRIBES THESE THIS
AS WAYS OF DIFFERANCE, TASK
THAT HAVE BEEN
CHORED FOR REPAIR,
MIGHT THE WAYS OF DO-DONE FOO
BE THE WAYS OF OUR DOING
THAN I SHALL NOT BE SEEN AS IGNORANT!
TRHAN SHE SPOKE, AND THAN I WILL BE SEEN
AS SOME WHO-DONE- LOVER OF YOUR KIND
I THINK NOT MISTER DUMMYBOY !
FIX THE THING LIKE I ANT
AND TAKE YOUR A$S AWAY FROM ME.
Seeds are nature's progeny en-capsuled.
Life's germ in suspended animation,
Awaiting the trigger to grow, scheduled
By warmth, rain, season to spark gestation.
Tiny seed has script to create tall trees
Using DNA code coiled in germ cells.
Shoots sent skyward, roots down, through the soil squeeze
To play out the process, the code foretells.
Seeds stored for decades remain viable
Kept in seed banks to save diversity,
When tree survival unreliable
Through habitat, climate adversity.
Seed banks are time capsule stores, that sustain
Old species, with chance to spring up again.
Poetic Time Capsule
The words you see from me are
not necessarily a reflection of how I
feel at that given moment.
Sometimes they are a reflection of
a way I felt at a prior time, a moment
caught in a poetic time capsule that,
for one reason or another, was not
released until sometime after it was
created.
Sometimes the moment may have
passed years ago, yet I felt, for
one reason or another, the
need to poetically capsulize it.
Whatever the content of the
capsules, know that every one of
them, for one reason or another,
are medicine to my soul.
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