The sun is strong, the day is long
And as I sit here, thinking,
I wonder why, as time goes by,
My world just keeps on shrinking.
For as we age, at every stage,
We lose what keeps us going
Because our brain just can’t retain
New things we might be knowing.
Our skills may fade and friends we’ve made
May disappear completely,
Though some pretend we can transcend
And hide their fears discreetly.
Yet still we live and must forgive
Ourselves for what we’re lacking
And face each day in such a way
To send the doldrums packing.
The night is long…
I'm closer to sunset than I am dawn. The moon that lights my path has lost her way. As she finds her place, her path, I wander through the darkness alone. She needs time, patients, and love. I try but I'm so far away that I fear I can't reach her with my feelings. I sure hope my love and appreciation reach her and she feels as warm and safe as I do in her light. As my usefulness runs out and I become a husk of what I once was, I fear above all else that my moon will see how useless I truly am and won't have a place in her light anymore.
I apologise for the way I am
loves not for me, please understand,
I will not forget our night
spent in embrace
but how our lips did trace
my memories of long ago.
For never again to be forsaken
the dagger cut deep
the wounds I still bear,
yes, indeed I did use you
and don’t think I didn’t care,
but the road is long
and I'm on my way
a homeless soul to wander.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
Art is Long; Time is...
Art is longer than a heart-beat,
time is shorter than a hand-shake.
David's maker, Michelangelo, made
him taller than a mortal man—
stretching out proportions,
choosing marble of heroic flaw
before his chisel ever
made a mark.
The chosen youth so calm and
self-contained; his fingers gently
cup the stone arrested
by his hip.
Constructed with less care from
common clay, we who gather close to
David's knee, gaze upward at the
sky-crowned youth, his snowy
mute perfection frozen.
Our tiny cameras freeze the stone
forever poised to throw
toward fated death.
Returning here again to Florence
stones, aged by many summers more,
David's stone remains unthrown.
its arc a future still postponed.
Peggy Brightman (c) 2017
Is spring ever freaking well going to arrive
Bloody hell, it's long overdue, sakes alive
Done nothing wrong
Wear clean sarongs
Well sometimes I neglect to powder my thighs
How long is long
We live in a society that
No longer believe in an afterlife
We, therefore, strive to live as long as possible
Even though, it might be detrimental
For our or others well- being.
What is the true age of man? I don`t know but
I think when the memory is erased
When we become a burden, death is not an enemy.
Mirror tells
Life falls
Love holds
Never mind
You’ll find
Dream fades
Time bears
Love suffers
Rain pours
You’re still
So sweet,
Honey
------------
Two-Words-on-a-Line” Poem?
This day is long please do not be wrong be right so you can fight day or night
under a moon light where it is tight with all your might and say you are out of
sight with your hight
When you learn how to paint you envision a world void of
choice, then like time you give life to the future--creating a garden
where the thoughts of a man dwell in oblivion.
I have learned how to be a good storyteller--to narrate to unseen ears
the miracles that existed before life was brought out of earth.
But this life does not give me credence for my simplicity neither does
it embrace my feelings when my soul seeks a home from fear.
When I told the truth in August: about a Zulu king in heaven, about
the voices that hid themselves beneath the sod, about time and the
sincerity on a seer's tongue--I was romanced with fear, for I thought
death would come like unwanted sleep.
But I have done well. I have made anew the things that matter most
to existence: the complexity of time--which is to rationalize confusion;
and the believe that life is fiction--and most importantly to stay at
home.
It's been said life is short, but that's very wrong.
Take it from one who has nothing more left to live for.
Life is long, life is very long.
Once when we were younger
We loved beyond belief;
I pointed you past Pluto wandering while
You helped me turn
A propitiously proverbial new leaf. Free-
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
From the branches reaching
Skyward, deep-space bound;
When you were there I had no care
If I were sideways, up or down. Landing
Gently in your outstretched arms
As comforting as grass;
Either way, as leaf or lover
Time never seemed to pass. Until
A God-like breath of windy air
Stirred me yesterday
Alighting me you’d moved on;
Now that my veins are turning brown
And summer is long gone.
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