Long Introspectiontime Poems
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Time is a man made construct whose sole purpose is to bring an ordered form to the
events of our lives. It has no place in the overall picture where what is…is, and what
isn’t may be but remains to be seen.
When you have just slipped and cut off your foot with an axe…that is not the time to
worry if you damaged its cutting edge.
To fear death is to fear life, neither one do we get a vote in, and both will occur
whether we like it or not.
BETWEEN BLACK AND WHITE ARE COUNTLESS SHADES OF GREY. IF THESE SHADES
OF GREY ARE NOT CONSIDERED, FACTORED, AND APPLICABLE, THE INDIVIDUAL
NATURE OF THINGS IS FOR ALL PURPOSES DENIED.
The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. If not pass a law that
says it must be.
If we pull onto a road and drive long enough without exiting, we are assured in
arriving exactly where it leads.
When somebody else holds the reins of your mount, do not expect a pleasant ride.
The only way to insure your vote does not count, is to not use it.
Just because we choose not to accept or believe does not mean it is not true.
It is ok to have an opinion on everything…if you are willing to change one or two a
day. In other words be careful of trying to project your beliefs on any situation,
because at the bottom line the truth is, and belief is merely that…belief. Take your
time and seek the truth.
It is ridiculous to claim anybody died before their time. Every person is guaranteed
by birth exactly the amount of time they have coming…Thank you Lord
If caught in an avalanche, a wise man does not place his trust in an umbrella.
It is not cowardice if you are merely choosing your field of battle.
If your goal is victory remember it does not have to happen today.
A wise man takes his time and wins…fools rush to their defeat.
There are no accidents…everything is founded in cause and effect.
The greatest impediment to the truth… is belief.
The journey of self discovery is but eternity in length.
Why is it that every time I look in the mirror,
I see someone different?
I know it’s essentially me on the other side,
but I can’t help but think
that I’ve changed.
What’s even stranger is that
I can’t monitor this change.
I can’t tell if I’ve progressed, recessed,
gone up, down, left, or right,
sideways, front ways, back ways,
long ways, short ways
high ways, low ways,
good ways, or bad ways.
All I know is that I’m different.
When I look at my hair,
I can’t help but think
that it’s supposed to be like it is.
If it’s messy, is it because I didn’t comb it,
or is it because I just haven’t had time
to fix it from working all the time
and trying to make ends meet?
If it’s decent, is it because
I combed it well enough to hold,
or am I trying too hard to give the impression that
nothing’s wrong
and I have no worries in my life,
when during such time I couldn’t be more anxious
over nothing?
I consider my eyebrows.
Are they up in excitement?
Are they up in worry?
Are they down in sadness?
Are they down in determination?
I DON’T KNOW!
All I know is that I still have them.
Sometimes, I look into my eyes,
almost staring indefinitely
at the green/hazel ambience
that surrounds the black abyss.
It’s an introverted sunburst
with rays shooting from and in every direction
and leading to an inner zero-point.
Does this symbolize me?
Am I so colorful and full of life on the outside
and nothing but a starless night-hole on the inside?
Sometimes I feel like it,
but I know better.
Stars make the night come alive;
the darkness makes the light so much more beautiful.
Every time I look in the mirror,
I think of where I’ve been and where I’m going,
but nothing matters more than
where I am.
The past and the future are relative
to my absolute presence.
All background behind me
and all foresight in front of me
ALL
depend on the what I see in the mirror,
NOW,
and I’m not about to let that down.
I sit here in my black room, its somewhere in my mind.
The time I sit here softly rocking, my way I try to find.
Why was I sent to sit here, where there can be no scream.
What ever caused this journey must have been evil and oh so mean.
I simply want the laughter and acceptance of all that equals me.
I simply want the others who say its you I see.
You are not such a bad sort, in fact I like you fine.
Then why am I sitting in this black room, on straight razors cutting line.
I never wake a-morning, and think what harm to do.
Never was it my thought to harm, not even just a few.
I seek my essential essence, in hopes it sets me free.
But all that outside influence, doesn’t want that to ever be.
Is there in truth, a white light?
Should that road I take?
Or will the fires of hell, my soul so rudely bake.
Struggle with this razor decisions, struggle with all my might.
Sitting in my black room, with no star lit glitter of night.
Is there really purpose, or merely chance of fate.
The answer be at the ending, for which we endless wait.
Choices, choices, are we free to think?
Should we make that choice, just how far do we sink?
I bought the broken bottle, and felt the sting of pain.
I walked into the sunshine, to be soaked by freezing rain.
I rode upon the horses, to fast to heed the rein.
I stood upon the ties, and taunted... the fast approaching train.
Surcease is but a concept, to hold my mind complete.
While truth is but a fire, burning hotly at my feet.
Does any out there, question, and do they ever wonder?
Does any out there think, it be more than senseless blunder
Does any out there, have a clue or by chance even know?
Does any out there, have a ticket to this eternal show?
Will any out there, take the time to reach out and kindly let us know?
Silence……………………
Form:
This morning I went on my daily stroll.
Only this time it was quite different:
I permitted my mind to take control
How much I knew not or to what extent.
It took me on a tour of memories.
I see a boy walking in this same place.
He hears a call, “Al...bee!” The reverie
Had roused in him his mother’s lovely face.
He knew the purpose of her tireless call
It was almost noontime, its time to eat.
He arrived home late that day I recall
And consequently took a little heat.
She said, “Albee, it’s rude to be tardy
‘I’m Sorry’ does not ease severity.”
Just as I was about to get a smack
My mind propelled me into the future
Same boy, a bit older. As I think back
I was always getting slapped, that I’m sure.
I couldn’t understand, I'd done no wrong.
If angels roamed earth, you’re looking at one.
Again I hear her call the same singsong
Inflection. Al...bee! Al...bee time to run.
I could hear her from across the river.
There is no way I can make it back in time.
The kids chanting" run! Run Chicken liver!”
I booked it to the bridges railway line
Crossed over, then across the open field
To where I’m walking now. I’m here! I yelled.
But my words fell on deaf ears. I’m a tot
Again. Standing atop a rail, arms stretched
Out for balance. Not too far from this spot
Where I’m now walking. The memory is etched
Indelibly in my mind. I count steps
One! Two! Buckle my shoe, three, four, close...oops
The door, Five, six pick up sticks. This I kept
Up until I slipped off the rail. Then whooped
Like an Indian, then once more I cried
Out and an echo returned repeating
Wooaheeeah! Aheeah far and wide.
Suddenly I heard a whistle blowing
A freight train on the same tracks where I stand
Better move myself from this piece of land.
It's a quaint little street, bustling with tourists
Shops selling ice creams and coffees, sandals, and seashells...
People rushing, a bike or two in the street, a car searching for a place to park
A baby cries, and mothers wipe sticky faces....chatter, and laughter..
One small gallery, tucked descreetly, into the narrow cobblestone alley
A blinding ray of sun's reflection, catches my attention
The window display, filled with seascapes, antique sailing artifacts
And one small painting....sitting, poised, proudly on an easel...
At first the glare makes it hard to see
But I cup my hands around my eyes...
A lovely rendition of this very same village
Painted many years ago...long before tourists
Long before lattes and souvenirs...
Just a little fishing village...dated 1918
The houses wearing chalky patina,
Narrow lanes leading away from the main road,
dipping down into golden sand dunes,
A small general store and a blacksmith shop,
Seagulls gliding like angel wings against the summer blue
White steepled churches slumbering in the warm afternoon sunshine
The quietness, the peaceful nature of it....simple and serene...
And I think to myself, ...how extraordinary it would be
If I could freeze time for a day,
If I could pull it out and visit it...just once in awhile
If I could bring it back now and again....that peaceful afternoon...
Walk in warm sunshine,
Where the leaves would never fall from those ancient trees,
And the gentle slopes would never know the cruel blast of winter storms
Where tears had never fallen, where age was timeless
If time could stand still.....
I hears the tinkle of the bell, as I enter the shop...
I remember yesterday
When I was young and free
The world was mine to conquer
And love was waiting for me
No dark clouds hovered o’er my head
I didn’t count the days
All was right in my little world
In so many little ways
But time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
And loved ones will go away
Time slips away my friends
Time slips away.
Soon the babe will be a man
Friends will come and go
Sunny days will turn to rain
The future we don’t know
We think life will go on forever
We have time to say goodbye
We put off till tomorrow
We’ll do it bye and bye
But Time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
And loved ones will go away
But Time slips away my friends
Yes time slips away
The house now is empty
Children have long gone
My love was called to heaven
I’ve no one to lean upon
I always meant to keep in touch
With old friends I used to know
Now we’ve drifted apart
And Oh…I miss them so!
Yes, Time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
So say “I love you” every day
Nurture your friendships dearly
Hold your loved ones tight
Show how much they mean to you
Before you say goodnight
Yes time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
For we were never meant to stay.
Yes...time slips away my friends
Time...just slips... away!
Copyright©2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
------
Grandma Bea
The trackmarked pain on the televisions face raining out and cocooning his grave was not a
very good advertisement for reincarnation Wake up at last near the worlds end crescent in
fetal shape symptomatic riding electric spasms of rampantly distasteful nervous system
Insolent huge anxious insect squirming monster specimen hid in a safe watchful eyes
blinded by heaven next to me was vending machine annihilation Cartwheel of half eaten hint
of red tapeworm breathing concrete pages of dreary neon lighted soul suffocating streets
filed to a pulp Beer drinking benders on Saturday mornings no concept of time vibrations
running spit on floor of reality Psychological moral and artistic problems suicide gallows
with teeth in a grotesque nightmare interlude of cellular panic Your old and valued friend
of detrimental poetic tendency has defected there is no treatment - is it wrong to make
the patient as comfortable as possible? You should have seen a glass of whiskey slaying
Goliath on a respirator superior yet terrified the frivolity felt more lubricated then
usual (mixing another scotch stroking his brain) now that the music has faded I will sleep
until the end of time in a porcelain bathtub Capillary incision catalyzes tongues of a
flare ten shades of green that flings ignited subject exploding into space “Come on out
old troll, let us put daisies in your hair” Sanctuary in the embalming to emaciate the
wings Do angels ever cut themselves shaving?
My hair was cut too short today by a middle aged Russian lady.
I get out of the chair, pay her a dollar tip, then walk out into the cool, sunny afternoon.
I know memory colors time, and a shaved head is much like a rebirth.
Even now in my chosen silence (the placeless guilt of an un-greeted roommate now home),
My hibernating darkness (the unworthy desire of sanctuary),
Even here, I seem to fabricate my own grace.
We have stairs, and descend them, down into darkness.
We look back, time after time, making sure we can still see the light
From the door high above.
Down we go in hope that we find what we’re looking for
And that something will bring us running back up with mad joy,
Or a pleasurable stillness of mind,
With the aim to use our new treasure
For the good of outside, the others of our time here.
With lamb-like innocence we play this game
Though the steps are never the same
And the light from upstairs
Is never solved nor snared...
You cut my hairs
And these steps fall away from me.
And the treasure is doubted and
I become new and strange to myself and
Scared and sinless and bare.
Bearing only now, witness,
To God’s true grace.
We find him with nothing.
This being our Arrival.
The desperate cry of salvation
Answered from every corner of the mind.
(Every step left to find.)
Now light, light!
The candles running down these darkened walls!
(They were there the whole time.)
His back he turned as the world it burned, and tears coursed down his cheeks.
To and fro his head did go, as sadly he shook his head.
I gave them all, an endless ball, why did they treat it so?
Questions, questions, questions no answers gave surcease.
Down the slippery slope without a rope once their will I gave release.
In no time at all they ruined the ball, the band it got no pay.
In a way, its strange to say, they knew would come this day.
Stop the party, quit being naughty, oh no its time to play.
Hear those screams of shattered dreams, and endless time of fear.
Was I obtuse, to cook their goose I thought I made it clear.
Well on I go, there’s more you know, its not my only rock.
Maybe, the 'next' will stop their walk, and hear me talk.
My heart will soar, there will be much more and the tears won’t fall as rain.
My choice was clear, the costs were dear, there was no call for pain.
Oh, my children have died, and they never tried, but all was not in vain.
For the next rock will roll and I shall stroll among those who feel no pain.
Eternal life is oh so nice and soothes the rutted road.
Will you, the 'next,' draw near my words so that the price be not a weary load.
Beside me now and standing tall you are welcome here to stay.
As for those,well I do suppose ‘free will’ got in their way.
Form:
Rest thyself weary traveler, enter into my welcoming gate.
Tarry a while, may thy wearisome burdens time abrogate.
Sit with me, tell me of thy arduous and itinerant bourne,
And of the many roads thy feet have trod, paths now well worn!
Sup with me, partake of my bread and effervescent wine,
That for this moment in time our souls may intertwine,
Sharing food for thought, musing upon ideals to which we aspire.
May lofty reflections flow from us that others we may inspire!
Share the exhilaration of the towering mounts thou hast scaled,
And the depression of valleys in which ye sensed ye failed.
Of sere deserts where sheer determination dwelt midst thy entourage,
Facing disappointment as ye strove for that elusive verdant mirage!
Share with me the perils ye suffered upon the raging seas,
And the calming of the waves by God in answer to your pleas.
Ye hath borne with grace the vicissitudes of life, that I can see.
I am truly blessed by the time I have spent with thee!
Many are the bold adventures thou has beheld in thy days.
Would'st not thee now shed thy rambling vagabond ways,
And linger a while longer to fill my being with eternal hope,
To impart thy wisdom that my soul with life can better cope?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)