Long Time on my hands Poems
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An old wives tale of modern day
Say's do not eat before you swim
So why are cookies compulsory in order
to surf the web ?
A plethora of unwarranted advertising
from funeral cover to bedroom toys
And what i never even clicked
on today redirected me to a virtual
travel agent
And with time on my hands i thought
i'd play along
So where is your dream destination ?
And what is your preferred mode of transportation ?
If you could go anywhere at all where
exactly would you like to holiday?
Where ive always dreamed of going
I'm not sure can be reached by
Plane , Train , Automobile or Ship
As it doesn't reside on any map , ocean ,
continent or desert island
It has yet to be discovered but i have
already been there
Where i'd love and give anything to go ?
Is simply back in time to my past
But alas i fear you are in the business
of time share not time travel
And sadly i have run out of the
will or desire to create new memories
all i want to do is to relive my old one's
Back to a time when i knew who i was
before i pawned my father's watch
Back to before i chose to tread the
trampled path of woe that finds
me in the present
I'm sure at fleeting once i was a child
before i became the man i am
Little boy Pinocchio who wished wanted
and was willing to try anything just not to
he or who he actually was
Despite the fact that everyone who ever
met him really liked him spoke highly of him
and sought him as a friend
But never was it enough nor could
he see what others seen in him
Until the day it finally dawned on him
and it was far to late
Though he thought of himself as an
oyster shell
All along he was in fact the
secret treasured pearl hidden deep
inside within it
Why do I watch my tv
when I know there are things to be done.
And why do I look out the window -
and not finish things I’ve begun?
The laundry can wait ‘til tomorrow,
the dishwasher emptying, too.
I have so much time on my hands
why do I let things accrue?
I don’t have to cook any meals
or take the dog for a walk
or pull the weeds in a garden
or prepare a script for a talk.
I could go to a musical show
or play Rummicube with a group.
I could maybe play Pitch or play bridge -
instead I sit here and droop!
I’m not used to all of this leisure,
no places I’m scheduled to be,
no meetings I have to attend -
This all seems so foreign to me.
When fear of the Covid is over
Perhaps I'll then volunteer
at the local food bank or school.
To be useful will bring me some cheer.
Maybe I’ll bake up a cheesecake
and invite my friends in for tea
or maybe I’ll just write a poem
and post it for people to see.
One hundred pushups every morning,
followed by breaking my fast with some healthy nutrition.
My outdoor activities involve miles of walking.
My indoor activities are pretty much the same thing,
however, the average observer would probably see me as nervously pacing,
but I'm not, I'm just getting my walking exercise in.
I daily practice transcendental meditation,
and when I sleep, I practice lucid dreaming.
I am either working on a poem or some invention.
Rarely do I have idle time on my hands,
and as a result, my creative process continues to expand,
whether I'm at home or on a wilderness trail endlessly hiking,
taking advantage of that time to do some external thinking.
I feel just as vibrant as I've ever been.
So happy birthday to me.
Today I reached the age of seventy,
and I'm still giving many much younger than I, a run for their money.
She had a masters degree,
from Trinity Cambridge,
was brokering deals in the city,
with overheard talk re. financial leverage.
Whilst I’d a diploma
from a,
“technical” college.
A photographic memory,
from heart she could recite,
the Shakespeare plays and
the complete periodic table,
and her port and whisky bottles had their own silver labels.
A no mortgage flat, Persian cat and a cleaner,
a holiday retreat on some remote Welsh peninsula.
but despite,
the disparity in background and mental capacity,
we clicked and hooked up and for a while,
lived,
quite lustfullly.
To survive, comfortably,
in her social circles,
I needed to eliminate some of the hurdles.
The barriers that doubtless would have stifled,
my chance of becoming,
economically entitled.
A list was produced, and included employment and personal grooming,
but my care free attitude,
Is what attracted her,
I imagined,
what she found appealing.
But lust is short term and knowing,
knowledge is power I began reading her own books and with time on my hands spent hour upon hour.
I read 1984, so not to be a bore,
at her parties.
I read to Kill a Mockingbird, so I would be heard,
at her parties.
I read The Great Gatsby, because I had to be,
at her parties.
I read Death of a Salesman,
to be life and soul,
at her parties.
I read Great Expectations, to get
me out of situations,
at her parties.
I read The Grapes of Wrath, so they wouldn’t laugh,
at her parties.
I read Pride and Prejudice, to stop them extracting the piss,
at her parties.
I read Catcher in the Rye, so I could look people in the eye,
at her parties.
I read The adventures of Huckleberry Finn, just to fit in,
at her parties.
I read book after book,
but no one gave a flying f*** , about me,
at her parties.
Ironically after reading Gullivers travels,
almost as I closed the cover,
she told me to pack my bags.
It was all over.
I went up North,
got a job,
on a three month trial,
Coincidentally, as a trainee librarian,
at a private school,
near Carlisle.
The acceptance photograph displaying the Chancellor’s handshake,
new wife,village life
and my f*** you smile,
and a perfectly groomed new hair style.
With time on my hands now that I am retired,
To hobbies I have returned,
And I am not disappointed.
I am back into stamp collecting,
Still find it rewarding,
Brain cells re-connecting,
Memories of shared interest with my Mum,
Which was far from Dumb.
Stamps on approval in post,
Hunting for coins that were lost.
To exchange for cheque to send by same day post,
Number of pen pals something to boast.
Waiting at letter box for stamps from foreign lands,
To get into our hands.
Swapping stamps with friends,
Visits to stamp shops,
Asking relatives to save stamps.
The joy of getting stamps from countries just born,
Countries that are no more make me feel old and forlorn.
Saving their stamps for posterity makes me feel re-born.
You wake up at night,
Heart filled with fright
Sweat on your brow
But it fades into nothing now
Age in my eyes
Shows how time flies
Time on my hands
And no one understands
Listening to the voices in my head
Doing what I want instead
The beat goes on but the timing is wrong
Who would if thought it take this long
Waiting on myself, but once again I was a no show
Listening to the music within, giving it time to grow
What I once wanted to be
Some of the fragments I can still see
Tell me am I still free
Time passes leading me to here today.
Still searching for the right words to say
Chasing off the memories of times gone by
Dried are the tears that once fell from my eye
One day maybe another to come
I'll have to remember where I come from
Till then I'll just be on my way
Maybe I'll stop and see you again some day
I've seen her there, most every day, rocking on the old front porch
She lives alone, I've often heard....she must get lonely on her perch
She watches the world passing her by...seeing her there,...just makes me sigh...
Sometimes I'm on my way to town, ...sometimes on my way to church
She's called out a word...inviting me in, ....but who has the time...? I'll just grin...
And wave a little....and then...I'll pretend I hadn't heard....is that so unheard of??
Well! Good grief....you see....I have things to do...important dates!!
Too much to do that cannot wait!!
If I were to hesitate...even for a minute...walk through her gate
Well...heavens to Betsy!! I might be late!!...
No...I couldn't stop.....! But I'll wave and smile....For heaven's sake!!
No time on my hands, to simply fritter away!
So I pass on by..don't miss a step....Don't look back, feeling no regrets!
It's my day's journey...I really must scurry...I hurry away, not a backwards glance
Perhaps another day...then, we'll see......Perhaps another chance, when I'm free...
But then....oh dear, how would I know, you see, life passed her by,
And when it was over....well....."that was that!"
But my ears still ring out...from her calling me "Please come in and sit a spell"....
Well.....I must not dwell...what is past is past...
Yet......I don't understand....what's the matter with people??
You see.....I've been rather unwell.....under the weather....Oh, ...it's a bother!
I'm too sick to go out, ...too sick to walk....but no one will stop to sit and talk
What's the matter with people??? Don't they care??
I called out to a friend...but she went on her way....she passed on by
Like I wasn't there....
Why doesn't anyone care??????
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Inspired by Paula's word contest "PASS"
---we get to speak less and less to each other; or is it
just me with too much time on my hands. My day's plan
of picking berries, I knew would get rained out; so wait
for tomorrow. Then the next day back to work; making
me wonder which is the nightmare and which the
dream?
(This could simply be a poem)
MAGICALLY
it seems
we get
to speak
less and
less to each
other
or is it
just me
with too
much time
on my hands
my day's plan
of picking berries
i knew would
get rained out
so wait for
tomorrow
then
the next day
back to work
making me
wonder
which
is
the
nightmare
and which
the dream
this could
simply be
a poem
Form:
After my children, I blended into a new being
Mommy, someone selfless and giving
A person who forgot what hobbies and friends were
I threw myself into their lives, as if my life depended upon it
as if I did not have a life at all, really
the only value I saw in me was through them
But my children grew up, moved away, started families
I had lots of extra time on my hands; what to do with it?
My granddaughter coaxed me into painting
I loved that; ran with it as if I was on fire
my enthusiasm for that rarely waned
After it did I remembered that I used to write
I picked up a pen, and began writing stories and poems
Sixteen hundred paintings and 34, 000 poems later
I remember there was a me
before my children came
and she is back.
A part of life’s journey ???
The hours begin to claw at me.
Time slips away, filled not, I see.
To much time on my hands.
In beams, in waves, in bands.
Empty spaces, invisible air.
These games of solitaire.
This game that is now my life.
No girlfriend, no lover, no wife.
Tides ebb, tides flow.
Time ebbs, times go.
Memories remain.
Keeping us sane.
On the turn of a card, life rides.
Behind a mask true life hides.
What is the time and space ?
That has created one’s face.
These masks that some prefer to ware.
Fashioned from scares beyond compare.
Staring back at us from near and far
Hiding !, just what and who they are.
Once again, I seem to be caught up in.
This game of solitaire – my life- such sin.
Cutting through the hours of my life.
Like a dull, old, rusty knife.
Severing all ties with reality.
Creating a world of fantasy.
These words have been written.
Time - the soul they have smitten
B. J. “A” 2
December 1st 2014