We all mark time
until, in time,
we mark loss.
In the meantime,
we make our
mark
and
mark-make.
Time stops for no one Poetry Contest
Sara Jama
From the first heartbeat to the very last
From the first cry to the last gasp
Life and time rise and then fall
The hands on the external clock never pausing
As the legs of the day keep moving
From dashing sunrises to dashing sunsets
To the everlasting stars and moons in the sky
To the gravitation pull of the tides
Life keeps marching on
Orchestrated like and infinite
To the rhythm of the seasons
To the spins of the earth
Time never sits
Time never sits for anyone
Even when we're gone
As the sands of time
Funnel through our hourglass
Methodically, esoteric, and destined
Each pebble is a milestone in our lives
Each pebble adds purpose to our internal clocks
These heaps of pebbles lead us up the hill and down
From the first baby steps, childhood to adulthood
And to the lifetime of discoveries
From baby blues to aging greys
These stepping stones mark time
And our existence though short-lived
Where our internal clocks naturally yield in the end
As light begets darkness
And only then does the time sit inside our window
Outside nature continues its course
O Melancholy, my home-alone friend,
with Indolence conspiring to mark time,
with best intentions, and thoughts unpenned,
and faded vision, as the perfect rhyme,
so almost, so not quite, so very close,
distracted by my wastrel amigos.
If I could somehow loosen ties that bind,
and hold me in such unrelenting thrall,
if I the secret antidote could find,
to let me hear again the muse’s call,
my mind, now free, a-roving, unconcealed,
my deepest unsung thoughts in verse revealed.
Unending sojourn, inspiration sought,
and sometimes unexpectedly upturned.
When with the souls of poets we have walked,
their intimations shared, insights discerned,
if we, as in a dream, a trance adopt,
we too may tread their lofty mountaintop.
From my eyes
you kiss sleep
and the beats
of two hearts
mark time
as night turns day.
Sunrise plays
a soft tune
and runes
of light write free,
as the beats
of our hearts
in perfect counter-point
create
the morning song.
A piece of twine
an old marble cracked
from forgotten play
a watch frozen in time
hands touching nine
old books dusted in fine
white rings photos faded
where they lay left
on the mantle as
the ticks of clocks
quietly mark time
as deities drift
through the room of shadows
Silence as graves
A forgotten place
this room forever in night
the vanity cluttered with curiosities
and things collected in life
a piece of twine
tied in a bow
old marbles cracked
from games long time ago
frozen on faded watch faces
the hands touching the nine
books odd old and ornate
brown cracked folded
Re-read very deep in late sleepless nights
collect dust a fine white lace
wedding rings
family photographs
fade forever almost forgotten
the clock on the mantle
stopped dead echos
of the clock linger
something odd and ornate
completes the silver rays
where moon light falls
shadows crawl across the walls
in this place drifting forever in the night
lingers echoes of man
divinity is at hand.
aging is a blessing,
of existent being...
where-in mind re-iterates,
repetitions that mark time...
as waves crashing,
upon some shore...
and seeing itself,
re-shaped by tides...
currents and weathers,
changing accordingly...
with respect constants,
that define the nature of time...
relatively speaking as a concept,
of ideas that illustrates reflections...
of the minds-concept itself,
as subject to it's own objectivity...
such that aging is growth,
of a 'sole' in a species...
of existent beings adapting,
according to defines of time...
constants that demand an order,
that is us perceiving ourselves perceiving...
accelerations relative a speed limit,
constant on the growth path...
of consciousness and belonging,
to a continuity that becomes clearer...
as the mind is subject to itself,
and not so much that outer world...
that is seemingly the change and cause,
where-as it is the mind that effects itself...
as being the very definition of relativity,
with respect the changes the eyes see...
stan sand
Freud’s mirror
I am looking at myself in Freud’s mirror
The reflection is not of a white haired bearded sage
But of a falling face of middle age
My face in his mirror
When he saw himself there – did he see the id?
Or was it the repressive super-ego?
A stained old mirror-
Did he shave there?
Or did he just mark time?
Who needs a clock or a calendar to denote its passing-
When all you need do is go to the Bergstrasse
And see yourself in Freud’s mirror?
Life’s Metaphor
Written: by Miracle Man
11-21-2019
Life is a scrimmage for eternity,
At birth we’re put in the game,
and how we perform is crucial.
It’s a time of proving what we’re worthy of,
And even though we may fumble, God will forgive,
and allow us to return to the game.
At games end, we’re either called up or we’re left behind
So we can’t be content to just mark time occupying the bench.
We must stay actively engaged in the game,
For God alone, knows the expiration date on our contract.
Tom
“The hardest thing to learn in life,
is which bridge to cross and which to burn.”
Laurence J. Peter
Thought’s Aroused
Written by: Tom Wright
9/13/2012
Most days, my thoughts
Are consumed by phantom pugilism
With things that once were
But long in absentia.
I re-trace the missteps,
That became teaching tools,
In the grandeur of life;
My unspoiled moments,
The fourth dimension, has purloined,
Leaving me to mark time
With no pronounced purpose;
Love speaks
Feel heart peak
As joy tweaks
Truth tells
Know stern spell
Touch feels well
Live feel
Know what heals
Watch peace thrill
Joy hurls
Touch warm curl
Feel wit swirl
Faith knows
Hope sculpts show
Feel deep flow
Sense touch
Frame as much
Sparks as such
Prompt feel
Join fine will
In stance still
Forge wit
As strands fit
Poise that hit
Taste dream
Touch deep streams
In light beams
Heed grace
Light your face
In this space
String rhymes
That mark time
As dance mime
Seize chance
To brave dance
In strange trance
Be still
Sip clear fill
Glimpse goodwill
Just be
Dare to see
Soul set free
Leon Enriquez
14 February 2019
Singapore
allusive winds splatter metal amok
chasing leaves mark time across
cement jungles of error burn ravishing
imprints across eyes of the innocent
seasons beckon sweeping funnels
bitter rage evacuates human hope,
abounding distrust hidden in halls
echoing colorless, delectable death
hallow your hearts, replete lies seek
obstruction rebuilt to the core of
Capitol HIll, o’ to envision devalued
pinnacles of injustice embracing
common change, lives live, victims
victory, synonymous smiles, dear
diaries, echo empathy, fair futures,
galliant goals, resplendent respirations
sweep soiled souls, daily doses
of deep thrombosis depletions
O Melancholy, my home-alone friend,
With Indolence conspiring to mark time,
With best intentions, and thoughts unpenned,
And faded vision, as the perfect rhyme,
So almost, so not quite, so very close,
Distracted by my wastrel amigos.
If I could somehow loosen ties that bind,
And hold me in such unrelenting thrall,
If I the secret antidote could find,
To let me hear again the muse's call,
My mind now free, a-roving, unconcealed,
My deepest unsung thoughts in verse revealed.
Unending sojourn, inspiration sought,
And sometimes unexpectedly upturned,
When with the souls of poets we have walked,
Their intimations shared, insights discerned,
If we, as in a dream, a trance adopt,
We too may tread their lofty mountaintop.
My Parting Gifts
REMIT TO THE NATION…
Stand up and confront the scorn of the crowd,
Truth does not depend on the brash or the proud.
Your word is your bond, your heart is your vow,
Never bend to the trends that beguile here and now.
SUBMIT TO CREATION…
Respect all creation God put on this earth,
Each has their function; each has infinite worth.
We all lie down under stone and fresh clay,
Creation survives all our foolish forays.
ADMIT YOUR VOCATION…
Never mark time or keep fending off fate,
Waste not one talent or demand late rebate.
We each face our test against uncertain years,
We each have our purpose; our laughter, our tears.
See how you feel within your heart.
Sense a calm will that hurls true art.
Aim to be true as soul speaks clear,
Ask for right cues to bring fond cheer.
Charm knows a glow where joy now styles,
Choice springs a show as happy smiles.
Reach that sure wit as pun spreads tell,
Reap precious bits that come to dwell.
Etch a fine thought in sacred space,
Each lovely lot sums fragrant trace.
Discern the pact within the chimes,
Dream conjures tact as blooms mark time.
Leon Enriquez
26 October 2015
Singapore
still bearing scars
they proudly mark time
the vets parade
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