Minutes Poems

Five More Minutes

Sometimes I wonder
What’s the point of anything
Five more minutes
Five more minutes of suffocating
Of not being able to breathe
I’m afraid I’m starting to bleed
From this incision that you made on my heart
This nonstop drift
Everything shifts
While you're off to sleep
I sit here, eyes wide
I try practicing my smile
It feels like someone is controlling me
Puppet on a string
Just

Ninety Minutes of Warning

It is Saturday afternoon
everybody and their uncle is in Target
buying things they will put into garage sales next summer
their red shopping carts are full
I had brought my friend here to get a shingles shot
Since she is ninety-two and has a walker, I parked her at the door
I won’t be here but a minute, she tells

60 minutes of descent 09-05-25

Snowflakes gently drift
through a brooding sky-

snowmen and puddles.

Two hours, fourteen minutes

She enjoyed the joy of motherhood
        once; for nine months:
Two hours, fourteen minutes.
    she held him his entire life
              and tried to give
       this tiny, unformed

Time My Funny Friend

"Time... Always here but never here." By Poet

Time my funny friend,
I cannot see you or feel you.
Yet time you are always with me,
from morning until night.
The clocks tick off,
the many minutes and hours.
The calendar takes off the 365 days, 
52 weeks and the 12 months.
Time where do you live,
out in space or in the clocks?
My

60 MINUTES SWIRL

Around the world
There are happenings
Events and Disturbances
Right here at home, Poets are gearing up on their journey of life experiences through their writing
Mindset in so many ways
Passing the days gone by
Emotions surging
Cries into shouts
Needing ears to listen and understand
Words to express
Poets being their own Commentators
As words turn
The mind explores
As highways accelerate
Words become dramatic
Active and aware
60

The Last Seven Minutes

When the heart stop
The mind still struggles
Clinging to the final spark of life
For seven precious minutes
In that span, the boundaries of time is blurred
The parietal and hippocampus in finality remember
The intermittent ticking of the internal clock
Intertwined in one last desperate waltz.

Five Short Minutes

Tonight I feel I have seen you for the very first time. 
I heard your laughter, felt your sad tears brush my face. 
Held you for a while and found reason in life's crazy rhyme. 
I was somewhere far away, floating in the most heavenly place. 

When you grinned, I knew the spark I lit

Five minutes

Anxiously he waits for his wife
She was supposed to be home at five
He needs to teach her a lesson
He knows she will after this session

five minutes later, she opens the door
Without greeting he hits her to the floor
He promises tonight he will give her a hiding
Never mind the pleading

He beats her face to a pulp
Bleeding

A Fistful of Minutes

"a breezy yet comfortable autumn day...ah, so lovely!" - quote by poet.


   his eyes flutter shut a fistful of minutes, 
    a much welcome respite into himself. 
 he sits in the shadow of a jacaranda tree.
 as he listens to the mutters of dry foliage, 
  a lone

Five Minutes

[b]5[/b]
The clock’s tick is a slow blade,
cutting through the silence,
fingers cold on metal chains—
it’s only minutes now,
my breath tearing through my chest.

[b]4[/b]
I can hear them—footsteps,
too close, too far,
scraping keys, rattling,
the air, thick—
I choke on it, wait.

[b]3[/b]
The light through the bars feels wrong,
like it’s burning me—
I can’t escape,
the walls closing in.

[b]2[/b]
The door cracks open,
a figure, a

2 Minutes to Midnight

Inspired by the song of the same name by Iron Maiden

In nineteen eight-four, a heavy metal band
made a statement about a minute hand. 
The Doomsday Clock was ticking down,
telling us we might not be around -
much longer.

You could say, now is now, and then was then, 
But, maybe, it's nineteen eighty-four again, 
except, that now,

Seven Minutes Until

|SEVEN MINUTES UNTIL OUR DEMISE

{"Seven minutes left; the insistent buzz in my skull would never abrogate, it preserved on being continuously strenuous. 
My whacks on the veneer of the tiles went unheard of as my entirety was virtually omitted; flouted. My eyes were swollen shut every dawn that I roused up, as the day progressed

12 Minutes

A TV drones on
Background noise
Riffing on a trash can
Moments
Without moment
Motionless predators
Devouring their prey
Popcorn
Stuck between the teeth
A reminder of joy’s
Transient cheese flavored
Fingertips
Searching the remote
For the present
Deleting the detritus
Of a black and white past
The doorbell
Announces
An unsolicited solicitation
Breaking the mood
Of an endless
                

Just five more minutes

I wonder about the turn of the world
As time passes and thoughts are held
A litany of lost ones linger
Of conversations requiring sympathy quite ginger

But the thought still remains
And the years do not bring change
The ache in my heart does not end
Just five more minutes with them.

© Paul Warren Poetry

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