Why are days looking like endless lifetimes,
Mistimes of pastimes...
As all I have is a mortal heart...
Foretime the thwart, an impart.
About Pastimes
To be a scatterbrain is a blessing and a curse;
Jumping from play to play, immaturity at its worse.
Painting is so gripping while it’s being done,
Reading takes its reader to serious or fun.
Writing verse as it comes and hope that it's enjoyed,
Is a past time to add to the past times employed.
And then there’s the canine that joins to watch the moon,
The flibbertigibbet pursuits all gone too soon.
Some folks ride the oceans and plan dreamy trips to space,
And then there are those who find their fun by just reshaping their face.
There are pastimes to ride horses and bungees to jump from mountains,
While others reach into waters to find coins in far off fountains.
Alas, though, my friend, methinks a pastime becomes past time in time.
crawling through tall green grass
making miles of tunnels
in fields all around
a lake, the yearly rain makes
floating on rafts
crafted from grandpa's woodpile
hot brown hills of slick dry grass
slid and sped down
in cardboard boxes
old knotted oak tree
climb up like a ladder
jump into leaves piled high
acorns falling
my childhood pastimes
wonderful memories of home
Twelve was the number Roger Staubach worn.
Eight was the number Carl Yastrzemski wore.
When they played I needed lots of popcorn
Watching them play was something to adore
They were yesterday’s players which I miss
Today there is so much coverage to watch
I watch sports instead of trading a kiss
Its poetry and sports I’m out of scotch
Baseball has always been my favorite
Next comes football and then there’s basketball
If the Red Sox are on in front I’ll sit
I’ll watch all sports played with a ball
Poetry and sports those are my pastimes
I’m involved with them instead of hard crimes
Sipping sodas with my sweetie,
Strolling with him hand in hand,
In the warmth of summer evenings
Listening to our favorite band.
We would linger in the moonlight
Out on the porch at my front door.
When I said, “ I must go in now.”
He would whisper, “One kiss more.”
The sweetest time I’ll ever know
That summer of the long ago.
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