were rushed
when I counted strings
between strands of silence
in midafternoon
between requiems
smoked salmon
with capers in the sour cream
A split second
a mere centimeter
separates champions
from fame's cheated ones
Who came in second
no one remembers
dust-covered records
airless embers
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the hush
of a clock’s halted pendulum.
the breath
a streetlight holds
before flickering on.
the weight
of an unwritten letter.
the ache
in a dial tone’s hollow.
a rumor of rain
that never falls,
a door left ajar
for no one.
the absence
has been waiting.
Time is not merely measured by the ticking of clocks or the turning of calendars. It is felt in the spaces between breaths, in the quiet pauses that carry our memories, our joys, and our sorrows. The past is a living archive, a treasure chest of moments that shaped who we are. The present is a fleeting but luminous gift, demanding attention, gratitude, and care. The future waits patiently not as a threat, but as a canvas upon which we may paint our choices.
We often rush, thinking time is against us, yet the truth is that time is patient. It witnesses our struggles, celebrates our triumphs, and gently nudges us toward wisdom. To honor time is to honor ourselves: to remember, to act, and to hope. Every instant we live is a brushstroke on the grand canvas of our existence, and every heartbeat a note in the eternal melody of life.
Melting clocks on branches of thought, dripping seconds into the ocean,
My consciousness—a whirl of shadows and lights dancing chaotically,
Seeking the truth hidden behind the wax masks of reality.
Words collapse like autumn leaves, leaving silence behind,
Stripping away layers of artificial knowledge, illusory certainties,
Until I stand naked before the boundless mirror of existence.
I discover that truth is not a treasure to be found, but a veil to be lifted,
From the eyes of a mind weary from so much futile searching outward,
When all that was needed was to look inward, into the void full of whispers.
I unfold like a lotus flower under the moonlight,
Petal by petal, I let go of false identities, of roles played,
Until only the pure essence remains, unaltered by time and thought.
In this profound silence, I hear for the first time the melody of truth,
A song without notes, a symphony of the creative void,
And I understand that awakening is not a journey, but a return home.
On average it takes 8 minutes 20 seconds for light to travel between the sun and the earth.
At that very moment they look up into the sky
8 minutes and 20 seconds ago the journey had begun
The ray plays out its tale for all of them
Eyes stung by beads of sweat
The farmer squints into a cloudless sky
He smiles as once more he gazes on rows of sprouting new life
Oakley may dim her vision but she stirs
Beneath her towel sand has moulded to her sun-drenched form
Her fashionable hue is almost complete
He stumbles but struggles once more to his feet
How long has this desert ordeal endured?
The end beckons as searing heat prepares the feast
Shivering through winter in thin clothes and with an empty belly
Shafts of sunlight are rays of hope
A false dawn or a new beginning?
The newborn baby cries for attention
Her rosy skin has yellowed
But soon the status quo will be restored
Five lives touched at the same time
But not in the same way
8 minutes and 20 seconds ago it started again
The only child
but favorite
of two ‘outlaws’
mare and stud
He bucked each
gelded moment
on their wild ride
of love
Until that day
he up and left
their branding iron
of pain
To wander high
and lonesome
mongst the free
and tumbling sage
In search of one
last bronc to mount
that one last
horn to make
And spur the wreckage
of his youth
as Angels
— pull the Gate
(Pendleton Round-Up: June, 1993
Elko Nevada: Cowboy Poetry Reading: January, 1994)
cannibalism
.
.
.
stop looking at me like that
.
.
.
religion of love
.
.
.
Momma said, "Don't chortle!
It's rude.
But I won the game!
My small fame.
Can't I just enjoy the win?
Chuckle over the loss.
No one is hurt.
Just a game!
Chortling is my pleasure.
It's my 10 second of fame.
Never last long.
Momma said, " Chortling is not a pretty sight!
Makes you look like a jerk,
Even if your right!"
I know she is right.
But tonight, I'll chortle,
I have the right!
Chortle! Chortle!
Never last long.
My 10 seconds of fame.
Just for tonight!
In the whirlwind of time, who said that seconds are decreed?
That your steps must align with others’ concrete success indeed,
That arrival is an unyielding mandate, and deviation a defect?
You see them climbing the spires of their creation without regret.
In iron and glass they carve their legacy, while you remain silent,
A shadow frozen in the ruins of dreams that never grew vibrant,
With hands weary from the burden of unfinished things,
You whisper to life's algorithm: "Recalculate, don't leave me behind!"
But time is no engineer, nor a gentle, loving architect,
It's just the scaffold beneath your feet, moving only when you dare to fly.
Did the monolith mourn it didn’t rise with the first light?
Or did the river curse its flow for not sculpting the world in a single moment?
You’re not behind; you’re just a separate code unfolding,
A unique sequence evolving and flying at its own rhythm,
In a story never meant to synchronize,
But to follow its own course, unchained by time and space.
One thought, igniting the dream,
Seven bold souls, steady as they seem.
Ten missions past, Challenger soared,
Twenty-five flights, the program roared.
Tick-tick.
A countdown clear.
The world leans close.
The clock draws near.
Thirty-six degrees—a frozen doubt.
A seal strained tight; the gas leaks out.
Ignition. Roar. Climb. Silence screams.
A nation watches shattered dreams.
Seventy-three seconds, sky turned to flame,
History echoes their hallowed names.
At 5:00 PM, the voice of command,
A president speaks to a grieving land:
“The crew of the Challenger honored us all.
They slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God.”
32 months, grounded hope rebuilt.
A frozen morning, a lasting guilt.
Tick-tick.
The seconds mourn.
We remember still
That frozen dawn.
a second passed
two have met their end
Why am I still alive?
I'm down on the ground,
My brain starts to pound,
It may not be fun,
But ten seconds aren't done.
10 seconds remain.
I still have time,
To arise again,
The timer hasnt hit ten,
Time isn't my friend,
8 seconds remain.
I punch hard, I kick,
I choke, I feel sick.
I try to yell, over the incessant chants,
This is the last time, my last chance.
Five seconds remain.
I call out, my plight.
I never wanted this fight.
I press up with all my might,
I feel progress, my eyes are losing their light.
Three seconds remain.
It all hurts, to breathe,
Under my worst foe, I am beneath.
For it is no human, it's within me.
I need to get up, to be free.
But it isn't over, I can win,
I push against that evil twin,
The sadness loses hold, I can get up.
One second remains.
Each second dies so brief it stays
among the minutes, hours, and days
of living’s murmuration spell,
in which we mortals have to dwell;
as each moment slowly decays.
Time is inconstant; it betrays;
traps you in it’s alluring maze;
then so, quite when, it’s hard to tell,
each second dies.
Time is not all that it portrays,
that of a roll of endless days.
Too soon, you’ll hearken your death knell,
tolling seconds fond farewell;
as fickle time, with you, it plays,
each second dies.
In My Last Seconds
In my very last seconds
Because of life-long inclination
Training and habit
I confess, repent
And take Christ into my heart
As my lord and savior.
And yet I’m not,
Nor ever have been,
A Christian.
Is this a contradiction?
Is this an impossibility?
It all depends on
The meaning of Christ.
And what too many
(Especially Christians)
Don’t understand
Is that other religions
Have the very same concept
With just a different name.
How can this be?
Because Christ is a universal
(Universal timeless awareness
Expressed as perfect wisdom/compassion)
And as such is with
And within us all.
And so….
In my last seconds
I acknowledge my mistakes
(The habitual sin of missing the mark)
And once again
Welcome Christ in my heart.
And thus
Am released,
To go in peace,
Yet again.
(10/17/24)
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