Time is a sieve through
which everything slips
what once mattered
rendered meaningless
as our lifeblood drips
onto the clay creating
a muddy bog that in
our well worn boots
we wearily slog
like tired Tommies
in the trenches waiting
with bated breath
for the shrill sound
of the officer's whistle
to pierce the fusty
fetid air and send us
surging over the top in
a futile foray where we
will meet our final fate
that in our wasted youth
we failed to contemplate
What's happening..
what's happening to me?
Why,oh why
what use was that?
The tears, the trials..
the silences of
words left unsaid..
the ups and downs
What use was that?
The wrinkles,the lines
the aches and pains..
heartbreaks and joy
that each compound
I pick up a pen,
I write it down
As a chrysalis to a butterfly
a poem to emerge..
from a mosaic of memories
to an inspiration surge.
Beneath a tall magnolia I sat
And watched the slender birch trees oft caressed
By wind and sunny tenderness, and blessed
With quiet air above the grassy mat.
Beyond the trees, a tall Artesian fount
Would pour its misty sprinkle on the lake,
Where turtles basked before the sun to take
The pulse of Pan’s calm heart, in restful count.
An aged and stately yew concealed a thrush
Whose rapturous refrain enticed the ear
And voiced a call his fellows to endear
And spot new friends within the covert lush.
The rueful reeds esconded waterfowl
Who watched in slumber o’er their fluffy young
While cotton clouds above were sparsely flung
And charmed the air in pledges of avowal.
A chilly gust of autumn wind then passed:
The wary thrush flew off; the geese stood still.
I quickly heard the mumble of the mill
And its blunt call, whose rhythm paced too fast.
How sly is Time! In peace I wished to live,
Not bend my mind upon the day’s dull cares;
If only I had caught him unawares,
I might have fooled him and his greedy sieve.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Having mind like a sieve is not always so bad
For discernment in life is a gift
Information jams can cause a Teutonic shift.
For some, winnowing facts is a hard thing to do
Whether used for retention or letting things through
A good sieve has a value like ‘greater jihad.’
Though we meet our rejection sometimes with a frown
We should trust in the service it brings
For rejection is tied to invisible strings
That like harbingers portend some problem withheld
Or a misunderstanding that must be dispelled
Before peaceful ways can be restored to a town.
In both love and in life we should let failure go,
And the lessons learned taken in stride
Clear the decks and make ready to sail with the tide
If your loyalty to the KISS law remains true
You will find you’ve less reason than most to be blue.
And your ego in life won’t be most of the show..
Brian Johnston
May 5, 2015
Poet’s Notes:
The KISS principle is an acronym for "Keep It Simple Stupid."
The Sieve of Time
Cast ashore,
along the banks of time,
whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,
Cast ashore,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,
clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.
Cast ashore,
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,
trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.
Cast ashore,
flung aside for no discernible crime,
my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,
I stagger ashore,
alone,
embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.
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