There once was a sensitive vicar,
who said, "I'm not one to bicker,
but the peal of that bell,
makes me feel quite unwell,
and plays merry hell with my ticker."
An incensed old soul by the spire,
preaching incense-igniting to the choir,
exclaimed, "There is but one catch,
when striking a match,
don't set your surplice on fire."
A parson spoke from the nave,
"Spend all you can, do not save,
if you've spilled all the sands,
and still have time on your hands,
you can't take it with you to the grave."
A wise minister in the kirk,
enlightened, observed with a smirk,
"When it's dark out there,
put your hands in the air,
as many hands make light work.”
The crazier it gets, the less sad it seems. No need to dream about houseboats on rivers so blue, the windmill and standstills of a heart that was true. Down here to nowhere with all this time on your hands. Don’t plan it through the heart ache, says plenty, says so. No seashore, no pebbles please. The sand and the foam, the little we know of echoes alone. It’s so bad the seasons sigh and trues just on cue. All about and left without somebody like you. So Up the Chin, just dig in, It’s a crazy cold world. So, warm your hands on all He plans, the stay faithful stalls time. The line is in a song, with a crazy cool mine!
If you have time on your hands
and nothing much to do
(no plane to catch or appointments to keep,
perhaps stuck in a small motel room
on-route to nowhere special).
Then allow me to recommend listening to
a Mahler or Bruckner interminable symphony.
Your whole life will unroll before you
yet seem but a fleeting minute of purgatory.
You will have climbed a mountain in your mind,
a peak which was probably too high
and not worth it.
Boredom
by M. Griswold
03292020
What do you do when you have time on your hands.
When boredom sets in and is fully at your command.
No pressing matters to lead you astray or away.
From this interim of emptiness that is endless all day.
What do you do when you have moments to spare.
When nothing is here and when nothing is there.
Seconds tick-tock away like booming base drums.
And hours fly by like a snail slow moving runs.
Where do you go to find that something to do.
When in all directions boredom stares back at you.
No where to run, no place or space for you to hide.
Your just stuck in the middle an ennui's high tide.
Boredom is where listlessness wins the race.
No start , no finish, nor boundaries to trace.
How can it be that this boring place even exists?
Because nothing is nothing and just kinda persists.
I can buy almost everything I need
All of the essentials, paid with my credentials
Sideline items, and pleasurable travels
Scrumptious food and sweets to fit my mood.
I do need to borrow some time
Many places to go, when I’m feeling just so
No sales on the windows or flyers at the door
Nor bargain basements, no other replacements
Going online no web sites were found
Searching for time that can be all mine
Doesn’t belong to anyone or anything
It has a purpose, but not in surplus
Time is running out, I need a reserve
If I had time to spare I wouldn’t care
It’s precious but cannot be replaced
No choice for other kinds, remember best of times.
Time passes by and quickly out of sight
Can’t reach out and take, for my own sake
Unable to roll it up and pack it away
Can’t save it when needed, wish it was deeded
Time on the clock, time on your hands
Whatever you have, just fill in the gap
Cannot see it and cannot hold it
Doesn’t take a rest, use it at best
My mind is under new management
Much like those Boards outside failing restaurant's
Willing you in to take a 2nd look
But stuck using the same old tired Chef
And worn out Menu
So what's the point of New Management
If nothing has really changed
Simply a Stay of Execution
Until you eventually wake up and realize
The Coffee is best passed its
Sell by Date
And fate is what
You write about
When you have time on your hands
After the last customers have left
And the Doors have closed
Eight billion people on Earth,
and you're destined to die alone.
At one time you had a murder of friends.
Drinking and blurring the night until the sun made you cry.
Time doesn't matter when you're young,
Youth is a brief balloon ride
through pastel blitzed horizons.
Then you meet "the one"; friends do the same.
Leading separate lives- slowly drifting away.
A spray of children quickly follows.
A family of ducks settling in their pond.
Happiness and pitter-patter at their peak and beyond.
The ducklings swim away in search of their own pond.
You never knew quiet could be so abrasive.
You pay more attention to time (the graffiti freight train)
You've outlived "the one."
Taken away by a cluster of black balloons.
You never knew quiet could be so cancerous.
You have buckets of time on your hands.
Your garden is the nicest on the block.
A stranger told you so.
Eight billion people on Earth
and you're destined to die alone.
It is a bad place to be born,
the first breath you breathe
is drawn from dregs of scorn
And you get rolled from day one,
passed around like a bottle of rum
Then they toss you to the curb,
after emptying you when they’re done
You age real quick where I come from,
there’s always a full clip in an angry gun
And the jails are always teeming
with a can-I-bum another cigarette wasted bum
You have a lot of idle time on your hands
in the places where I became a star alum
Learned a variety of skills
that are not conducive to contributing
positively to society
Dennis wasn’t the only menace, believe me
When you’re locked up in a cage,
the only thing you dream about is roaming free
Each day you fight to control the rage
But in my conscious state,
the things I most thought about was:
What am I now,
and who will I be?
At the bottom of the barrel,
those life changing things
you can’t never see
I see it there watching us all " time"
I see it in my mirror and I look away.
Time card punching in, punching out.
I'm sure you will know everything in time.
The hawk flies at four p.m. every day.
It's close to cocktail hour, isn't it?
See it, feel it, touch it, all the time.
Watch out, it's five o'clock traffic time.
Maternity leave time has come at last,
Baby is due anytime now.
I'm sure you will take the time to teach
Her everything about love in time.
I'm sure his father will teach him well in time
Take the time to show him how to treat a lady.
He will grow into a fine young man in time.
As you wait for her, you watch time slip away.
I see you have patience and time on your hands.
As you paint God's canvas like a rainbow in time.
I can see she loves you more than time itself.
Have you taken time out to reset your bones?
There is always a time for love in your life, yes?
Is there ever a time when your thoughts are still?
Do you have time for me in your life, I wonder?
If you put me on a time schedule I will leave you.
7, 14, 2012 8 pm Friday
behold
behold behold
behold behold behold
behold behold behold behold
behold behold behold behold behold
behold behold behold behold behold behold
behold behold behold behold behold behold behold
behold behold behold behold behold behold
behold behold behold behold behold
behold behold behold behold
behold behold behold
behold behold
behold
And this is the type of poem that you write when you have a lot of time on your hands and nothing else to do.
I do not recommend you try this at home, for these stunts are dangerous like lifting a can of soda and putting it
on top of your hamster... Poor hamster... Hey! who told me to put hamsters in to this poem! oh yeah... I did.
ummmmm...... go away now people!!!... I need privacy!!!
Time is the only thing that will survive time.
Friends come and go.
Marriages are made and fail.
Only time shows a person's true colors.
Time is supposedly the thing which heals all wounds.
There is a time for everything under the sun.
Good times. Bad times.
Too much time on your hands.
Never enough time.
Time to go.
It's time.
Glory days are a flash in past time.
The future is just another point in time.
Time is the only constant.
Nothing else is.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.