Weary Bones, a Quadrille 

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 the slap-flapping of valves
   working overtime,
     ‘cuz they’re leaking

I feel the slowing tempo
 of waves receding,
   the acquiescence
     of my spirit weeping

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 but I can’t give in –

my soul’s still seeking

-image via Tumblr, source unknown; written as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s Quadrille prompt

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Backward 

time didn’t seem to pass –
through her tiny eyes, there was only the present,
the right now

yes, she remembered, 
she had so many memories;
but time traveled in an unseen sequence,
one which didn’t require much thought

today is all she felt,
and the concept of tomorrow was barely believable;
being anything other than what she was right that minute was inconceivable;
anything else was almost magic

and then there came a day when the magic came to a screaching halt,
when she realized her eyes were suddenly not so tiny,
and time no longer felt weightless

she wondered what it could have been like to go on thinking about nothing,
to ignore death and fate and the possibility that life can be shaken to its core

this is how she knew she’d left childhood behind –
she felt time’s passing,
and she wished for it to go backward

-image via Pixabay

Pay Attention

she was always coming or going, 
life and love at light speed,
until she became only
the coming and the going,
until the going became imminent,
a glimpse of ‘what if’,
prying wide her eyes,
forcing her to see that
her feet were rooted in the moment,
which was fleeting

best pay attention

-image via Pixabay 

Malice


time was the cold, bone-crunching cement 
beneath her feet;
each ticking minute cruel,
and every passing hour punishing 

for, all around her, 
in every moment of awareness, 
were time’s stealthy hands

without warning, they would grip her,
wringing her out in fiery fists,
an icy vacancy on its ceaseless face 
as they squeezed and knotted,
yet, allowed her to live

it occurred to her each time –

what great malice there can be,
in allowing something to live

-image credit Brooke Shaden; included as part of Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie photo challenge 191

Time Passing

it’s been over 14 years,
of chasing my tail ‘round and ‘round,
simultaneously bored out of my mind,
and saturated with touch and sound

5,177 days
of being lonely but never alone,
of being physically and emotionally drained, 
while my brain atrophied, shriveled to none

124,248 hours,
full of ideas and personal revelation,
so many things I’ve needed to say,
but no one with which to have conversation

7,454,880 minutes,
of creative thoughts popping into my head,
but never enough time to write them, 
to see where they may have lead

447,292,800 seconds 
wondering if I’ve wasted too much time,
worrying about the little things, 
instead of experiencing joy in this heart of mine

-image via Pixabay

Time, Won’t You?

although my eyes remain dutifully closed,
sleep continues to elude me,
real time painfully passing slowly by,
as if it has no place else to go,
the lengthy lapse between
each taunting tick and every mocking tock,
seemingly infinite

yet, behind my labored lids,
time whips and cracks in jumbles of lightning,
flashing in hot, ragged waves of ‘what if’s’,
thumping to the thunder of desperate wishes,
grasping at tomorrow as if today didn’t count,
as if right now isn’t enough,
and yesterday didn’t lay a solid foundation

time, steady for me, won’t you?

allow me to feel it all,
pause a moment,
allow me to find my grounding

hold my hand while I traverse,
as I recognize and close the gaps,
as I find perspective

time,
won’t you allow me to sink into it all?

allow me drift off to sleep?

-image credit http://positivepsychologynews.com; old poem reworked and shared in response to DVerse Poets Pub prompt, timing

Redundant

today was the end of the beginning,
and tomorrow will be the beginning
of the end that never begins

for, history spins on a turntable, 
needle following grooves, 
and time’s tone arm stuck on repeat,
repeat

time seems to bind us
in redundancy

-image via Pixabay