The question that is asked the most; we hear it everyday,
“What time Is it?” they want to know, and then they go away.
It's time for bed, it's time for work, or time to feed the fishes,
It's time to take your medicine, or wash and dry the dishes.
Time in seconds, time in hours, so many freckles past a hair,
depending on the zone, or whether daylights savings there.
Time is measured many ways from minutes to months,
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once!
A time to live, a time to die, a time for having fun,
Clocks and calenders alike, all scheduled by the sun.
Intervals that cant be hurried, will not be denied,
a season that we know that's coming, as surely as the tide.
If there ever comes a time when time will be no more,
I wonder how we'll know to quit, or when it was before.
Do we hurry? Do we loaf? It depends upon the time...
Had we started earlier, we'd be finished with this rhyme.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
dusk, goats
stuck in straw
big round bulbs of white light
shines down on the little one
covered in its mother’s birth slime
the squishy “pop” of its arrival from birth canal to asphalt
still loud in my ears.
i am startled by the throw back dress of the goat people:
suspenders holding up pants,
small smashed-on-heads-hats,
shirtless, sweat, tattoos
cigarettes doing the dangle from the, yep,
heavily tooth-lessed owners
all seem to barely notice, this goat
just born
while we look on, some holding up
their kids to look, their feet kicking
above the flimsy wire fence
i move on, disgusted not
by birth, or slime
or even dirt smudged and spitting goat people
but the families, oh so all-American,
at this circus,
this carnival,
this tacky venue hawked
as wholesome,
welcome
an economy boon
educational opportunity
fun ******* outing.
later,
tigers snarl, elephants slow-motion their moves,
the caged ones roar and trumpet behind the tents.
muck, sticky straw, stale oil, greasy lights,
flaked thick paint once red, now brown,
sticks to our skin as
we make our way through
the hot summer crowds
on this circus night.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
it is cold
it is vary cold
i look to the ground only to see red
then to look at the sky and thinking am i dead
as i ligh there
in that cold place only thinking of grace
i see a light
it was so bright
so i then took flight
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC