#tempusfugit
Can we talk
about those teens
who saw their lives
draining out of their hands
like sand falling back into the beach,
and instead of holding it tightly
against their chests
decided to blow it away
with the wind;
like a kid blowing his candles
far too fast
and extinguishing the fire
from his only birthday cake
until there was nothing left
to live?
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow and the following day.
Last Friday. This Friday. Next Friday and the following Friday.
Last Week. This week. Next week and the following week.
Last Month. This month. Next month and the following month.
Last Year. This year. Next year and the following year.
That's quite a bit we pack in,
In the two years before we're three;
The last decade, this decade... and the next... maybe,
But the following is for others to see.
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 12:53 PM UTC
If the past is only an idea,
And the future does not exist;
Then we have the present,
Though immearsureable,
It's what we have,
And it travels faster
Than the speed of light.
Grab it.
Now.
Jul 23, 2023
Jul 23, 2023 at 11:26 AM UTC
.
smoke
of
puff
a
like
dissipates
it
until
up
and
up
and
up
and
up
going
swirls
decreasing
ever
in
gyrates
and
spirals
time
pre-determined
our
Jun 2, 2023
Jun 2, 2023 at 9:54 AM UTC
Beulah gave out
Blossoms this spring
As big as sunflower heads.
They entwined the branches
Like the ribbon enclosing an expectant shower gift.
It's fragrance was the extract
Of an unbottled aroma
That is the Magnolia tree.
I rooted her in the yard
Four years ago.
She is iridescent for a brief time
Past mid Spring.
She has many Springs to go
Above the green growth below;
Many seasons beneth
The blue Summer skies above;
During the Autums ahead,
When I am dead,
And colder than Winter snows
Below her;
She will be there.
Rooted with care.
May 18, 2023
May 18, 2023 at 8:14 PM UTC
I scanned the old man
Through my translucent curtain.
He stood before my door, hand raised,
Seeming ready to knock.
Wires ran into his large ears;
His waddle swayed over his crew neck,
Beneath a brown corduroy jacket.
Liver spots crowned his wispy head,
And the back of his hand.
He listed and bobbed
Like a Huron laker waiting to unload.
He had a distinct and not unfamiliar look;
A man with full faculties.
I opened the door to him,
But he said, "It's not time."
"Time?" I asked.
"To let me in."
Mar 11, 2022
Mar 11, 2022 at 9:57 AM UTC
I have today grown old.
I was never told,
Make every day count.
I counted days,
Missed some years,
My advice may fall on deaf ears
To those who know how to live their lives.
Everyday. Everyway.
It's not easy.
I recognize the mantle
On my children's faces;
See them counting milestones,
Running theirs through the paces.
How do I tell them
*Count every day,
and not count every day;
But make every day count*?
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 8:48 AM UTC
Not like this.
the path you stumbled for,
left you for some footsteps of a goddess
that we never were sure of her existence.
He left you on the road
oh, beautiful landscape of all
such green trees, such brown leaves.
Do you wonder how I wonder?
wanderlust, collecting dust
of the wasted decades we had
of an item we never truly got to reckon it's form
I do not believe in time
it does not exist
break all hour glasses done.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Years ago,
More like lifetimes,
I was better
Than most anyone
In any sport.
A champion.
I was very good,
Better than most anybody
In my education, with family,
Had two closest pals.
I had cars, motorcycles,
Clothes, girls.
I always had the better part
Of a North American middle class life.
Today, I'm elated
To be one of most anybody.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 9:31 AM UTC
We convened a conclave
Where the famiglia
Was casting sideways looks,
Keeping secrets from survivors.
Papa had passed,
His mantle drapping the remains.
And a day looms for its passing
To an unelected recipient
From the unresponsive benefactor.
Dirges were played.
Outside I lit a cigarette
And the cloud of smoke rose skyward.
The ballots have been counted.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Aine sits in our big chair,
Her legs stretched out,
Her feet are bare;
I'm counting ten wee toes for her,
Toes I love so dear.
They lead her from the crib to stairs,
Though never far from loving care;
Those ten wee toes we love so dear,
Will take her far,
Will lead her there.
They'll get ***** in the garden
While laughing in the rain;
They'll be her fins
When she swims,
They'll wiggle
When she sings.
They'll tap out eighths and quarters
When she plays her songs;
She'll slip them into runners
For a race to last life-long.
They'll get cold on the rink
When she plays our game;
We'll rub those toes quite vigorously
To warm the ice-cold sting.
They'll fit right into heels and pumps
When she plays her game;
But for me those liddle toes of hers
Will always be the same.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC