"sandglass" poems
The thumb and middle finger of my left hand pinched the neck of a sandglass. The sand leaving the top bulb was almost translucent, and although the glass of the miniature instrument was thick for its size, I could almost feel the friction of each grain as they slide down. As the sand formed a growing pile at the base of the bottom bulb, my ears became numb, and began to ache. My ears felt like the inside of a cathedral, the walls of which were collapsing. I look down to my right hand and see I am holding a shovel. Why do I need a shovel? I thought to myself. Then I felt my knees give way to the heaviness that surrounded them. I was sinking in sand, a giant ocean of sand. This game I had never played before now, but I somehow knew the rules. Drop the sandglass in my left hand and whatever force held this ocean around me in place would fall and shatter. Drop the shovel and I’d have no way to dig myself out.
How does this dream end?
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 12:30 PM UTC
The time we had,
Fades more each day.
I cry for you now,
yet you'll only turn away.
And this sickness,
it consumes me.
Yet I let it define,
All I will ever be.
Can we be fixed?
Is there any chance?
Pondering this thought,
in my drunken trance.
I tried so hard today.
Just not to think of you.
Yet I sit here daydreaming,
and there's nothing I can do.
The sandglass empties,
Time just slips out.
Feelings of insanity,
making me want to shout.
Afraid to lose you,
Afraid to expire.
Yet I feel time will end,
without the one I desire.
Time always seems to slow down,
Thinking of you not being around.
Sitting here, hurting, missing you.
Heavy heartbeat, the only sound.
Time will still go on,
continue to slip away.
Yet here I'll sit, waiting.
Missing you every day.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
We dream of a home-
nothing excessive, just what we need:
love,
a mess of babies,
and dogs.
We dream of a home
and
being rooted in our careers-
satisfying and purposeful,
with enough pay to not worry.
Enough to provide for a family,
everything they need.
We dream of a home
and raising our children there.
A few of our own, some adopted-
all gifts from God.
Raising them with patience and love;
instilling in them the faith,
morals, and values
our parents instilled in us.
Our new apartment is nicer
and feels like home.
Decorated with our favorite memories:
polaroid moments,
a jar of concert tickets,
bottle of sandglass:
blues and greens (our favorite),
browns and whites,
you and me,
minutes,
hours,
afternoons.
Teacher’s pay and grad school:
student loans, car payments;
bills.
We don’t have a lot, but
we save what we can
for the life we want to have.
Too poor for a house,
contentment
can be our home.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
Black and white country
Novel youths hitchhike state sites
Kodak Kodachrome
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Digital photos
Novel youths hitchhike websites
Black and white country
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
Bold strokes a shy paintbrush makes
A flawless stroke of golden brown - her hips
Heart beats faster the artist breathes
Heavy and breathless and stolen
Brave hands it takes
To paint her bare sandglass waist
The woman who made him realize
that he has a heart
and that it beats only when he thinks of her.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
Keep your catty heart
in the cold chest of yours.
Wipe out the tears made of iron.
With an ivory on the wall
carve my name - if you can,
inbuilt it, if you can, with a piece
of an fading memory.
Throw it away, if you can,
in the traces of the ocean waves.
Ghost of an caged memory in an amber.
The time can not touch it.
The ocean can not wash it away.
He is left to sleep in an sandglass long time ago.
A catty heart -
cold hands on the wall.
Eyes - gazing in the wistful silence
Thoughts - drown in the ocean
Knees - on the floor they're leaning
Heart - left to burn in the fire,
In the blue flames
Tears of molten iron
With an ivory my name on the wall has been carved,
to remind has been left
In the traces of the ocean waves his mind is wandering
in an sandglass
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 12:55 PM UTC
It was noon when the wise man approached me.
In his hand he carried a one hour sandglass,
Jovially bellowing upon every grain that trickled down.
So absorbed was he that clearly time didn't matter;
'For another two steps and he woulda crushed me and his hourglass.
"Woah timely sir!
It seems you've run out of seconds!"
I exclaimed
"Might I inquire about what is so important within this hour?"
The Sands slowed their decent as his gaze shifted...
His eyes fixated,
Everything froze...
Including the final grain,
Floating,
In its chalice.
He spoke to me.
"Given the choice between an
Hour...
Minute...
Second...
Which would you be?"
Curious I told him
"One hour"
To his reply
"There's only 24 of those in a day,
Think bigger."
Playing along I invoked
"The minute"
As he chuckled
"Though indeed bigger,
1440 is still too small.
Think larger."
Confused I queried
"A second?"
Not quite catching on
The laughing ended as he lifted his clock.
Silence reigned.
My eyes shifted to the immobile grain,
Hypnotic in its suspension,
When finally the fellow spoke above me:
"I hope you now understand the significance
Of 86400 moments."
Just before he turned the glass
To walk away.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC
falling down the sandglass so
endlessly each grain second
so stopped a thought
stranded another grain of creative angst there
between the glasses skinny part
I sit whispering curses
I forget the
lines I had in memory when
I tried to write them down
turn that god ****** thing over
again
it is stuck
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
as my life keeps burning from my past
i see the fire below, which is my destiny
with the future of this time
as i leave this life behind
melting in the sandglass of time
controlled by powers unknown
suffice will never show
why do i believe in someone
who's rules are not right
no one ever told me
i would end up by meself
stretched out beyond belief
where theres no turning back
my life has now turned to stone
where i play games with myself
only to know that i would lose
to this paper trail of aftermath
how was i to know there was no heaven
and that i only believed that life was hell
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC