20 Lines A Day

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Tag Archives: time


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April Challenge

I have been dutifully editing my poem every day this month (except for the two days I was in the hospital)…and want to now simply go on record to say that I’m finding it more and more difficult as the days go on. This isn’t to say that I think my poem is complete. I know that extended editing can result in a really good poem. At the same time I don’t want to edit just for the sake of editing.

I am glad to be spending this kind of time on my poem. If you happen to be following my work on it, you’ll see that some days I make small changes and other days the edits are more significant.

I’m having trouble foreseeing doing this for two more weeks. But, I love a good challenge, so I’ll give it my best shot.


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Counting Days

Crescendos toward December sound, like wind
a-whooshing through the fall toward winter’s blast.
All elm tree foliage has come unpinned
and ground is covered in those crisps that last

until the earth’s adorned in gowns of white.
We march to our Thanksgiving, make big plans,
then Christmas shows its colors day and night.
We gather families and our friends, our clans

to celebrate. But what of days between?
What ordinary Tuesday strikes a chord
of music, makes us polish to a sheen
our house? We are the lady and the lord

of this, our manor, and we do not wait
for special times. Each one is special, yes,
and so we dust it off and note the date.
A tree, lake, note, a word means more, not less

as time plods on. Or does time race? I hold
the precious close without apology,
for I can feel it. I am getting old.
Please keep the lights bright on my life’s marquee.


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I feel nostalgic…

I feel nostalgic,

remembering those days

when everything was childish

because I was a child,

everything seemed so effortless

because I made it so.

I wonder why can’t it be so-

that everything becomes childish and

everything becomes effortless

once again, today.

I wonder why can’t it be so-

I can relive those years once again.


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Trying Rispetto

Sitting within the deep waters of the sea,

I can see you degrading, getting caught in

time, understanding which ain’t my cup of tea,

I know you want to get rid of your past sin.

You wait for someone to come, pay no pity

but that being must treat you with that dignity-

respect you long for, I know you do want bliss,

Oh the mighty city of the Atlantis.

 

Rules-

1. Poem is comprised of 8 eleven-syllable lines, usually one stanza.

2. General rhyme scheme- ababccdd


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I simply can’t write… (5-line stanzas)

There

comes a 

time every day

when I strive to

write but I simply can’t.

It

just doesn’t

seem right that

my mind goes blank

and I simply can’t write.

But

I know

it occurs when

I feel a sudden

revulsion towards everything in life.

And

also when

I am anxious

and I try to

comprehend with my numb thoughts.

But

still this

must be the

time when I am

able to express myself fully.

Unfortunately

that is

not the case

with me because I

just simply can not write.


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Poetic form- The Bop

The Bop is a poetic form that was developed by poet Afaa Michael Weaver.

Here are the basic rules:

  • 3 stanzas
  • Each stanza is followed by a refrain
  • First stanza is 6 lines long and presents a problem
  • Second stanza is 8 lines long and explores or expands the problem
  • Third stanza is 6 lines long and either presents a solution or documents the failed attempt to resolve the problem

Here is what I wrote-

One must do one’s chore on time

The floor hasn’t been cleaned

since a while, one can see

the specks of dirt, the fallen

spider webs here and there spread

like the dried flowers

on the old worn tomb.

One must do one’s chore on time.

A foul smell is also coming up

from somewhere on this floor

may be some rodent has died

left to be decayed on this floor

which hasn’t been cleaned since a while

and don’t forget the dark red stain

of the wine that spilled over here

but hasn’t been cleaned, even by this time.

One must do one’s chore on time.

The sick lady of the house rose

from her bed finally and saw

the floor which hasn’t been cleaned

since a while, and aims at

cleaning it up in a while but

ends up sleeping after puking some bile.

One must do one’s chore on time.


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A sweet vehement desire

A sweet vehement desire

to reach the sky so high

and kiss those stars,

play with the moon-ball,

just fly care free away away and away.

I hope I was that kid again,

the desire of whom I now speak of.

How time changes, how realities become

more important than fantasies, ending

all such sweet vehement desires.


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An Early Morning Dream

An early morning dream

where everything is still so dark,

the light of the day hasn’t yet arrived,

the dawn is beginning its show.

An early morning dream,

where I dream of the early morning,

the stars still shining,

the moon though can’t be seen.

An early morning dream

where I experience the early morning.


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What If?

What if today was the day

The day that defined your life

Your life and all that you have done

Have done along the way?

~~~

What if the moment was now

Was now, and you didn’t know

Didn’t know or even have a clue

A clue or a hint as to how?

~~~

Does the thought of that draw a smile

A smile or a gasp or a frown

A frown of regret or even a tear

A tear, wishing you had awhile?

~~~

Would you long for another day

Another day to prove yourself

Prove yourself and what you would do

Would do, or maybe say?

~~~

I will not waste this day

This day right here, right now

Right now, though I might want to sit

Today might be the day.


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A Week and a Half ’til School Starts

Three of us-one old, two young

jump in the car driving

to where ever we land.

First a historical site

from the civil war era,

we sneak into a field

that says “no trespassing”.

Go up a back road,

 taking photos of old houses and barns.

Skip the Blue Ridge Parkway for

Hwy 694-Buzzard Rock,

a  graffiti filled outcropping

that was gorgeous in my day.

Looking over the valley far below

our home, our lives, our graves.

Tired and thirsty, hurry home.

Time seems so precious

with autumn approaching.


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The Tick, Then the Tock

The Tick, Then the Tock

Do you know it? The Tick followed by the Tock.

In the quiet room, in the night hangs the clock.

You sit in the room, you can only anticipate

how the breathing will play out this late.

You ponder the recent events, they keep repeating

and it dawns on you that now life can be fleeting.

Tick’s followed by Tock’s, the clock’s special call

while you watch the rise and fall 

it occurs to you that short of the labored breathing

all you can here is that incessant ticking and tocking.

Soon the spark is gone, the breathing has ceased

but now in the total silence there endures

that damn tick then tock that has not ceased.

There is that clock that hangs on the wall 

that measures the time that runs from us all.

Now when I hear that ringing silence in the room,

I have a sense of doom and gloom

if I hear that rude sound of the tick then the tock.

There is no place to run

the journey has only really begun

for those left behind, who have to compose

that loving prose for those who lie in repose.

My advice to you is you will have writer’s block

if you try to compose in a room with the clock

and you can only hear the Tick then the Tock.


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Time

 

 

 

 

 

The clock ticks out the hours around its face,
the repetition without grace.
Yes, I’ve been here before
through nighttime’s door,
a case

of dejà vu I can no longer shake.
The never-ending circlings take
me to the mornings, nights
in all its flights.
The rake

and sweep reorganize off-kilter life,
removing all the fear and strife.
Upon each phase’s stage
I turn the page.
No knife

cuts into well-filled mornings, afternoons
or midnights. Perfect timing croons
its melody, the song
that rights all wrong
and tunes

the orchestra of minutes into hours.
Vast gardens show their blooming bowers
with foliage and tree.
Take time to see
these flowers.

 

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