Tag Archives: time

Time and the Virus  

Everything has stopped
Except our beating hearts
This fear, anxiety
Dread
To curtail viral spread
Those things by which we
Often measure passing time
Are gone
Birthday parties, Easter family dinners
Clubs, days out, hanging with friends
Forbidden
Passover is still kept
But changed and
Separately

Oh for a cultural tradition of my own
I could cling onto
Instead in Lockdown, we English
Have changed, seem to be talking more
Greeting fellow walkers with smiles and waves

Nature is apace, pushing forward
Birds sing in the absence of traffic
A blue tit perches in my unused car
Flowers bloom, trees bud
Life burdgeons joyously

In the human world
It is as if the month of March
And, so far, a good part of April
Has been cancelled

Just our still beating hearts
And this fear, anxiety
Dread

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Kindling

Another wonderful poem from Betty:

Seasonings

.

I remember

when twenty-five years

was my whole lifetime.

.

Now a quarter century

is just another tumbleweed

bouncing down the street –

.

a little bit battered,

a lot more dust

but what wonderful kindling

I’ll be!

.

.

© 2019, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

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To Stand and Stare?

How does the time disappear?
Water evaporates under direct heat.
Time evaporates
under a withering glut of
the unexpected
the unplanned
and unremembered.
Distractions distract.
People with no time steal yours
with delays and waiting.

And.
in this century,
with endless updates
on sites you should leave alone.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was first posted by me in January 2018. I think that it is a good way to start the first working week of 2020 too….

 

Friday Poem: How sour sweet music is

Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men’s lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To cheque time broke in a disorder’d string;
But for the concord of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
For now hath time made me his numbering clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial’s point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans
Show minutes, times, and hours:

By William Shakespeare

Spoken by Richard the Second, while imprisoned at Pomfret Castle

Full text at :  http://shakespeare.mit.edu/richardii/richardii.5.5.html

Poem : Our Secret

Take the third turn over there
by the weeping willow at the barren stream.
Turn sharp now into brightness
or you will miss the crease,
that flaw in time’s weave you must push through
(sometimes my shoulder gets stuck, but I persevere).
Once through, stay low, part and peer through high grasses
watch the herds roll past.
Tusks upraised, immense cinnamon woolly hulks,
regally righteous, grassland behemoths,
lords of the plains
(yes, indeed, the land is flatter here that it was back now).
Be ready for the noise when they cry out,
it reverberates all through your bones
oscillating ears to numbness.
The hulk and bulk of them is prodigious
and worth the squeeze.
Whether it is worth the panic
when you finally realise
the directions home are missing?

Is up to you.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

First published in  Crannóg 49, the Irish print journal, http://www.crannogmagazine.com/