I let this poem unravel at free will, sort of like my thoughts when no one is around;-)
This poem had no particular destiny. I enjoy those, never knowing where ink will take me or how far.
The first line I typed was 'where merchandise of tick and tock'... that didn't feel like the springboard I was looking for so I walked outside where the sun was trying to tickle away the early morning mist...
my little front porch sometimes feels like the end of a dock hinged to a landscape always drenched with season-song...
The mold of centuries expands
To hold another drip
Demands, commands and reprimands
Eke from time’s loosened grip
The end of docks holds stars in eyes
Where thinkers come to feel
The pause of clocks upon the fall and ris-
-ing sea-song reel
The will and want of east to west
Is weighted with Request
It battles like a hungry beast
Within the human breast
Horizon-lines bar, then unlock
Time’s mimed two-tone appeal
Where merchandise of tick and tock
Is crushed beneath its wheel
The sky was dark as ink atop
Time’s drop of you and me
A breath-whisper of pink can stop
-per darkness awesomely
And then the mold of centuries
Expands; its hold a Thing
Of moments turned to memories
On time’s temporal string
© Janet Martin
What do you think about when you putter about the house and yard?
Last night the long week-end endless stream of traffic on a generally sort-of quiet rural road sparked my interest. I wondered what the scene was before vehicle doors slammed for the last time and they pulled from driveways to…where?
...perhaps to sit at the end of a dock and think about what, for what?
Is there anything more valuable Here than holding dearly and revering the certainty of There?
Part of me follows them in envious wanderlust and the other part revels in the familiar friendliness of a tree and garden oasis I call home.
Happy Victoria Day Weekend!