Monday, May 2, 2016

All But The Precious Now




My, we are pressed for time, a constant climb
Always from where we were to where we are
The rubric of its tick-tock pantomime
Drains eons into Bygone’s phantom bar
Where, where we are is quite enough, it seems
To keep us pressed for time, the breath of years
A canopy of quandary and dreams
Pressed to a page of day that disappears
Into a season-salted tide; we sail
Pressed hard by time and its transient travail

Heave-ho and off we go, dawn drains night’s deep
A sea of opportunity expands
And envelopes dreamlands still half-asleep
With what time presses into ancient sands
The Very Thing that Is and none can stay
Like leaf that breaks the bud that cannot bind
The Ordinance of nature’s seamless sway
A little bloom soon scattered where the grind
Of what remains tramples beneath its feet
All but the echo of love’s bitter-sweet

Subtle, time’s meeting-greeting silhouette
Presses to hour-passage the design
Of that which we cannot quite picture yet
Like buds dangling unopened on a vine
Where, where we are unfolds to where we were
And a new where-we-are commands our stare
Time’s presses do not pause, winter-summer
A  kaleidoscope of hope and care
And prayer, for where we are, pressed by a wave
That leads us through the doorway of the grave

A penny for your thoughts, make it a dime
What do you think of this pink-blue applause
That wraps itself in gauze shimmers called Time
While, all the while turning our Is to Was?
Aha, aha, we say, then change our view
The green of youth jaded, a faded flow’r
And what we vowed we never would, we do
Because no one can override the pow’r
Where hour plays no favorites, its caress
A constant harvesting into Time’s press

Small graces fill faces with wonder, oh,
What is man that we are privy to this
Arrangement of moments that ebb and flow
Onward, forward toward what Was from Is
Hello, farewell, such sacred Tenderness
Addresses smile and tear; a quickened quaff
Of common firsts and lasts, they coalesce
Creating masterpieces we call Love
Where Time presses and winnows from our hold
All but the precious Now that soon runs cold


The climax on this countdown of life’s clock
Will stop us in our tracks; come, live, laugh, love
Enjoy the courtesy of ticks and tocks
That soon unlocks thought’s tender treasure trove
Of days gone by…a sigh on trembling lips
Where even Now we cannot long lament
The Constant of ephemeral fellowships
Lest we indulge the heart with discontent
For we, though pressed for and by time admit
We barely grasp the gifted gasp of it


© Janet Martin


Happy 18th Birthday, Matt!

2 comments:

  1. Beautiful as always! Had to stop by and see what was on your mind today..:)

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    Replies
    1. I'll have to read it when I have time to think;) today was a mentally demanding day and that poem evolved over a few hours and I can hardly remember it now.

      thank-you.

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Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.