Unravelled Ink

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!