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From Another Time

4 Comments

Given the band
upon which it was fastened,
it appears to have been made
as an item of apparel.

However,
the numerals suggest
something much more practical,
perhaps a measuring device.

Small, though,
so it couldn’t have gauged
anything of substance.

Two bars
form an acute angle
whose vertex is at the centre of the characters.
Does the fact 
that they point
to the symbols 4 and 6
mean anything?

It dates from the dark era
when humans used
all sorts of random digits to comprise a whole —
3 feet,
12 eggs,
1 760 yards.

What was it they cherished
that they grouped into 24?

 

 

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Day Twenty-Six:  Write a poem exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.

 

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Cornered by Time

1 Comment

Trapped
on a train
which does not stop.

tickticktickticktickticktick

This second
is now history.

tickticktickticktickticktick

The next minute
flies by
and is the past.

tickticktickticktickticktick

An incident
becomes a memory,
metamorphoses into a memoir,
and crumbles into dust.

tickticktickticktickticktick

This small space
which is my now,
holds me
and will not
let me go.

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Day Twenty-Five:  Write a poem that explores a small, defined space.

 

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Drawn by Time

4 Comments

The seconds,
measured by hands covering faces,
burst out in uniform micro-eruptions,
then disappear faster than smoke rings.

Like a fly entangled in a spider’s web
so I am tethered to time,
dragged ever onward,
only able to glance back
over caliginous past.

Resignedly I stumble on,
picking up the signs of Cronus,
like burrs,
as I go.

The spirit longs to soar,
with the songs of angels
above the measure of metered marching.

I shall fly.
I shall rise above this flood of flowing Titan.
Some un-day
I shall fly.