Slightly revamped poems linked through the medium of time.
When do the words come?
They come as I fall asleep
and again in the still of the night
as slumber approaches from deep
or recedes as on occasion it might.
As the moon driven tide laps shores
round the world’s watery margins.
They come at the behest of the view
or the sound of a trumpet calling
as the notes have the power to renew
each one a clarion summoning.
At each wave of the baton the conductor
directs them to every corner of my mind.
They come when strange speakers deliver
but not in the original sequence
in torrents or singly they quiver
the creative sail billowing in deference.
Every line and sentence heard
may only produce one needed word.
They come to me as a crowd
jostling noisily for room
creating mystery, love and umbrella proud
under which readers’ minds may bloom.
Is there hope that those who read
will derive pleasure’s seed?
©David L
Atkinson June 2025
Consider Time
It only takes a second to make a mistake,
and a minute to compound the error.
An hour is a significant time to take,
and in a day create real terror.
Some real creativity happens every day,
and in politics a long time is a week.
A month can chase the seasons away,
and a good year on January 1st we seek.
When young a school day is so slow,
even though it lasts just a few hours.
When old, months faster than rivers flow,
and time takes away our powers.
Time like sand flows through our hands,
like running water we can touch only once.
It never returns for a second night’s stand,
but is gone forever without response.
Time is passive in one voice,
and an unstoppable action in another.
It provides the opportunity to make a choice
but is unmoved if we don’t bother.
© David L Atkinson March 2015
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