Time poems

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The Cup of Life

© Archibald Lampman

One after one the high emotions fade;
Time's wheeling measure empties and refills
Year after year; we seek no more the hills
That lured our youth divine and unafraid,

The Price Of Parting

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Will they be there for you when you die?
Will they hold your hands and cry until youve breathed
your last? Is it too much to ask? While love is free
in tearful task the price of parting wears

The perfect cup

© Ivan Donn Carswell

We were born of tea, our mum could drink fourteen
cups a day, an awesome feat to try to rationalise,
beyond belief unless you knew where we had one
she would have two. The perfect cup, she said,

They said by now the path would be more steep,
the sunsets paler and less mild the air;
Rightly we heeded not; it was not true.
We will not tell the secret-let it keep.
I know not how I thought those days so fair
These being so much fairer, spent with you

The Logic Of This State

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Marking time in pencil strokes across a virgin page
and waiting for coincidence of heart-beat and second-hand,
keying to the electronic blips that phase
the passing time; visionary states of grace

The light was always you

© Ivan Donn Carswell

In the beginning there was light,
abundant light that truly lit the way,
time was never lost in dodging flights
of feckless shadows and darkness seldom

Gray Weather

© Robinson Jeffers

It is true that, older than man and ages to outlast him, the Pacific surf

Still cheerfully pounds the worn granite drum;

The Hunt

© Ivan Donn Carswell

The hunt begins at a languid pace
belying hysteria building in place, biding its time
to menace the peace in an orchard where mayhems
scant held on a leash. Abigail Belles the first into line,

The Ease and Charm of You

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Theres an infinity of wisdom in your smile that would deny
the winsome wit that lies at back of it; and then the droll and
cheeky svénska troll of you which peeps out from the
flimsy drape in which you sheet your public soul, an urchin

The best days of my life

© Ivan Donn Carswell

What is it about Bryan Adams and his song
Summer of 69? Why do the lyrics linger? Was it
90° in the shade and the harbinger of the end
of the golden weather, or the impending closure

Thank you Ambrose

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Thank you Ambrose for the kitchen door ajar,
a sign your friendship never closed on me, an amity extended
from afar although it was a distant glow I didnt really know.

Lines

© Frances Anne Kemble

IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION.

Something to shout about

Captain AJ Shout, VC, MC, MID (& bar), who died at Gallipoli
of wounds and was posthumously awarded the VC,
a rare and prestigious award for most conspicuous bravery,
could say, even in dying, it was something to shout about.

So Let Us Dare

How do we discover an antidote to each other,
a faculty to commune in spiteful space?
Our bleeding hearts and noxious farts
tie us in a hopeless chase to free this place

Simple pleasures that you bring

Do you mind if I write a few lines for you tonight?
Im fuelled for sure, perhaps a bit ebullient,
(now theres a rhyme that will be hard to find
a word to suit!) Ill try, but time will surely take

Seven suits

Seven tailored suits, matching shoes and socks,
a brace of muted ties with subtle breast pocket
handkerchiefs descried, you wouldnt credit how
badly they governed you in days gone by.

To Roosevelt {2}

© Rubén Dario

It is with the voice of the Bible, or the verse of Walt Whitman,
that I should come to you, Hunter,
primitive and modern, simple and complicated,
with something of Washington and more of Nimrod.