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To All My Calendars
by Chris Sorrenti
My calendar is a battlefield. Appointments, meetings,
things I have to remember compete with one another
for what little space is available. Dates slowly vanishing
in a spreading web of ballpoint ink.
And as the months go by, a piece of me remains
on every upturned page; a forecasted diary
I'll never read again, accumulated results carried only
in the calendar of memory.
The garbage dump is the true winner of the war.
Growing landfill sites sit as testament to this philosophy,
for hidden amongst the junk mail, food scraps and plastic
are the burnt out wrecks of everybody's calendars.
And someday I will join them, buried in a special place,
a testament to all my calendars engraved above me.
© 1994
2,020 hits as of September 2025
04/05/2005 Posted on 04/05/2005
Copyright © 2025 Chris Sorrenti
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Maureen Glaude on 04/05/05 at 05:03 PM Who can't relate to this experience? If calendars could write the story of our lives.
powerful, Chris. |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 04/05/05 at 05:44 PM Yes, life on the scale of time measured by calenders. Nicely produced piece. |
| Posted by Sarah Graves on 04/05/05 at 06:37 PM I love this, I'm a calendar freak, so I can definitely relate to to this.. it really does make up a portion of our lives, the past to the present.. if you actually follow-up with it that is :) |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 04/06/05 at 01:07 AM ...chris, lovely metaphor o' work-a-dayism...you see... "battlefield" wow! i do like that, what else is it many times? ...'spreading web of ball point ink'...(makes me smile) that phrase just dances by itself, topped only by ...'pieces of me remain'...capturing pic of life-in-the-big-city...peace, chaz |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/06/05 at 03:17 AM A most interesting perspective on life. Building from appointments on calendars to refuse to grave. And written so smoothly it all seems to fit! LOL!! Well, it is "dust to dust" with us all and all that we've "created". Except essential Spirit! But that would be for another poem. :) |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 04/06/05 at 12:47 PM in this world there are no genuine heaps of failures or successes, only we, the removed from such excess, philosophising our existence on park benches while the pigeons scurry for the crumbs of their own. |
| Posted by Bruce W Niedt on 04/07/05 at 10:24 PM I like thumbing through old calendars that have somehow escaped the garbage dump and letting the notes on them conjure up memories. Great observations and images, Chris. Spellcheck on line 6: should be "forecasted".... d:-) |
| Posted by Carolyn Coville on 04/08/05 at 04:44 AM 'my calendar is a battlefield' nice! some really clever thoughts here, chris :) |
| Posted by Britt Zimmerman on 04/09/05 at 04:28 AM I am speechless...all I can say is WOW!!! Nice work Chris!! xoxoxo |
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