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Seconds
by Glenn CurrierMinutes
prance their courtly dance
their numbers get smaller
tension gets larger
not ready for the date
she'll be mad.
Hours
long carpets
stretching my patience
about to burst
the wineskin of my yen.
Days
the intervals
of procrastination
between self delusion
and the moment I begin.
Months
dominoes
standing like obedient soldiers
awaiting the orders
still smoky notions
clumped in the rump of my brain.
Years
assault my ears
like birthday songs mocking me
in the inelastic cells of my skin
and the creaking of joints
when I rise from a low couch.
But between the ticks
of the second hand
are poems and paintings
awakenings of spirit
souls of friends
intimate joys
and evenings
of peace. 06/23/2005 Posted on 06/23/2005
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 06/24/05 at 01:05 AM Making the most of time is a grand undertaking... but the poems and the paintings make it worth the try. Great read! |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 06/26/05 at 04:39 AM The last stanza says it all Glenn.....Charlie |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 06/27/05 at 01:52 PM fine like wine, your words, on which I imbibe and slow begin to slur and thankful for the sip, I will not have to leave this poem sober. |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 06/28/05 at 03:08 AM Well, its the process, the life and death walking hand in hand, little little heaven and hells, we live from moment to moment. |
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