Hey dear ones… Has anyone read “Just“? It’s posted a day or so ago… Not a like or comment… Does it suck? Is the homophone play just too much?
I’m curious, cus this was birthed in that lil flurry of poems regarding time… But just was not singing enough… Until I saw a tie to time and diminishment and justice cutting up and down that continuum…
You can take out the word just… And it limps along off-balance… A commentary in itself…
in me at
at (in) the (a)
same time (place)
time is this
impression: (or is not time)
a lasting awareness
of one’s self moving
in a sea of selves,
dependent yet alone.
time matters precisely
because it ends
and yet is
Time is like a ship of planks
constructed to cross an ocean
from shore to shore across
those waves so furiously
expansive and endlessly
Telling time is like taking apart a ship
and using the planks to build a ship
for someone else building a ship
just in time
out of time…
Out of time…what is that, really?
Actually, I meant to ask where is that
really, no, it’s who…
Who is spoken out of time
spoken and inhabited, there
in that place walking in wilderness
when an invisible voice speaks to ask
“Who are you?”
“I will always be me…always.”
Ah, and how long is that
how long is that?
Close your eyes
Like one who wakes
from a long sleep
Listen to the
trickle of time it’s
a sylvan sound so sleek
and flowing around you over
you and below you, above
you and in you and
in you and in
you in time
Open your eyes
Look up into
a clear sky
Try to see just
How high or deep
is a hundred feet
or a mile long
It’s just you in time
(you know) and time
in you (know time)
and never the twain
shall meet or part
how it feels
to inhabit time
every slippery word
or graceful gesture
light and darkness
make their sound
and give birth to time
and time and time
just flies away,
just passes by,
just exists (no) more
that’s what time is now
that’s how little time
I have to do all
the things I am
Some nights seem slippery,
more than I like, lately
yet deeply intimate,
word and gesture…
I wake to the sound
of dark, without detail
in a cavern or
falling thru space
I might be dreaming
I could be dead.
Time moves one direction
but I move all directions
and take time with me
I tell time
Teach us to realize how short our lives are. Then our hearts will become wise.
— Psalm 90:12 NIRV
…this would transform the world.
It is the hardest thing for me…ever…to not hear from loved ones, and then get a dashed off note with the word “sorry” (not even “I am sorry”), and a line of sandwich filler, and a conclusion of “love you” (writing “I love you” takes too long).
Saving time and all…for what? Where is all that time saved? In a bank somewhere drawing interest?
No…it is spent…everyday.
Every. Last. Red. Cent. Second.
Ticks and tricks…tickles and trickles thru your will and then your heart…
…and finally your fingers to lay there at your feet as the record of what you did and what you did not do.
Charissa is regularly labeled wordy…of generating too much content…of putting too much out there to be dealt with or responded to…
but I guess that’s just how I roll…cus time. Fading. Flowing…flying away and done too soon. And I want to give everything I have to give…especially my time.
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly
Hi Constance…as I know all you wonderful people are busy, as am I, this item really caught my eye and then tugged at my heart afterwards…that word renunciation grabbed me and really brought me a lot of conviction.
If you would, check it out, think on it, and tell me if you agree or not!
“Being too busy can be a form of laziness.
Be sure to prioritize your time around the things that matter most to you.
Effective time management centers around using this very moment to be fully open to our purpose and renouncing all that distracts us from it.”
I’m surprised by the passing of time
it waves as it dances along
and leaves me here on this bench in the park
with astonishment gripping my heart.
Time will never simply pass by
without engraving its mark
in a stab to my heart or a tender sweet touch
or a mortal wound bleeding and dark.
And I think of the birth of a child
who will dance with time in ignorance
and get lost in occasions of beauty and joy
and its happy and frolicking lark.
But time walks away without caring
as it always has, does, and will do
and that’s when the child sees the back-side of time
as it passes austere, tall and stark.
The back-side of time is a window
to somewhere beyond time’s long reach
So I follow, and run after fleet-footed time
as it swims like a quick-silver shark.
But time just leaves me for dead.
Tell me, why is this such an outrage?
This act of irreverence, indifference unfeigned
in every crude step of time’s arc.
But I know a secret inside
the heart of my heart: come, and listen!
Proud hungry time is caught up in hubris
So I laugh, on this bench in the park.