Thursday, August 24, 2006

Time Play: Act Three ... for Poetry Thursday

Time, Joan Z. Rough, © 2006

Time has never been my best friend. There is never enough or there is too much. I look for quality time, end up with no time. At times I've been able to stretch time, but that skill is elusive. It's either rush, rush, rush or ... are we there yet?? I waste time, I buy time ... I even kill time. It's a mystery ... I've written a notebook full of poems about it. Here is one for Poetry Thursday's prompt on time. I don't know any more about it now than I did before I took the time for this exploration.

Time Play: Act Three

Instead of rising the curtain falls
on a revolving stage numerals tick
tossing seconds back and forth
the orchestra marks each hour
with silver chimes

In the flyspace heavenly doors
swing open spilling light
revealing angels robed in red
feathered wings propel
cogged wheels around the clock

Beyond the flicker of footlights
tiers of aging faces line the dark
fear the cuckoo's wooden call
a chorus of fingers points to the dial
weeping candles hail the fractured moon



Visual-Voice said...

wow, j ~ this is another fantastic one!

paris parfait said...

That is one powerful poem! Well done! I really like the phrase "talking seconds back and forth" and "weeping candles hail the fractured moon."

jim said...

Almost like a Beckett play (but this makes sense all the way through). Great imagery, and just inspired word choices: flyspace, cuckoo's wooden call, weeping candles.

twitches said...

Absurd, in a good way. Some great lines - "swing open spilling light" and "cogged wheels around the clock" in particular.