It looks like its time for another poetry post. It looks like its the 17th of April, and we’re screaming through the third week of the month.
Where does the time go? How do the swinging hands on the clock add up to a day so quickly? Am I on time? Is it about time? Do you have the time?
Everything we do revolves around time. Without its structure, there is none. I realize there’s no time like the present, but isn’t that all we really have?
I have been enfactuated with the hours of the day ever since I learned how to tell time in second grade. Half past, quarter past, quarter to, they all point to the great clock in the sky. The position of the stars tell the time of the year. The height of the high tide swell chimes in another 12 hours since the last high tide. Time rules all, and everything revolves around time.
Right. Go tell that to the racoons who keep pulling down the shepherd’s hook to get at the black oil seed. Vagrants!
It’s time for another poem in honor of National Poetry Month. And this poem is about, you guessed it, Time!
Thanks for dropping by, and have a great night.
Tick, Tick, Tick, there it goes again.
Hands sweeping away the time of another timeless day.
Scores of seconds find their rhythmic beat as they continue to keep time.
Read along, and you’ll be right in time for the next chapter.
Follow the swirling hands of time, and hypnotize the day away.
Stack, and pack, while keeping track, and on and on it goes.
Write it down; punch it in, log on, just in time.
Same time as it was yesterday, right about this time.
There it goes, taking its time, again and again.
It will tell its own story, in its own way, in its own time.
Fear not, though it may appear to be just a waste of time.
Through the ages, the gentle caress of time will work it all out.
Breaking away the moments that made up Floyd’s dull, flittering day.
Isn’t it about time that we’re on time, just this one time?
A wonderful time, had by all who took the time.
In the knick of time, times two, and don’t forget to carry the three.
One last time, followed by just one more time, if you have the time.
Healing all wounds, while standing still, time and time again.
Time to start something new, hoping to finish it just in time.
Time to get up, to wake up, to stand up and get ready for bed.
Time to leave, to go, and to never look back.
For everything, there’s a time, and a time for everything.
In the nick of time, a stitch in time will surely save some time.
Timeless masterpieces find time to keep in time with modern times.
This is the last time, and probably the time before that.
Is there such a thing as an endless journey, followed by a timeless tale?
Isn’t it about time you found out what time it is?
I suppose I’ll let it go, but only this one time.
Time and time again takes up where time left off.
Once upon a time, there was time to dream.
It’s times like these that try the hands of time.
There’s no time like the present to make an effort to at least be on time.
This is the last time I’ll spend my time figuring out what time is a good time for you.