Time Elapse

A collaborative poem between me and Syl65! Syl was one of the first poets I met here on WordPress and his love poems are particularly tender and never fail to impress. Please visit his site to explore more of his work!

Mayan Calendar

The days are flying by
And my calendar can’t keep up
Just got the sunscreen ready
Now there’s a sale on winter coats

Halloween costumes are shaking
Spidery webs and monster claws
But the leaves are still green
And I feel freshly thawed

I think I’m hearing turkeys
Gobble, gobble, gobble
Christmas decorations up already
My mind is starting to wobble

Champagne at year’s end
Although I’m still in summer
Should I be like a child sighing?
“Oh, what a bummer!”

Fly by days
Lead into fly by nights
Did the Mayan calender really end?
Or is there no end in sight?

So many thoughts
A-whirling in my head
Time to stop thinking of time
And simply go to bed.



Touch of silver in moonlit space
Cobwebs, darkness, lines to trace
Ages that have worn you well
And lingered in places where they dwell

Smell of parchment worn and thin
Moisture, dryness, and moist again
Rends you till joints ache and refuse
The simplicity of a once youthful move

Yet, warmed by fire and cooled by ice
Fingers that have tempered nice
For touches both sure and gentle
Along thin shoulders just to settle

In camaraderie and love, born of the fear
We hadn’t expressed ourselves to those dear
For we all, travelers, will move on from here.


Mid-August, I wake with my bones aching from cold that has seeped in from the open windows. Outside, the sun runs silver over white poultry trucks. Ambling tourists sway with their backpacks on one shoulder.

shoulders bared silver
weak for the height of summer
wintry sunshine

Not one leaf has turned, but already I dread the fall, knowing winter is not far behind. Another flashback. Another year’s end to sum up and find wanting.

Planning for Time

Along the path back
I met two hikers
a man and a woman
hand in hand
with two IVs dangling
from their free arms.

I spoke with them about the climb.
Satisfied, they turned to each other.

The woman, who called herself Loso
was impatient to reach the top
to see the sun rise.

I had not seen it myself
but it would take far longer —
more than the 15 minutes
she thought it took
to reach the peak.

The sky was already lightening.
Sunrise had come and gone
while we conversed;
now it was white.

Only I noticed.

I apologized for how long
I had kept them,
not feeling sorry for
the extra minutes that wouldn’t
have made a difference.

I was sorry that
it was too late —

They hurried off.

Writer’s Note: This was an actual dream I had two days ago.


On the last day of April
The cherry trees besides my home
Have passed the height of their blooming season
And boughs have grown weary with their
Pinkish charges which now litter the streets.
Finding no delight in the windfall
I turn my eyes upon the crabapple instead —
Blossoms of white flesh
Split ripe from magenta casings —
And fool myself into thinking
Of the impermanence of death.