Now and then, a stop-start
Turn of phrase; periodic.
Dash becomes a dart,
Comfortably chaotic.
Come and go, ebb and flow,
A phase that’s episodic.
Much the same as to and fro,
Naturally melodic.
Period, teaches us to wait;
Pause and let things rest,
Episode, helps us calculate,
Extent that we’ve progressed.
. We manage flow with punctuation,
. Then let it go with syncopation.

© Tim Grace, 23 January 2011

To the reader: Time, an infinite resource, so scarce of understanding; humanities worst invention. In the short term a niggling nuisance; impatient, full of expectation. In the long term, an ominous, foreboding presence that hangs heavy with anticipation. Understood in seconds or millennia, time resists the patient pause. Those who can manage time, craft it into shape and trick it into submission. They let the big hand turn, the little one stop; without notice … all of a sudden.

To the poet: Possibly deliberate, this sonnet’s meter is chaotic. Lines are broken, punctuation is contrived; structures are stressed. It’s a poem that invites an editor’s stroke of pen. And yet, that’s the nature of time; a shapeless mess. Some’times’ we just have to make-do, draw upon what’s available and celebrate the compromise. The poem’s not perfect, but it’s of its time … rushed.

now and then