No Convenience

In constant measure, at relentless pace,
makes meaningless: to stop, to pause, to rest.
For every endeavour an endless chase,
a continuous stream of life abreast.
If not one thing, another; all things merge,
detail is lost, rendered as a background blur.
Not something new, not a modern scourge,
simply this day prepared for life ‘du jour’.
Living alongside what has come and gone,
as to be repeated then multiplied.
Think of it as ‘de ja vous’, think upon
all things as one, where time and space collide.
. If time portrays no obedience,
. it qualifies as no convenience.

© Tim Grace, 5 January 2013


To the reader: In some respects, time is a container; a higgledy-piggledy box of events. Each day I select a sample of interests that I add to my biographical anthology. Unlike most boxes, this one is endlessly expandable; made of a curious material that responds to its content. It’s a durable, self-repairing material: water-proof, fire-proof, and wind-proof. It’s a permeable membrane, it’s an impervious membrane; it’s a membrane that forgets and remembers.

To the poet: This box is not a trap. When writing poetry, there’s an endless choice of material; content. Your sources are infinite; beyond experience, the only limit is the extent of your imagination. The poem (seen as a membrane) represents time: “it’s a permeable membrane, it’s an impervious membrane; it’s a membrane that forgets and remembers.”


No Convenience

No Convenience

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s