Time

Thoughts Condensed

Thoughts Condensed

… used to write observational ditties.
Sunrise anecdotes, as they rose to view.
High-rise moments that could tickle and tease.
Bric-a-brac messages from me to you.
Kept them in a folder, tattered and torn:
My Complete Book of Unfinished Works.
A mixed anthology of statements, sworn
to the master of truth; where danger lurks.
It’s a people watcher’s compendium,
an unbound collection of clever quips:
“slivers of silver – soft as cerium.”
“the tighter one grips – the faster one slips.”
. Life is just a series of thoughts condensed,
. cryptic adages, over days dispensed.

© Tim Grace, 21 December 2014

To the reader: Snapshots of life in passing are soon lost to memory. Short-term moments that catch your interest but quickly fade from view. These are the ingredients of doodles and ditties. My notebooks are full of sketchy lines and idle jots; half capturing a fleeting thought. And there’s the problem; at some point, do these bits and pieces make collective sense? Unlike entries in a diary or journal these snippets have a weak relationship with a string of time.

To the poet: Side-by-side two poems will often reflect a shared relationship with the poet’s current experience. As often as not they might also reflect the poet’s quick shift of focus. Some poems make reference to past or recurring interests and therefore resemble poems written in a distant period. In poetry chronology and sequence are quite separate issues… two threads; one rope.

Thoughts Condensed

Thoughts Condensed

No Convenience

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

Today I'm Late

Today I’m late

Usually, one of the early risers;
from sun-up, noting texture of the day.
Mostly ready, for the day’s surprises;
well-prepared, well-postured, for come what may.
But today I’m late, I’ve lost advantage;
just one of many, recently arrived.
Left to share a script on a crowded stage;
just one of the collective, so contrived.
Late… my expansive day has been confined.
I’m now a post-script that time has stolen;
an after-thought, yet to be assigned.
I’m a conscript, a left-over colon.
. With an early start, you design your day,
. Leave it too late, and to a script you’ll play.

© Tim Grace, 1 January 2013

To the reader: As routine activities become more general they acquire a network of dependencies. My morning routine is like that. It might appear that I’m up early and out the door to do some writing. Not so, it seems. Small changes to parts of my morning mission can torpedo the enterprise. With a small series of delays, I find myself cornered in a crowded café. No words can describe my…

To the poet: Writing about writing is an introspective task; somewhat therapeutic, slightly poignant. A metacognitive indulgence that’s occasionally excused by a patient reader; one with a forgiving nature. Unpacking this sonnet, reveals its block-like construction. Inevitably, piece-by-piece, the puzzle is connected; rules are followed and so it lazily meets its final couplet… late to arrive at its conclusion.

Today I'm Late

Today I’m Late

Hastiness

Hastiness – the answer that’s come too soon:
a gift-wrapped solution, an empty shell.
It’s just another song without a tune;
has momentum but nothing to impel.
We are all too ready to jump and leap:
jump to conclusions through hoops of faith.
Too quick to give away what we should keep:
ready to end; too impatient to wait.
Hastiness – cuts loose, all that’s to follow:
severs ties with solutions; tried and true.
Too quick to grab at straws, thin and hollow.
Too quick to surrender to all that’s new.
. Hastiness – not an answer, just a fudge;
. just an assumption, they’ll be quick to judge.

© Tim Grace, 8 October 2012

To the reader: Since the beginning of biblical days, through the wisdom of Solomon, we’ve been advised to avoid the lazy answer; Proverbs 21:5 states that:diligence leads to riches, as surely as haste leads to poverty”. And more confusingly we’re told to balance haste over speed (or is it the other way around?). All very well, but convenience is an attractive lure; the short-cut solution that satisfies impatience often appeals.

To the reader: “How are we to judge without conclusion?” – The good poem reads as fresh and acute; of the moment, forever true. Hence, there shouldn’t be too many indicators of laboured inspiration. Conversely, signs of a rushed solution are markers of laziness. Somewhere, built into a poem, there needs to be both ‘point and purpose’… like ‘dollars and cents’ they are the currency of a ‘reading and writing’ exchange.

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Twelve Questions

Twelve Questions

What about the drawing of distinctions?
Should they be blurred to favour tolerance?
Is the line concise on contradictions?
What advice does logic bring to difference?
How are we to judge without conclusion?
How so is ‘that from this’ to be defined?
Is ‘to know’ a hoax, a grand delusion?
Are all things to be boldly underlined?
What of two-minds that claim a single-thought?
What of the question that has no answer?
What’s nothing but the invention of naught?
What’s more static than a statued dancer?
. It’s not the answer that in truth divides,
. More so the question that in doubt resides.

© Tim Grace, 3 October 2012

To the reader: The tolerant society is a highly abstracted notion. Those who thrive in liberal communities put aside rigid structures and tolerate difference. In this relaxed and generous environment customs and codes of practice can be questioned and answers refined; ethics evolve. Social contracts are loose and forgiving with cultures flourishing side-by-side. In this social order we prefer the question (process) resist the answer (product) as we crave the experience… all lines are blurred.

To the poet: Earlier, I broke Shakespeare’s sixty-sixth sonnet into a series of twelve sonnets; expanding on his list of grumpy grievances. Likewise, in this sonnet (of mine) I lay down the foundation for a longer exploration of ‘difference and distinction’; again, in twelve parts. The project took a couple of months to complete with other themes and interests put on hold… to what end, I’ll let you judge.

 

Twelve Questions

Twelve Questions

 

in the now

In the now…

Be learn’d in the now, be connected
to what is your current fascination.
Take from today all that is collected,
make this the lot, the plot of your creation.
Expect nothing of tomorrow’s promise,
and give not tomorrow today’s excuse.
Be of the moment; and then so, with ease
make invisible time’s disappointed fuse.
Have in mind only this day’s food for thought,
for tomorrow’s feast is an empty plate,
nothing more than that, a recipe fraught
with expectation; do not take the bait.
. Be absorbed in the now, be besotted,
. take from today all that is allotted.

© Tim Grace, 28 September 2012

To the reader: Living for the day and seizing the day are different concepts. Living for the day assumes no connection with days gone or days to come. Seizing the day treats the present as an opportunity for future construction. To be absorbed by ‘this day’ for its own sake is the fun park approach to life; the alternative, is a nature park relationship with time’s daily dose. In the fun park we have an apportioned amount of time to cram the day with pleasure; what’s not done will never be done. Tomorrow is the same day of rides repeated.

To the poet: It’s from the nature park a poet learns not be concerned about tomorrow’s feast of words; we can not guess the menu. Tomorrow’s empty plate will fill; just as every other. The better care we take of today’s nature park the better will be tomorrow’s narrative. Today is tomorrow’s write of passage. Poetry thrives on adaptation to its current concerns… it can not graze on tomorrow’s grass; for that field is yet to grow.

 

in the now

In The Now
Picture Source:
http://youtu.be/GMtcDa_7NHU