Tag Archives: Time

T Dies a Thousand Deaths… for arT

The first T-20 Y-day eve is upon us. It was quite some weather day too, with the mist turning up on the last day of its two-months part of mistYmuse, and then evaporating as the sun strengthened in the afternoon, as it’s supposed to do in Mist Evaporation Week (MEW) before a pinky POP (PinkyOrangePurple) sunset (as written in yesterday’s blog post, although the sun doesn’t really rise and fall as it looks to us, it does rise and set to us; they are all human concepts, along with solstices and equinoxes etc).

I didn’t know how I was going to celebrate it, and then thought of writing a poem containing twenty Ts! It only reached seven! So I wrote another one, which had twenty-two!! So, thinking of marketing, that’s nine bonus Ts, coloured in tawny, making it quite some T20 party… sure is where I wanna be x 3!!!

T29

all was quiet
on Y-day eve morning
thick mist reminded one
of green(y-Y)grey dawning

not if ‘you’re’ travelling, my ‘self-ish’ thoughts unravelling

sun shone through
the sky turned blue
as if remembering Y-rise
a nice surprise

———————————————————

Yesterday it dawned on me
todayiTy fits into philosotea
part of my philosophy
time after coffilosophy
written in prose poetry

trouble with my  psyche is, there’s no words for this

I remember Cyndi Lauper
time after time
but there’s no music
for something so lethargic
sky pinks I remember magic

The song doesn’t have any message for or from me, and was just the music that came into my head as I wrote ‘time after’, mixed with Eminem, who I’ve cited before. Just watched the video, and amazed she does a T at the end. A fitting finale for the T20 party!!

The after-party’s at Amazon! or the Cure’s greenYgrey foresT (next Track!!):

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Poem about Meaning of and Surviving Life

Marc Latham’s latest Folding Mirror poem needs no introduction on a grey June day.  So here it is:
Life has More Meaning than Death
the world is probably not as exciting
for me as most people,
losing has more meaning than winning.
both small moments in time
that will not change anything,
my important tomorrow
is time’s irrelevance
one important day, time’s second thought
live for meaning
in today’s feelings,
staying the same is better
than not living at all,
playing your part is not submitting.
one animal of many species
still searching for its creator and reason
Marc Latham’s central site is the Greenygrey (http://www.greenygrey.co.uk)

Poem about how People and Perceptions Age

Rebel Without a Cause
Rebel Without a Cause (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
*In case you’ve returned after first viewing the poem yesterday, when it was published, and think you remember a different poem, the title has been changed from World Turned Upside Down Over Time, and the folding middle line from political systems shapeshift, humanity remains insideout.
Marc Latham’s new Folding Mirror poem needs no introduction. Should the middle-aged be true to what they were or are? Are they what they were? Were they what they are?
Living in the Middle-Ages
remember my rebellion
things I believed
were destroying my soul
that I wanted to escape
the age old enemy within
individual in society
always being true
to what you are
trying to die
before something kills you
political systems spin around, humanity remains upside down
adapting to slowing down
landing at sea
who am I now
ideas used up
festivals need cleaners
keeping it real each day
survival in the wild means
other life making way
my inner thoughts
combined with conservation
Marc Latham’s central site is the Greenygrey (http://www.greenygrey.co.uk)

Poem telling a story of youth to middle-age

3 Generations (in the Fog of Life)
Image by Gilderic via Flickr

Marc Latham’s latest Folding Mirror poem started off autobiographical but then he thought it worked better as a fictional piece.

And without further ado, here it is:

Middle-Age Memories

back in the day never fancied old age
it looked boring as beige
didn’t think future
couldn’t see juncture
no need to worry
plan responsibility
don’t have to behave
in an early grave

enter middle-age, rage caged

what now for I’m
fifty years and alive
remember rebel
how used to tell
self no compromise
maybe youth’d empathise
if he’d known my life
after the night he picked up the knife