as time counts up
the more remarkable we need to be
to remark on what it is we want others to see
as time counts count down
our memories grow
expectations molded for us show
time slows for the fortunate old
to look at not what they’ve done
but the people they’ve become
waxed and waned as clocks converge
a life questioned with a final chime
a pulse to rest along with time
I liked the cadence of this piece. Its ebb and flow. My favorite part was in time we look not to what we have done but who we have become. For me this is what lifelines are about. Great poem.
For years I have been experimenting with retaining time’s imprint. I believe time is sticky, and I call its trace, ‘sticky time’.
I do something absolutely crazy. I save labels, clothes labels, particularly, and also labels of all sorts of other things. For example, on the tag of say my daughter’s first denim jeans, I have noted when I had purchased it, and when she had worn it first. I have, thus, saved hundreds of tags. I use them mostly as bookmarks. I always pick a tag when I pick up a book for reading. I have hundreds of old books, waiting to be read, some started and not completed. So, when I open my bookcase, I find a tag popping out of a book yellowed with the years, and on its tag, a date and an incident. I try to go back to that time and relive it, but most of the time I cannot correlate or recall. I also have date and place marked on the first page of most books to commemorate its purchase. Some I remember, like my copy of ‘Andromeda Strain’, which I bought one bright December morning of 1972 from a heap of books laid on the pavement of a busy street of Bangalore, India. The hawker was selling all the books for two bucks. I actually read the book years later, but before I had started collecting tags. So, this book does not have a bookmark in it. But, I still remember the day associated with it.
At one time I used to nurse the hope of taking a picture and keeping a print along with each tags, so that the picture would remind me of the situation. But, when I look at pictures taken years earlier, they make little sense. Recently I visited a village of my childhood and found it completely transformed, After the trip, I find my sweet and fuzzy recollections of the village have been overwritten by what I saw this time. I have, so to say, lost the village of my childhood.
I still believe in ‘sticky time’, and I still collect tags. May be someday some scientist will find a way to deal with my ‘sticky-time tags’ and memory..
I really like this! Lately, I’ve been trying to make time for things that I want to do so that I don’t have any regrets.
Time is everything because it never comes back to you, just disintegrates with every breath you take. Wonder poetic prose, Dominic.
Totally agree with you. Thank you for commenting and for your kind words, really appreciate it!
Nice use of structure, Dom.
Awesome, thanks Tom. Really appreciate it. Poetry is so incredibly daunting – makes me appreciate the good stuff. Lot to learn, that is for sure! Thanks again. Sorry our teams are going in opposite directions…c’mon K(W)ings!!!
Wings are having a very rough season, but such is hockey. Keep shooting!
“…as clocks converge” I like how you’ve brought together the ups, the downs and slowing of time. A haunting yet accurate chronology, Dominic. And while lifelines slope down, I will still recognize and celebrate the energy and gratitude that many retain as they near their chime. Sweet stuff!
Thanks, Eric. As usual, much appreciated. I always learn something from your comments 🙂