What is the time? (Prose)

a day passes
twenty four hour
formula of
night/day disturbed
thoughts without
filters ~
tumble drying
another sun
and moon
marked off
twelve becomes
so on and so forth
lucid moments
childhood memories
~ yet current
boxes/lines are
of no consequence
as the clock turns
life into weeks
weeks into months
the cycle continues
~ advances
for you and I
but for them
remains the same

©jmtacken 24/11/2013

Victoria is hosting and her prompt is about Calendars – please join in ~ write ~ read ~ comment on some extremely talented writers (I go along for the ride).




sandcastle memories; a child’s laugh
wet sand, buckets & spades
moats filled high with water
oh how real it was to us &
how proud we were of what we’d made
seagull feather as the flag

our castle; childhood claim
of dreams we can’t recall
as we played in summer sun
seaweed, shells decorated walls
tiny fingers poked window holes
calling to parents with squeals
of pride
“come see, come see – what I have done”

fallen grains, sweet memory
of built up castle dreams
of us who were the little ones
no thoughts of tomorrow or days
to follow, but only how long
our fort would hold
as we played in summer sun

when the tide lapped at our
fortress made of sand
we watched it slowly wash away
crashing & melding
from whence it came
we pouted; a mere second of dismay
then we ran to build again
as we played in summer sun

so as we grew & our lives changed
this perhaps the lesson
we learnt back then
from the days when we were young
& played in summer sun
when our walls came crashing down
to pick ourselves up & start again