There are beats between
seconds, when I used to tick
think tick of you tick


cc by Alex Lehner via Flickr


One time


The boys followed me
down the lane one time, intent,
so I ran and ran.


cc via Pixabay

This remorseless whirligig


(This was a challenge, as part of the Writer’s Digest “Poem a Day” month, to choose two words coined by Shakespeare as the title of a poem. There were far too many wonderful words for me to choose just two.)

A noiseless, lustrous plaything,
I bewitch dauntless young-eyed,
yet innocent of fear.

In blushing adolescence,
men swagger, play at courtship,
life’s savagery unreal.

I’ll bite thee by the gnarled ear;
deafening ceaseless spinning
a monumental fixture.

“And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.” – Twelfth Night

By Jun, via Flickr

Prompt: Stop procrastinating

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And procrastinate. It’s really helpful on that front (via Pixabay)

“Stop procrastinating,” she said. He knew she was right, but every time he even thought of getting up and going he was pinned to the ground by the heavy empty that had sprawled itself across the foot of his gut like an unwelcome welcome mat before a door that you knew you really ought to go through, but which was squinting at you all ornery, its knots all furrowed so you just knew it was going to scrape and scritch and clutch at the door frame like some kind of hell-Velcro, so you’d push with all your paltry, unconvinced might while all the while wishing you’d stuck to your guns and stayed snuggled in your comfy chair, one eye on Facebook and the other on Candy Crush, a gentle smile on your face, procrastinating.