Time flies

In response to Chris’s response


So little time we have,

and yet it streams

between the fingers and the toes,

dredged like muddy rivers,

dark and unmarked with any glitter.

Time, a wheel of stars

out of reach,

we watch, open-mouthed,

the slow, majestic roll of the sky,

and when we look down

and fix again upon the ground beneath our feet,

the season’s changed,

and red leaves blow

where green shoots shone.

Poetry challenge Bridges: the entries

Last week was a very sad week for many of us and thoughts naturally turned to the passing of things. The theme of the bridge prompted some beautifully reflective poems. Here they are in chronological order, as the postman delivered them.

A beautiful rainbow bridge from Kat Myrman

Eternity’s Bridge | like mercury colliding…


A poem from Bill Engleson on the other side of the world. Get your hankies ready, the last lines certainly got to me.


My eyes skim across the chuck,
sweep over the distant shore,
scan the scrunches of land
reaching above the lingering fog,
longing for the bright, bursting sky

We often rise above these moments,
find structures, systems, passageways
to help move us across this painful gulf,
and, all the while, embrace a lightness
that lifts us just beyond our sorrow.

returns us home,
returns us to the other side.


From Kim in Norfolk. Neat precise rhymes that put me in mind of footsteps. Nice one 🙂

Charles Bridge in Prague – writing in north norfolk


Ken’s poem has a grittiness to it, like an aging industrial landscape

Base Senses | rivrvlogr


A first time entry from Natalia. Welcome! This one contains such a lot—form, alliteration, and a starburst of emotion.

Eternal Entirety’s Longest Bridge | Weaving Gold


A lovely poem from Janice, almost mystical.

The Bridge–Jane Dougherty Poetry Challenge #13 – Ontheland


Two this week from Kerfe, complete with offbeat illustrations




A cinquain to raise the spirits from Carol

Crossings~Cinquain – WritersDream9


Another happy poem from  sunny Manila

Poetry challenge #13: Bridges | ladyeemanila


From the raven—I liked this one a lot.

Poem 20160116 – Caw!


Merril’s poems are what the French could call fleuve (river). They flow so effortlessly taking us exactly where she wants to go.

Books are a Bridge | Yesterday and today: Merril’s historical musings


A first from Andre, gentle and tranquil.



And the last one, a masterly quatern, from Ali Isaac jus before the polls closed.

The Bridge

I know not why I brought you here
O’er a bridge of wishes and sighs
Wise in all youth’s folly, I fear
We’re broken, sundered by life’s lies.

Around the lake, widdershins, thrice
I know not why I brought you here
Tears fall for you in paradise
Sacrifice all to hold you near.

Hissed incantations disappear
Breathless, waiting, I’m frightened, shy
I know not why I brought you here
Dreary, the days beyond goodbye.

Spectral shade, dark entity sly
Formless ghost so cold, so severe
Mere memory will too soon fly.
I know not why I brought you here.

Once again I’m staggered by the quality of your poetry, and proud that my prompt helped your words take shape. Thank you! New prompt tomorrow 🙂

Microfiction: Tick Tock

For Ronovan’s Friday Fiction prompt.

PENTAX Digital Camera

Ticks and tocks of essential time, sink the spirits lower than wine.

 She tore the newspaper page across, crumpled it angrily and threw it in the grate.

Smart arse editorialist.

It was her own fault; she should know by now not to read the obits. As if people needed reminding about the fleeting nature of human existence. Her eyes flicked automatically to the clock on the mantelpiece, an heirloom inherited from parents-in-law, a cheap, mass-produced monstrosity, a wedding present, no doubt, from the sepia days before the first world war. She hated that clock, the infernal, lugubrious tick tock and the chime every quarter. Every quarter! How had they stood it all these years?

She dumped the newspaper and its tidings of doom and gloom and took her coffee into the garden. Maybe she was just tired. She grimaced. Coffee was hitting the stomach rather hard this morning. She poured it over the roses and sat on the bench, watching the clouds race and a robin taking a bath in a rain puddle.

Nothing changed except the pattern of the clouds. He was still gone. Still left, leaving her with the house, the bills and the burden of… everything.

She closed her eyes but the earth carried on turning. Her stomach carried on turning. Tears squeezed out from behind closed lids. It took so little to knock the whole world out of kilter. Everything was wrong. Each second that flicked past was wrong. There were not enough of them left to waste them like this on pain and morbid thoughts, bills and emptiness. She winced. The spasm passed. But it would be back, like clockwork.

Tick tock said the clock. Cloud thickened and covered the morning sun. Coffee dripped from the roses, and the robin finished his bath.