Hoard neither love nor time! Stashed away, A year of love, night or day, Ain’t worth a dime!
Nor fritter either as ceremonies But as memories Lived of former moons and suns And all loved ones!
For time and love, if well-spent Are hell-bent On keeping you! They wait As one upon you!
Poet’s Note: The poem employs as its key metaphor the idea that time and love aren’t meant to be hoarded or stashed away in bank accounts the way money is, though money and bank accounts are not once mentioned! Love is time when time is love – the two are inseparable when one takes the time to love! The poem’s lesson is in the last verse.
I’m scrunched in partially obscured view seating, hands at my temples, elbows pressed to the balcony rail. Look up, Sherman Alexie! I squint through borrowed glasses, willing your signature pen to drop, your writer’s eyes to find me. I’m cheap.
felt faint inside from the heat of the day I fell down on my knees to pray thought of those memories from a time ago Christmas was spent under the mistletoe hugs & kisses with everything new Pretty pictures pretty
I haven’t been able to sleep. What you said, perhaps just offhandedly, perhaps not really caring at all, has me wide awake lost in those silly impossible dreams and longings that overtake my being so often. You cannot know how