Tag Archives: Time

Wondering lonely as a cloud

I was wondering lonely

as a cloud approached me

and asked me the rhyme.

“It’s about four.” I answered.

The cloud departed happily,

having ascertained the time.




NB ‘Wonky Words’ my latest (and best) Collection of my words is available from this link. G:)

A song of age

It’s been a month now,

and I never saw the change;

but, when years have passed,

and as I near my last,

looking back just seems so strange.

Still fifteen in my head,

but my body disagrees,

time has not been kind,

I still have mind,

but there are tremors in my knees.


Older every day,

more late November

than early May,

and the years speed up

as I slow down,

there is a ticking clock

whose alarm is set,

and, yet, I try not to frown…

swimming with too many negative emotions,

you are more likely to drown.

My Grandfather’s Clock

My grandfather’s clock

is two inches too tall

to fit in my house

up against the wall.


I raised the ceiling

and lowered the floor,

took the hinges off

the dining-room door;


puffed and panted

to get it in

and then decided,

it made such a din


that I never wound the key,

so there it stands now stranded

at a quarter to three.

“It’s About Time!”

SD They meet

“Well, it’s about time.”

“What is?”

“This book on the subject of ‘Time’. “

“Oh!” Is it any good?”

“I got it second-hand.”


“I swapped it for my watch.”


“It helps to pass the…”


“Yes. And, it’s also about time-travel.”

“Sounds interesting – can I borrow it after you’ve read it?”

“Yes. I’ll pop it round to you last Thursday.”

“Okay. Can you write next week’s lottery numbers inside the back cover for me?”

“All of them?”

“Probably. 1 through to 47 should about cover it.”

“Will do.”

“Great! Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”



“Until last Thursday!”

“Yup! See you then!”

SD They part.

Sunday Haiku

“Is it Sunday? Yes?

How? Where has the weekend gone?

Is it Monday, yet?”

When Monday Follows Sunday

When the days do that,

all is just as it should be,

and time is at peace.

Midnight passes

Midnight passes

Midnight passes

with barely a nod,

and the girl who wears glasses

thinks that that’s odd;

Midnight has always acknowledged

her presence before,

but Midnight has gone,

he left through the door.

Time and a Word

Time and a Word

Time is a concept

with which we measure our age;

words are the tools

that we use on the page;

when times they are changing

and words are in short supply

how do we fuel the written need?

The Rainbow on the Edge of Time

The Rainbow on the Edge of Time

The Rainbow on the edge of time

existed for barely a minute;

then, it left with out a thought to my rhyme,

and the words that I should put in it.

A Poem AboutTime.

A Poem AboutTime.

It’s about time

that I wrote

this poem.

Not that this poem

is aboutTime;

or about Tim,even.

In fact, is at is about

very little indeed –

and, so, I am just

wasting your Tim

and mine.