Skip to main content

Time Lapse


The reason I grow aged to grow old
I hear the ticking clock that turns me gray
Through times that shape my mind and make it bold
This same pace brings my body to decay.

Each generation calls another forth
The pressure of a lasting legacy
Too soon they will forget their parents worth
(Sans a favor, a check, a recipe). 

Carpets still as white as when we bought them
The china lies unbroken in its chest
Screams that once were shrill are now like diamonds
Now no more to crave than hours of rest.

An empty nest is not always “alone”-
A chance to learn to fly upon your own. 

Comments

  1. Malka D. GorbunovMarch 19, 2020 at 7:42 PM

    Some of this sonnet is really nice. In particular, I found the following lines very powerful: "Through times that shape my mind and make it bold, this same pace brings my body to decay". That expresses very well the sentiment of how time can bring a person to their best, and then move them past it as quickly. I don't really understand the first line, though. When I read, "The reason I..." I was expecting some sort of "because" to follow it, and I'm not really sure what it means this way. Also, maybe make it a bit more consistent with the meter: in the stanza starting with the word "carpets", "Carpets" and "Screams" (third line) throw off the iambic pentameter. Iambic pentameter stresses the second syllable, which isn't the case in these two lines. "Sans a favor, a check, a recipe" also isn't metrical, but I like that line so much! I don't even know if I can make any suggestion to change it, because it adds so much. Up to you. Overall, it's a thoughtful and slightly melancholy sonnet. I think it can be a really great formal poem if you slightly fix the technicality of meter.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Known

If this cul-de-sac could talk It would tells tales of break downs tantrums & panic attacks. It would tell stories of blood shot eyes and wordless journaling.   It is where I first put pen to paper outside of my middle school English class. It is anything but natural. There are trees, yes,   but even the soil feels man made, intentional.   My neighborhood could be cut out   of a magazine, spider webs and all.   So, when the uncertain world around me crumbles to mulch at my feet. I venture out,   notebook in hand, into the   Known.  
4 comments
Read more

Concrete

It had never been so bright, Blinded, beaten, bruised. Look left right and left again, The platitude unused. The gravel on my fingers, Blood drying on my cheeks.   Faces blur above me, As I attempt to speak. The heat begins to rise, It takes my breath away. I sink into the Earth, Ceasing the display. A Summer day in June, The neighborhood’s alive. I want to play and run and jump, But forever, here I lie.
7 comments
Read more

The Bat Man

To the bat man,   I wish I could blame you for this.   Sure, you were the catalyst. It was your body that metabolized the chicken that ate the bat that ate the corn that harvested the virus (or some other serpentine account of what should have been a meaningless coincidence). But implicating you for infecting thousands  is like blaming the planes for destroying the Twin Towers. While the catastrophic intention   was not found in the wet market, (as it was in Iraq),   the effect produced is identical.   Except, Bat Man,   In our case there is no embrace,   no hand holding or unification,   this time our country will not come together in an attempt to fight back against the invasion.   This virus has not only spread it’s microbes,   It has spread us   apart. You, in your mask,   Us, in ours. Ensuring that no contact,   however diminutive, takes place bet...
6 comments
Read more