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Times Squared


Time: water under a bridge, once in a blue moon,

In the long run, wait a minute, no time to spare...

No end of ways to look at time, no end of ways

To spend it, be it to advantage or disadvantage.

Love enriches life, whilst clock-time busily ticks

Our lives away; stealing our youth, defacing our

Dreams. But what of the other kinds of time?

The kind that stands still, the girl who will remain

Beautiful forever, the handsome young man who

Will remain as he always was - in memory at

Least. Wartime has much to answer for.


Time that loves to amble rather than rush. Slow

Time, happy times, still as fresh today as they

Were long ago when work-worn hands secretly

Pressed a little folding money into the palms of

Penniless teenagers, thankful (one hopes) for the

Blessing of doting grandparents. Then there are

Slower times still, brimful, overflowing, passion

Filled summer nights, warm grass, warm bodies,

Acres of stars to marvel at and a time for love.

Heaven above, heaven on earth, a time of dreams,

Of touch and feel, of promise and fulfilment, the joy

Of making love under a canopy of stars in a place

Only two may share. Memories, lodged forever in

The heart; love, locked forever in time. A time to

Keep in mind for the nights and times, when past

Times, priceless times, together times, love times,

Are the only times, that work to warm the chilly

Bones of lonely times.


Time to ponder, time to linger in other times, times

Gone by now, but still consummately recoverable in

The mind that loved intensely but perhaps forgot that

Times and people have a habit of slipping away, and

Before you know it old wrongs cannot be righted nor

Lost-love reclaimed. Sad times that simply cannot be

Expunged, erased or deleted, leaving a heart in the

Cold dispassionate arms of regret.


At such times, songs are composed, poems are

Penned. Time, like the blues, has its own soulful

Notes, sharp notes that whilst painful to recollect are

Strangely appealing. Poetic laments and confessions

Proliferate, readily drawn from an ever-present past

That does not diminish with time, but rather escapes

Time, finding welcome refuge and a sympathetic ear,

Manifest in the consoling words and music of poets

And song writers the world over.


More than one kind of time? Oh yes, I'd say so, hearts

May be broken, loves may be lost, sweethearts apart,

One hand rocking the cot, and therein lies a truth that

Will not be denied, nor will it be silenced: hearts may

Be broken, love may be lost, but all too often, only if

We let it happen. Time, used to advantage, may be

Summed up as being nothing more than: right place,

Right time. Most people know of the challenge, but not

All walk away with the prize, a prize up for the winning

In a game of hearts called: strike while the iron is hot.

If you love her, say so, if you want him, tell him, do not

Leave your future in the hands of time; you will regret it

If you do. Time and love are ticking clocks; hesitate and

All may be lost... Right place, right time? Do not wait,

Speak up: The Time is Now!


© Joseph G Dawson

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