Ikepod-Hourglass marc newson


The moments of a life slip like golden sand

through a crystal hourglass

they shimmer with music  

like sharp strummed mandolin strings 

clinking like gypsy coins and sighing like a slow soft erhu

catch them if you can and gaze deeply into the facets

the shifting light and dark

each gem cut moment caught and honed in endless time

  free flowing until the last few grains tremble at the precipice

then tumble over

falling in a shower like burnished rain

across an unveiled threshold  

to join with the shining dunes 

towering in graceful silhouette like sparrows on a fence

 against a strange and boundless sky…


*artwork by marc newson*

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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