Tag Archives: timing

In Passing

A brightly-colored bird,
Top half white,
Bottom orange bright,
Flits to and fro in the third.

In the third hour since noon,
A gorgeous bird sings a tune,
Seeking attention from a potential mate;
With desire she’ll sate.

She wins his eye
As he splits his focus
With some hocus-pocus;
Or at least, tries.

She returns to her perch
Not made of birch;
Waiting patiently,
Poised gracefully.

But when he draws near,
He is focused
On another locus,
No time to play, he fears.

He passes by,
And in passing,
He hears her cry
A sound everlasting:

An interjection surpassing mild,
An objection with Eternal Magistrate filed,
Feeling all her charms could not beguile.
Upon hearing, his heart turns about, wild,

But his head controls his feet.
While his blood increases in heat,
His heart tries a compromise to meet;
His head would not be beat.

This was in hour four;
The lovely orange-bottomed bird was seen no more.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Altered Path

At the crossing paths,
To help with another’s task
I’m politely asked.

Planned words left unheard,
I answered yes and turned left,
Compliment unsaid.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Handle With Care

Balanced carefully in her hands,
Every step fraught with danger,
A cup of hot beverage controls her focus;
Undulating fluid level influences her gait.

Taking great care not to alarm,
I walk slowly behind
For my path the same way lies.
Useless is my effort to go slower; I patiently wait.

Laughing at myself, wanting to greet
Hello or happy three-quarters birthday,
And yet saying nothing:
I don’t want to startle her,
Resulting in her being badly burned on this date.

© 2015 H.K. Longmore

A Conversation among Synapses


Said the first: “Another poem on that?”
“Yes, because that’s where I’m at,”
Came the second’s reply.
“What will you say differently this try?

Perhaps a search is in order,
To avoid the border
‘Tween repetition and insanity?
Or will that hurt your vanity?”

The second obliged,
Conducted a search:
“Task”, the query supplied.
The results the idea besmirched.

Said the second: “To you I tip my hat,”
And gave the first a pat.
“The repetition would be neither sly,
Nor very wry.

It would turn the ardor
To bland horror.”
Argued the first: “You make a center of gravity
From that which is triviality.”

“Yes, yes,” the second cried,
“And you’ve thrown me from my perch!”
Then, letting his hyperbole subside,
A new thought train moved forward with a lurch.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Ordinary Expectations

Need help moving?
If I’m free,
There I’ll be,
My friendship proving.

Last minute call
For an official for a game?
My open schedule’s to blame
When I don the stripes for basketball.

I’m built to serve,
It could be almost anything at all.
Need help? I’m at your beck and call.
Aiding others is my verve.

I’ll help with computers,
Lawns and leaves
And overgrown eaves,
Give rides to stranded commuters;

Give me a paintbrush,
I’ll apply a coat or two.
Hand me a sander, roughness I’ll pursue
‘Til you find the floor flush.

The way I’ve lived my life
I’ve set the expectation:
For my time you need no incantation;
You have but to ask.

But ask not, and my time quickly fills
With ordinary expectations.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

The Hardest Prayers

Some may think it kind
To pray for others success.
But one may come to find
In that prayer, distress:

He wishes her success in her goals,
He prays fervently for it, but there’s a toll:
Much to his dismay,
Her goals will take her away.

Can he secretly hope she fails,
While praying she gets that letter in the mail?
No, ’tis selfish, ’tis not love.
He’ll send a unified message above.

Each time her departure is spoken of,
Part of his heart withers,
And though it goes against his druthers,
He’ll hope for that which sorrow comes of.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Determined

No rule or guideline will stop him,
He is determined to see it through.
Nerves are naught out on a limb,
He’ll see it through.

Should it require interruptions,
Or patiently waiting,
A hook now baiting,
He’ll see it through.

If it brings his flesh to incorruption
By this his last act,
It will happen, he made a pact.
He’ll see it through.

He’ll say hello—ahem—
But for one small problem,
He’d see it done:
The cubicle is an empty one.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Apropos

He’s late so passes by with a nod.
She’s a step or two behind,
But he’s really got to go.

She’s on the phone;
Teaching from his youth
To not interrupt
Does battle with desire to talk
And wins the row.

He’ll try another jow.
Besides, “Happy Ash Wednesday”
Isn’t quite apropos.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Vote on what my next post should be (expires in 1 day)

Winds of Countenance

Three seconds expand,
Future hangs in the balance:
I emerge, hurried.

She walks casually,
In the center of the hall.
She sees me, smiles;

A delighted smile,
A smile like the ones before.
Heart anticipates:

Oh could it be now
The long silence is ended?
But no words emerge.

I move right, hurried.
She pockets her smile, scowls,
Averting her eyes.

Winds of countenance
Blew the future with full force;
Future remains past.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

Protected: Game Clock Time – With Links

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Game Clock Time

I’m told in certain circumstances in tournament soccer play, it can be advantageous to lose a game so that you play a weaker opponent next, and a stronger opponent plays a stronger opponent, possibly losing, thus allowing you to play the weaker team and win. I suppose it is possible that under certain circumstances, a tie would be advantageous, and possibly a 0 – 0 tie. That supposition is a required backdrop for this poem.

The hour appears to draw near
When the game clock sings
And the crowd will cheer;

And I will leave the field a victor,
Despite the score being zeros.
Not by my being a hero, no.

By: my fear of the unknown,
the strength side of my weakness,
my ultimatum uncommunicated, unfulfilled.

All shots on the goal missed;
Some deflected, others poorly timed,
And some badly aimed.

And though time remains,
I’m like a quarterback
Kneeling after the snap;

I must keep the ball
Centered mid-field
And watch the clock expire,

For fear a warning dream
Becomes my future,
And I don’t wake with a scream.

I must watch the clock run out,
From self-respect on a two-way street,
Where what’s good for the goose—

You may think I’ll be tired,
Running around in circles
Trying to keep the ball away;

But the only circles I’ll be running
Will be the ones in my mind.
There’s but two on the field:

The goalie and me.
Guarding the goal, the goalie won’t yield;
Never engaging me to take the ball.

I cannot enter the goal box,
So I set the ball at mid-field,
And slowly back away;

Still, the goalie won’t engage.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore