Time is the trickster,
always prancing, dancing
along the moment.
We seem not to notice
the direction as we hurry
listening to the jester’s
tinkling, twinkling bells.
Lulled by their charm
we are lost in their magic.
There is a longing, to stop,
to correct the missteps,
each stumped toe trip,
pain from life’s paving stones .
We all lay them along the
path, not perfectly
for it takes practice.
Regret is the mortar holding
them in place, time the teacher.
There are so many of them,
thus we continue to stumble
toward the a fool’s celebration.
© 2010, Donald Harbour
Apt title. Provocative thoughts. I enjoy your writing.
Nicely done. I really like the way you make the flow stumble there in the middle.
Very much like “regret is the mortar” as my own personal belief is that we can’t simply let loose regret as if it were a child’s balloon.
Barbara is right. “And each stumped toe trip,” with it’s one-syllable word line is a terrific meter change — physical, that bump.
What profound thoughts you have here, Donald…I really loved this piece, and will read it again!
Hi Donald, I love “the jester’s/tinkling, twinkling bells.” and was certainly lulled by the charm of this poem.
Bravo, Donald. A brave and honest poem. I particularly liked “Regret is the mortar holding them in place, time the teacher.”