About This Author
I'm a grandmother, a nursing educator, an avid knitter and an aspiring writer. I created this page for family and friends who expressed interest in reading my writing. It is mostly poetry with a few short stories sprinkled here and there .
The poem on this page is one my Mom favored. The collectible trinket is from a needlework picture of Longfellow's home she completed. Mom loved poetry and was an avid reader. She and my brother,Rasputin
, inspire me still.
I have a published form modification called the Rondel Grand Modified; it is located here:
Drop me a note by clicking on the "Contact Me" link above and let me know you stopped to visit.
Happy reading and write on!
Poetic Tides Through Time
#937190 added July 1, 2018 at 2:47pm
|July 1, 2018
"....You reach out your hand
But you're all alone, in those
I know you're in there, you're just out of sight
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight."
As I started to reflect on the concept of time, a song from the 1970's, (1978 to be exact), by Al Stewart, popped into my head immediately. I searched and found a video and the lyrics. As I read the lyrics and listened to the song, a host of memories rushed through my mind. I know I am entering my "golden years', yet I continue to work and push those thoughts back. Not ready to retire or give up my passions, (knitting, writing, teaching), I forge ahead, challenging time.
In parallel synchronicity, my pre-millennial children follow. Another grandchild is on the way, and while excited and hopeful, the young one is developing and nestled deep, "in there, ...just out of sight" cocooned in a time passage of uterine life, blissfully unaware of clocks, calendars and trains. Yes, trains.
Synchronicity is all around me, from the bus and train schedules, to masses of people crossing streets in my busy downtown work world, to the timed arrivals of local transport. It is the flow of life pulsing through time that fascinates me, a choreographed dance of mass transport, cars, bicycles and people, methodically moving through the cement gardens, occasionally dotted with blooming flowers. And I am "all alone in those time passages"......
.....as I buy my ticket on the last train home each night.
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.~~Robert Frost
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