As the weekend’s protest thread continues, this poem looks at what we count — and what we choose not to.
VJ’s article on holding to a deeper “why” nudged me toward this poem — a poignant protest shaped by questions of time, land, and what we risk by looking away. Her story is below—the spark behind this poem. >> Having a Why – One Woman’s Quest
Also, over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Invasive. To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here
Handless Watchbands, or Who’s Counting
How many grains of sand are left in the ancient hourglass? Why are the Holy grasslands a desert full of misguided missiles and handless watch bands?
How many missiles do the leaders in Versailles have to count before the amount is called genocide?
For what we cannot look away from, let the song bear witness.
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in May 2023) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the opening poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time
“And I have carried on this war. Though no one wins an endless fight. I have claimed that God has guided me. And killed to prove I’m right.” Lyrics from Damien Rice’s song, “What if I’m wrong.”
Between Lines, Who Holds the Power
Do you see – a man walking on water? Did you see – his feet were bleeding? Do you read – the missing scriptures? Did you read – your own family tree? Do you hear, speechless angels, singing? Did you hear – the songbirds crying?
Do you feel – the erased wars calling? Did you feel – the hard rains falling? Do you know – the ones who are lying? Did you know, the refugees are dying?
“What If I’m Wrong”, Lyrics, by Damien Rice
I could wrestle with tomorrow Until tomorrow’s in the past Because I have torn apart what’s beautiful To prove that nothing lasts I have stayed locked behind these doors To show there’s no way out I got lost within the space between The question and the doubt I have built a wall between
What I believed and what is true I have sacrificed the love I had For power over you
I have convicted those who disagree And walked over the weak I have placed a gun within the mouth Of those who dared to speak
And on an ordinary day In an ordinary way I have crushed the minds of children With extraordinary shame
And I have carried on this war Though no one wins an endless fight I have claimed that God has guided me And killed to prove I’m right
What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong
Is this soul worth saving at all? Cause if I lose my wings then surely I must fall And the gods prayed to the gods they made
We could wrestle with tomorrow until tomorrow’s in the past We could tear apart what’s beautiful To prove that nothing lasts
We could stay locked behind the doors To show there’s no way out We could get lost within the space between The question and the doubt
Featured Image Above: is of my silver teaspoon with the initials “MS” (Multiple Sclerosis) embossed on the handle button.
Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem,“Between, Inside, and Beyond,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below. >> Between, Inside, and Beyond – Coffee House Writers
Born at 3 am on a scribble pad, when crumbs of musing refused to let me sleep.
An Unfathomable Mess
To near and far, from inside a cookie jar, I send my midnight scribbles.
I must confess, I’ve delved so deep into crumbled musings and drowsy dribbles, I’ll need to decompress before I resurface for a peep at my unfathomable mess.
A gentle goodnight to follow my unfathomable mess.
Some mornings begin in silence, before memory fully wakes, and the hush before daylight becomes a bridge between darkness and light
And, For Sadje’s #Whatdoyousee #331 – 9 March 2026 – My ‘Poem’ closely represented Sadje’s first Image.
To visit Sadje’s fabulous site, please click >> Here
Where It All Began
It was only six-twenty. I could not remember how my bowl became empty.
What is this strange condition? Then I shifted the position of my inner opposition by refining the leftover light from within the dark of night – when silence suspends time – into the musical sounds of rhyme.
Am I too late to catch the worm, or beyond time’s sonic boom? Is there still more to learn?
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in January 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the second poem in the Musette section of Chapter 10, Time’s Short Poems: Haiku, Tanka, etc. I find the Musette’s restrictive poetry format to be very challenging AMusette is, three verses first line – 2 syllables second line – 4 syllables third line – 2 syllables rhyme scheme – a/b/a c/d/c e/f/e The title reflects the poem’s content
Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me. “Time doesn’t tick—it unlocks. Not with rhythm, but with riddles.” And thank you to Beth( https://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/) whose comment on my post, “Time, My Muse,” inspired me to create this poem. “love it! time makes its own rules for sure”
Time Doesn’t Go Tick-Tock
Time is neither tick nor tock; Time cannot be deadlocked. It takes no notice of the weather sock.
Time never throws rocks At either the Eastern Bloc Or the future’s aftershocks.
A glimpse into the strange places time wanders when it looks back.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 