Wednesday, August 05, 2009


The thyme has withered away
the leaves are limp and gray
there is no hint of fragrant spice
embellishing today

nor zest enough to entice
acceptance of the price
required to enjoy a taste
of fabled paradise,

instead we’re gluttons for haste
our dreams can be replaced
just stack them there, out of the way
with all the other waste.

It’s saddening to say
but silence won’t delay
the barrenness of every plot
when time has withered away.


Dimple said...

Hi :)

Very nice!

How can someone with such a talent be an average poet :o)

Keep writing so that I can keep appreciating!

gerry boyd said...

pretty well played my friend. but, i wonder why you feel compelled to be structured.

Word Catalyst Magazine said...

Hey Bob,

Structure, hmmm. If only everyone could do it as well as you do they'd be doing it! This is awesome!


rch said...

Hey Dimps, if I had a book deal for everytime I heard that...

Hi Gerry, I wonder why you feel compelled to ask

Hey Shirley, thanks to you and anyone else that has stuck with me all these years.

Anonymous said...

Nice call to action. Carpe Diem. Thanks for sharing!

rch said...

Hey kondratas, thanks for appreciating!

Anonymous Poet said...

I like your take on the passing of time (and thyme), embodied in the "seasons." I've tried my hand at this subject a few times. It's always interesting to see how another approaches the same concept. The symmetry between the first and last lines is particularly smart, I think.