My Turn
Elizabeth Sullivan
August 20, 2012
So slow – this turn of mine.
And yet I wait in patience,
with no desire to have it come.
Too dear, this path I walk today –
too fresh the air that cools my face.
I seem to hold and flip a braided rope,
as others skip,
and wonder who it is that holds the other end…
the one who calls our names.
I know them all, these friends who come to play.
They take their cues - then fall away.
It comes sneaking up – my turn.
Almost unnoticed in
the act of re-filling of my daily pillbox –
the replacing of worn out underwear –
the mending of the roof –
the paying of last year’s taxes –
the increasing need of rest.
Like an hourglass,
whose trickling sands measure the passage of time,
I feel the granules flowing past
(somehow less slowly now)
Towards a turn for me.
Elizabeth Sullivan
August 20, 2012
.
Like an honored guest, slipping away too soon,
Time is breaking my heart.
As the morning sun finally falls to moon,
Time just rips me apart.
For he simply wants to move
with the ticking of the clock.
It’s as if he needs to prove
that he certainly cannot
possibly stop for me!
Though I plead for him to stay -
linger here a little while -
he replies it’s not his way -
says it’s really not his style
and that he must be free!
Like an honored guest, slipping away too soon, Time is breaking my heart.
Give me a day!
Give me an hour!
Give me a moment more!
There’s much to do!
So little spoken!
Still he runs through that door!
Like an honored guest, slipping away too soon, Time is breaking my heart.
Elizabeth Sullivan
April 17, 2013
.
IF THERE IS ONE
Walking from my piano, I say what I always say when I’ve finished a song:
“Best song I’ve ever written!”
But each time I want to do it better when I write my next song…if there is one.
I reason that with the writing of every song, I will learn something to help me find a better lyric, or hear a fresher harmony.
Laying down my pen, I say what I always say when I’ve finished a poem:
“Best poem I’ve ever written!”
But each time I want to do it better when I write my next poem…if there is one.
I hope that with the writing of every poem, I will learn something about searching for deeper concepts or conjuring words that best express the thoughts.
I need to feel that I’m getting better. I must assume that what I’m struggling to create will be improved over my last effort, and that the trying, the failing, the accepting or discarding, will help me accomplish my goal. I desperately want to be more prepared for the coming chance…if there is one.
Elizabeth Fowler Sullivan
September 18, 2014
Elizabeth Sullivan
August 20, 2012
So slow – this turn of mine.
And yet I wait in patience,
with no desire to have it come.
Too dear, this path I walk today –
too fresh the air that cools my face.
I seem to hold and flip a braided rope,
as others skip,
and wonder who it is that holds the other end…
the one who calls our names.
I know them all, these friends who come to play.
They take their cues - then fall away.
It comes sneaking up – my turn.
Almost unnoticed in
the act of re-filling of my daily pillbox –
the replacing of worn out underwear –
the mending of the roof –
the paying of last year’s taxes –
the increasing need of rest.
Like an hourglass,
whose trickling sands measure the passage of time,
I feel the granules flowing past
(somehow less slowly now)
Towards a turn for me.
Elizabeth Sullivan
August 20, 2012
.
Like an honored guest, slipping away too soon,
Time is breaking my heart.
As the morning sun finally falls to moon,
Time just rips me apart.
For he simply wants to move
with the ticking of the clock.
It’s as if he needs to prove
that he certainly cannot
possibly stop for me!
Though I plead for him to stay -
linger here a little while -
he replies it’s not his way -
says it’s really not his style
and that he must be free!
Like an honored guest, slipping away too soon, Time is breaking my heart.
Give me a day!
Give me an hour!
Give me a moment more!
There’s much to do!
So little spoken!
Still he runs through that door!
Like an honored guest, slipping away too soon, Time is breaking my heart.
Elizabeth Sullivan
April 17, 2013
.
IF THERE IS ONE
Walking from my piano, I say what I always say when I’ve finished a song:
“Best song I’ve ever written!”
But each time I want to do it better when I write my next song…if there is one.
I reason that with the writing of every song, I will learn something to help me find a better lyric, or hear a fresher harmony.
Laying down my pen, I say what I always say when I’ve finished a poem:
“Best poem I’ve ever written!”
But each time I want to do it better when I write my next poem…if there is one.
I hope that with the writing of every poem, I will learn something about searching for deeper concepts or conjuring words that best express the thoughts.
I need to feel that I’m getting better. I must assume that what I’m struggling to create will be improved over my last effort, and that the trying, the failing, the accepting or discarding, will help me accomplish my goal. I desperately want to be more prepared for the coming chance…if there is one.
Elizabeth Fowler Sullivan
September 18, 2014
