It is a universally unknown fact that weeks don’t pass in seconds, they pass in lightning strikes. Each day is one count and suddenly, by Sunday you’ll realise Monday is only one count, or one day, away from your location of a cliff, with a beach and a few friends. These lightning flashes are filled …
There Was a Box with Time Inside: A Poem
There was a Box with Time Inside
If time walked among us
it would swim the shape
of a penny paper squid. Legs inked out
for terrible eternity.
Nothing worse than living in a box with a squid.
Says language which draws obscurity
to describe a box of time.
If time lived in a box
it would swim in the shape
of a penny paper squid. Legs inked around
for terrible eternity.
Time Smells of Toothpaste: A Drabble and A Muse
Time Smells of Toothpaste
Occasionally, time is like toothpaste. It gets used every day. It seems infinite. It is always there. Waiting.
Sometimes it comes out quickly.
Sometimes you have to roll bits and squeeze and squeeze to make it pass through and onto your toothbrush.
That is the epitome of boredom. Frustration. Challenge.
Some people have mastered that skill of toothpaste squeezing. They dance while rolling, sing while edging the paste, up and up.
Then they cheer. They celebrate. And get on with brushing.
Sometimes there seems to be such an abundance of toothpaste. Always there. Waiting.
You forget about the cinnamon flavoured tube you got in your Christmas stocking or that plain one for sensitive teeth, that really, probably, just needed you to remember to floss.
Toothpaste doesn’t last forever. Especially if the top falls off. It dries up. Leaks out. Cakes onto everything a blue or white crust (depending on your chosen flavour).
Use it wisely. One day you’ll reach for the toothpaste and realise it’s all gone.
So you write it on your to-do list.
At least, when you have a moment. You can buy more.
Occasionally, I wish time was like toothpaste.