I sailed along in life’s canoe,
Upon the river Time,
But dwelt on things I’d left upstream,
In misty golden clime.
I wanted to go back a way,
Retrieve, amend, and change.
To seize upon the past’s mistakes,
To scale the mountain range.
Can one go up the mountain
By sailing a canoe?
Can human hand erase the past
And start again anew?
by Aaron Walden
©MMVI
The moving paddle dips,
and having dipped, moved on
And if something was dropped into the stream
Brother, it’s gone.
An execrable time was had by all.
A vicious deed was done.
We thought that we must get away
For virtue, we had none.
We made ourselves a lively craft
With which we could skedaddle,
But lost our way in Time’s swift creek
For want of a viable means of locomotion … (no, no, $h*t, stupid poetry crap I hate this … 
)
djm
Just can’t be original, lately, but this song by the Cure has always got to me:
“Want”
I’m always wanting more
Anything I haven’t got
Everything
I want it all
I just can’t stop
Planning all my days away
But never finding ways to stay
Or ever feel enough today
Tomorrow must be more
Drink more dreams more bed more drugs
More lust more lies more head more love
More fear more fun more pain more flesh
More stars more smiles more fame more sex
But however hard I want
I know deep down inside
I’ll never really get more hope
Or any more time
Any more time
Any more time
Any more time
I want the sky to fall in
I want lightning and thunder
I want blood instead of rain
I want the world to make me wonder
I want to walk on water
Take a trip to the moon
Give me all this and give me it soon
More drink more dreams more drugs
More lust more lies more love
But however hard I want
I know deep down inside
I’ll never really get more hope
Or any more time
Any more time
Any more time
Any more time
I 'member those times by the bayou we walked,
You and me and your dog Buttercup.
But mostly I 'member the time he jumped in
And a gator done swallered him up.
Is Bloomie allowed to import any of these originals into his contest, if he concludes that everything there already is unworthy?
Bloomfield does or does not. One doesn’t “allow” Bloomfield.
Owah-tagoo-Siam
Unworthy? Unworthy, madam? I’ll have you know that some of us spent upwards of 15 minutes of unremunerated toil, our very life’s blood oozing from our pores onto the keyboard, to produce those bits of “unworthy” doggerel. Some of us even went to the trouble to find out how to spell “Hiawatha” and to figure out hom many b’s are in “throbbing,” and yet you casually dismiss this herculean wordsmithing as “unworthy.” Fie, I say, fie on’t, and a pox on you and your flooring.
I’ll hold him down, Em. You thump him.
Better yet, force him to listen to Michael Crawford’s solos in Hello, Dolly!
Nooooooooooo!
“Hey, Hey good lookin’ what ye got cookin’
hows about cookin’ something
up with me”
Just thought I’d mention that…in passing..as one does.
Slan,
D.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how fast time seems to be going. Just last week my 16 year old daughter was a baby 
Since I haven’t one iota of creativity in me, here is a song that really hits me in regards to time.
Old Man Time
Old man time is a rare old man, but a young man he’ll ever remain
With his long grey beard and his clothes are plain
Though Old Man time is his name.
As one flower dies, the old man he cries, the young man he plants a seed again
With a careful hand he tends the sand, for old man Time is his name.
This old man has an hourglass, for every soul on the land
Old Man time perhaps in mine it’s the one with the fastest sand
No sooner is it turned and through the glass it’s churned
I’m wishing I could have each hour again
With a careful hand he tends the sand for Old Man Time is his name.
To me old man your time is ran, did God not give you all my sand.
For maybe mine I had to share or is there some left in your hand.
They tell me time is gold or maybe it’s been sold or is it simply washed away in rain.
With a careful hand he tends the sand for Old Man Time is his name
If I brought in a sack do you think he’d put some back
And one day across my path he’ll come
But as for now I can’t say how and all the old man’s work is far from done.
For Old Man Time has just begun.
(Kate Rusby)
Sorry Gonzo, but I can’t accept the pox. Perhaps you can rewrap it and use it as a wedding gift. Notice my phrasing. I didn’t say they were unworthy. Mine, in fact, took me 16 minutes, doggerel or not. 
Time
Remorseless time, that makes all foul things clean,
Fade my misdeeds beneath the silt of years
Disperse with zephyrs what was rank and mean,
And let warm sunshine dry the victims tears.
Infinite time, that will complete each dream
Fulfill the promise of a growing mind
Beckon ambition with a hopeful gleam
And to youth’s fancies, be benign and kind.
Nice one, I.B. For some reason, it brought forth the tune to Sting’s “Fragile”
The circle
Slowly woven orb
Around one
And inside another
Electrons
Moons
Galaxian cluster
I like that.
What’s it mean?
I hope it’s not dirty.
The cyclical nature of time and it’s relationship with physical scale.