Hourglass

11pm, way past normal 

bedtime and my thoughts 

hang like clouds in a grey, 

unsettled sky;

they are at once visible, 

yet amorphous, like the 

wispy tendrils of smoke

rising from the stub of 

a cigar being carefully 

tended by an old man 

alone at the bar;

He knows my thoughts 

of course, age alone has 

given him the answers;

and for a time, until he leaves,

we communicate without words, 

the drift of pure Havana fading 

as the door swings slowly shut

on a pale crescent moon.  

Eventually, it's time 

for last orders

and the realisation of 

leaving looms large.

'Sweetheart," he croons, 

(black garbed and so 

well practised,)

"I know its cold outside, 

but midnight beckons 

and it's time to go."

Such of course, is life,

that all too brief happy hour,

during which we strive to 

panhandle just one last free drink, 

before looking up to the heavens

and the wondering of whether or not 

the other side really does exist.

Reviews

[R J Askew]

I like the metaphor and mood at the top. Esp like 'we communicate without words'. Also like the little human play that goes nowhere and then the existential speculation at the end which seems to return to the mood at the beginning.

[andrew mitchell]

Wow! Beccy Beccy Beccy! brilliant Just brilliant!!!!! The imagery blew me away!! What talent!

[h d e rushin]

the third stanza here Beccy is one of those that most of the poets of the world hope for.
When honesty strips back the layers of desire and metaphor is all that remains to
shut the unweildiness down. Powerful imagery my dear friend..

very powerful....dana

[ANTO]

'like the
wispy tendrils of smoke
rising from the stub of
a cigar being carefully
tended by an old man
alone at the bar;" - on another level Beccy - staying up late must really agree with you - this is class.

There is so much dark reverie in this. Its writing Jim... but not as we know it...
Thank for sharing
Happy St Patricks night!! x

[Chris]

I know THAT time and the place.... and the walking under the heavy sky. And it isn't that your thought was relateable - just ...real.

[Lydia Shutter]

Great description of the scene....I could almost smell the cigar smoke and see it twirling through the air. As far as whether the other side does exist, well, no one knows that for sure. Is a bar the place to ponder them? Why not? Good work. Lydi**

[Woody]

another winner, Beccy!!
your style and word choice are mesmerizing.
bum a free drink and step into the unknown. does the other side really exist?
love your poetry and the subjects you tackle.

[Jimmy Yetts]

"Don't have to go 'home' but you can't stay here."
That one-more-for-the-really-long-road non-choice we'll someday be given.
Sooner or later, every mother's son and daughter is gonna have to suck it up and move on--hoping, praying that The Great After-hours Joint in the Sky is something we can handle; somewhere we can feel comfortable.
Your poetry, Becky, rocks--galactically!

[....................]

Time really does slip away before we know it and in the end we are often left with questions about what is out there, on the other side. You create beautiful images to describe clouded minds and scattered thoughts. I enjoyed this so much. - FT

[W.k.kortas]

And so we all try to cadge one last round on the house from the universe, and so we find that our tab is in no way limitless. Wonderfully built stuff, admirably inventive and well executed in terms of the central conceit. Virtuoso worl.