Arlene Corwin Poetry

I’m not a nostalgic person. but occasionally I run across an old poem that feels worth putting out there for its universality and perhaps poetic value. Here is one such:⌚️🕰⏰⏳
Everything Is A Clock ⏳

I go to the postbox; I pick up the paper,
The day-date, the week-date, the year-date my keeper:
Measure, reminder, factual, sensory –
Every day’s newspaper clocking off time;
Printed and slanted as if it were gospel:
Ads, gimmicks, comics
Betraying a parody: flawed economics
Parading and claiming as true the impossible.
Then there’s the letter
All postmarked and fettered
To all-dying time,
Post-mortem minutes the record that ‘I’m.’

If you were to measure the growth of your nail,
You would see a clock, but you’d also see jail:
The need to prove where, what and that you exist,
Underlined, undermined
Measure by measure.

Everything Is A Clock 9.6.2002/revised1.16.2004/Circling Round Aging/Birth, Death & InBetween III; Circling Round Time II; Arlene Nover Corwin

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