I hung a new calendar
on the kitchen wall,
right below the big round
smiling clock,
like I had done
a thousand times before.
January looked fresh.
Clean squares.
A snowy field.
Twelve months
waiting to happen.
Now I'm looking at August,
a herd of cattle staring back
at me. They look surprised too,
wondering how the hell
we got here.
I swear
I just turned the page.
Sunsets twist into midnight.
Monday becomes Friday.
Friday becomes October.
Weeks pile up
like discarded journals.
Then one morning
you realize
the calendar behind the calendar
is waiting.
Another year
already printed.
And you haven't even
finished this one.
Maybe that's why
I pay more attention now.
To the coffee cooling
on my desk.
The sound of the driver
smashing the ball off
the tee.
A cat sleeping
at the foot of my bed,
drunk on feline dreams.
The last light
slipping out of the window.
Because I know
what happens next.
The sun goes down.
The clock moves.
Another day disappears.
And we fly onward
like a murder of crows.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 25th, 2026 06:53
- Comment from author about the poem: All of my books are available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX?ref=sr Here's a link to my YouTube channel where I post poetry readings and my attempts at golf: https://www.youtube.com/@ThomasWCase
- Category: Unclassified
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- Users favorite of this poem: delusions, Kevin Hulme, Tristan Robert Lange, Teddy.15, Efrain Cajar, FrΓ€nz MΓΌller

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Comments13
Really well written and very true. A fave
Thanks.
so very true, much enjoyed
I appreciate it.
most welcome
So true it is there are endless dates in front of us and although we focus on the present there is the future behind it. Nicely written as always Thomas there is a feel of somehow being small it the scope of things and where is meaning in all this. The last line seems to give it and it is dark.
Thank you, my friend.
You are always most welcome Thomas
Brilliant.
Thanks.
Most welcome, Thomasππ»ποΈ
Good write T. I been looking for Feb 29 every year but I only find it every 4 years. Doh! Me friend is looking for Feb 30. lol.
Thank you. lol.
This poem beautifully captures the quiet, almost haunting way time slips through our fingers. It left me thinking about how often we rush toward the next moment, only to realize that the moments worth keeping were the ones quietly unfolding right in front of us.
Thanks
You are welcome.
As you get Older the days fly past, like those Calendars you see on Old Movies when the passage of time is shown as Dates falling from Calendar itself.
A fine Poem.
Thank you, my friend.
My Pleasure.
Thomas, this hit me hard. Time accelerates so quietly that the ordinary moments become increasingly precious...and that corvid flight at the close is absolutely perfect. Dark, communal, and moving toward a destination none of us controls. Brilliant work, my friend. πΉπ€ππ―οΈπ¦ββ¬
And a murder for a murderπ¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π¦ββ¬π€£
Thank you, my friend.
Magnificent poetry dear Thomas, I felt I was literally sitting next to you listening to you read this one, the reflection and imagery as always is a kudos dear friend. Gorgeous write. πΉ
Thank you, sweet Teddy.
A meditation on how quickly time passes, especially as one gets older, and why that realization makes ordinary moments feel more precious. Well Done Brother
Thank you, my friend.
You have found the perfect balance between the value of each moment in our lives, and time which it is necessary to monitor (I had forgotten it was Sunday when I attempted a quick shop at my very local store).
Clearly your message is never let the latter prioritize itself over the former, and as such you have nailed your feet firmly to realityβs floor, Thomas.
Thank you, my friend.
Time and dates it seems run our lives.
Then at some point you realise they weren't really important.
What is important is today, and today only.
Playing golf in an hour, me and that irritating little ball that never goes where I want it to go.
Right on, Paul. Thank you.
a true fact - time flies on wings, and we still keep waiting for the morrow..
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