The Phantom of Time
Many years ago
I imagined time flowing
Like a river without banks.
Then I read some books
Of science and they said
That time is an irreversible arrow,
A relentless, unhaltable train,
That moves irresistibly, like fate.
It travels from Past to Future
On invisible wheels
Neglecting to stop
At the railway station
On the road, called Present.
But I was not absolutely sure
That this was all true.
So I watched the clocks
And I saw their hands moving,
Undoubtedly showing,
And with mechanical precision,
The exact hours every day and night.
And I was very impressed that
The scientists had the evidence:
Time was really moving unstoppably.
However, if you think carefully
You will notice that the clock-hands
Do not actually show time, because
What they show is movement in space.
So I have had a question.
If time is indeed in a state of flux,
Flowing like a river without banks,
Or moving and passing
Like an undeviating train;
Then what is its speed?
And since
We measure speed
By the ratio of traveling distance
To the periodic motion of the clock,
How are we supposed to measure
The velocity of time?
By time itself?
Thus,
I came to the conclusion
That the flow of time
Is just a blooming metaphor,
A prosperous illusion:
The years do not pass by.
We pass through the years.
Time does not really exist!
And nevertheless, it does.
It is its own phantom.
For practical purposes,
We need the clock, of course.
Yet, at root, the notion of time
Appears to emanate from
A completely static cosmic womb
Of the universe.
A boundless Sea of Eternity,
Time stands still.
And thus,
In our transient boats
We sail perhaps in quiet waters
From one port to another,
Or navigate perchance
Through turbulent waves
In the Ocean
Of Infinite Duration.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Related quotes
Time's Arrow Arrested
Dusky shadows hide under the leafy boughs of the lanky trees.
Beyond the dark sky the sun carries the bright promise of
a lustrous morning. But it is merely a promise. For, the experience
of the past is not evidence of future events.
And how perturbing can be the obvious. This ever present and
precisely dissected substance that we break to exact hours,
minutes and seconds, and call it time. How mind-boggling is
this historian’s palette, Newton’s infinite attribute, Einstein’s finite
fourth dimension.
Astronomers say that a colossal firecracker called the Big Bang
exploded about fifteen billion years ago, marking the beginning
of time and the universe. Yet this sophisticated modern myth
does not really solve the enigma of time or the mystery of existence.
After all, why does the world exist, rather than not?
Newton viewed time as a mathematical duration, an absolute
temporal dimension in which time flows steadily without relation
to space, matter or human affairs. Many years later, Einstein
dropped the notion of absolute space and time. In the Theory
of Relativity he demonstrated that time slows down as velocity
increases. Clocks can run at different speeds.
Time became the fourth dimension. However, in the tiny world
of the atoms, quantum physicists discover a bizarre universe of
eleven dimensions. In Superstring theories higher dimensions are
curled up within the deep structure of space-time. Moreover,
the number of higher cosmic dimensions is not limited, because
scientists might invent as many dimensions as it takes for their
theories to work. Unfortunately, in relation to nature mathematical
propositions are uncertain.
Physicists nowadays conceive time as an asymmetrical arrow,
flying in one direction, from the past to the future, through
the present. They devise ingenious schemes to ride on the arrow
of time into the future; or to reverse its direction of flight and travel
back to the past.
I believe that time is an illusion. It does not really exists. The hands
of the clock does not really show us time but movement in space,
an artificial human invention of hours, minutes and seconds. And
what we measure with our objective instruments is not identical
with the subjective psychological experience of duration. External
time and internal time are not the same.
Now, if time really flows like a river without banks,
if it is indeed in a state of flux, then what is its speed? And since
we measure speed by the ratio of traveling distance to the periodic
motion of the clock, how are we supposed to measure the
velocity of time? By time itself? Time does not exist. And
nevertheless, it does. It is its own phantom.
Time is a relationship between before and after. Paradoxically, it is
the nothing that allows everything. But time is a mysterious nothing,
an arcane cipher, the magical fountainhead of bondage and freedom.
All events unfold miraculously in it while it also prevents them to
happen all at once. Time is not a river without banks but the ocean
of eternity.
Events did happen of course yesterday and before. They leave their
marks and traces through history. However, the idea of time moving
from past to future is an illusion. The invisible hands of titans do not
shoot arrows of time out of nature’s bow. Hence, time travel is a
tough assignment because there is nothing to ride on.
There is no arrow of time. The future and the past do not exist.
Time stands still. Thus the years do not pass by, we pass through
the years. Our life always enfolds in the here and now, sailing aboard
an invisible boat on the mysterious ocean of the eternal present.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Move with time, awaiting a pleasant surprise in each of your position in space
Time is not what is shown in a clock
Time is not what the second hand passes
Time is not what the minute or hour hands show
Time is also not what our calendar indicate
Time is not the day, the week, the month or the year
Time is not sun rise or sun set
Time is not the morning, noon, afternoon, evening or even night
Time is indeed the point or location
You occupy in the space
Me, you and every one and every thing
On this surface of the earth
Are on a continuous move
As the earth rotates on its axis
And keeps moving around the sun
We all keep moving
And we do not know or even the clue to know
Whether we reach the same location in space again for a second time
It may look similar
But, it is all relative position with respect to the
Position of the other objects on the space
Duration for a thing to complete is thus
Is also not the time measures we employ
In absolute terms,
It is this the distance in space you traveled
Between the beginning and finishing of an event
It is also true you do not travel back as there is no reverse gear
In this universal path
Blame not your time, and
If anything to blame it is your position in the space
Since you are never stagnant
Your position will soon change
And things will soon be different and in your favor too sometimes
Move with time
Awaiting a pleasant surprise in each of your position in space
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Time's Ticking Away
The pendulum swings,
In such a perpetual way,
It keeps on moving,
In a continuous sway.
The momentum decides,
Time's passing on,
A tick on the clock,
And the moment is gone.
The pendulum swings,
To left and to right,
Time's ticking along,
In mad rhythmic flight.
And as it moves onwards,
Time's ticking away,
There's no way of stopping,
The road to decay.
The pendulum swings,
Another second goes by,
The clock's keeping time,
But time wants to fly.
By night and by day,
Time never stands still,
The pendulum swings,
At 'Time's' endless will.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Swimming The Past Time
Disappear between the space of dust
In a smoke, within the light
Time moves in any speed
Continuously without tired no rest
In a chime of turbulence
Swimming back to the past
For the broad river back to early creek
Unfold the memories of past ages
In the album of experience, our old life
Reversing tears back to enter the eyes
Revisiting old smiles back on lips one more time
Wandering all before just before now
Still, we moving forward heading toward the future
Toward the estuary, swimming follow the flowing time
Moving back or in front, physical still here
Wandering, facing the stream only our mind
All good, bad now a past scenery along the time river
We heading to estuary to be as a part of wise ocean
Till time sending our final destiny to the sea
Another scenery of cry or happy we will feel and see
Just to move forward, forgive, learn to gain from past
Nothing to waste because time moves in any speed
So i will let my tears flow and smiles glow
Live these beautiful feelings in my life
For all time, as i know
Soon we will have no more
to hold each other (time and life)
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
Having a break from 'Rise from Ashes' theme
and trying write something like 'Swimming the past time'
A poem that i done as i felt how fast time disappear...
just wrote it and post it
Life walking within time, and time never stop walking
and moves in any speed..so just bring your life some cheers
in everyday even it's hard...or not _Unwritten Soul
poem by Unwritten Soul
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I Am Time
i am time, more than that, i do not have only hands
i have feet, but like time,
i only move on, i cannot stop, i do not think anymore,
i just run
and i go round and round
not moving that far, i only move in the mind,
like time, i do not see, i have long plucked my eyes
from my sockets, but i still feel, like time,
i know what darkness is
what coldness is, and what anticipation is,
i sense the loneliness of my journey
the eternity of my dreams,
i heal because i forget,
and there is one thing that i wish, like time
weary of its round-the-clock work,
it wants rest, but there is none,
it wishes death, but still unknown.
i am time, and like the river i flow,
like the mirror, i reflect the lights of the world,
uncluttered, unfettered, unbeholden to no one
and there you are wanting to hold me,
like sand, i slip from the fingers
of this world, to space they say
i bend, i tell no one,
i am always moving,
and gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Me-Time Continuum
I watch the clock ticking out its time.
I hear the gears tocking 'till the chime…
I hold my stare acutely
And focus ears astutely.
The whole gestalt of this assault by me on clock
Collapses in to hence become
A new me-time continuum,
This clock and I a vacuum;
Dial and me, we've come to be
A synergistic, fatalistic victim,
Hmm…
When it ticks, I then tock:
I am me as well as clock.
When it tocks, I then tick.
We burn together down the wick
In candle wax, both cold and warm,
Together now in molten form.
We jump the side but soon to stall,
Only to solidify
Until the active plateau
Chases…
Down…
Sinking…
To melt again the bit that ran (us) –
All in a time storm
With timeless plan.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Ti me time time time time time time time time
Time time time time time
Time time time
Time time
Time time time
Time time time time time
Time time time time time time time time time
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Flexitime for Friend Denis joe
A blank faced clock which has no hands
must still obey Chronos’ commands.
The minutes pass without display.
Times moves on inexorably
the hours passing speedily
Today replaces yesterday.
Why are men obsessed by the clock
they measure every tick and tock.
What does it matter anyway?
we know that darkness rules the night
and that the day is filled by light.
Some time to sleep and work or play.
Avid clock watchers fail to see
that time can pass variably.
4-May-08
http: //Blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Time
Time
is your presence.
Time
is your smile.
Time
is your kindness.
Time
is when you linger.
Yet
Time
is also my Enemy.
Time
is the prison guard stopping my dreams.
Time
laughs at me.
Time
is gone in a blink.
Time
is but a mist.
Time
vanishes so quickly.
Time
is not my own.
Time
is not on my side.
Time
wants to run.
Time
wants to stop running.
Time
is my tears.
Time
is my frustration.
Does time have emotions?
Is time a she?
Does she ever get sad
or discouraged like me?
Is time a he?
Does he like to tell me
how I failed yet again,
as I ran late,
and he kept a scorecard?
Does time give grace?
Does time care?
Is time just a hand on a clock,
a page in a book,
or a note from the past?
Time has so many facets
and so many faces.
I wish I could
be on the same team
as time
but somehow it seems
he always rejects me.
poem by Julie A Smith
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The Future Is The Children's
The future is the children's and I am of the past
And I too had my young years but nothing ever last
On looking back the Seasons how quickly the years have gone
Old age is fast approaching and the clock ticks on and on.
The future is the children's the children of today
They have the gift of youth with them though youth with them won't stay
On looking back decades from now when time has left them slow
They will wonder as I do where did the years to go.
The years are catching up one me and time has left me gray
And the future is the children's that would be true to say
The people in their sixties are running out of time
And few of them will be living when today's children are in their prime.
The future is the children's and to them alone belong
And those who will tell you differently have somehow got it wrong
But the hands of time keep turning and time on none does wait
And all of us are branded with an invisible use by date.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Refining Time
Pressured under time
In a concrete box I feel confined
As the walls cave in around
It’s me they’re trying to refine
There’s so much to do
Yet not time to fulfill
The hands on the clock are moving too fast
Motion sickness making me ill
I fee like the alarm will go off
And out of time I will be
If I don’t hurry to plan my future
What will happen to me?
poem by Twisted Strange
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Grandfather Clock
The old grandfather clock stood in the hall
It kept time for us all
Through winter, spring, summer, fall
When I was young I would say
The big hand is on five today
and that's how I told time that way
As I progressed in age
Time was read in the correct usage
And time became more of a gauge
Time to go to school and learn
Time to work for what you earn
Time to leave no stone unturned
Time for weddings dresses worn
Time for children to be born
Time for graduation gowns adorned
Time for me, time for you
Time to see things through
Time for living and dieing too
The old grandfather clock still keeps time
Counting the hours that life is prime
So make the most or be left behind
Time And Fear
you like time that way
clockwise always like the hands of the clock
stopping is prohibited
like you are broken
a disease
you are time
you move with accuracy always at a certain point
no past just the future
not staying longer with the moment
that is what people are supposed to be
always moving on
no crying over spilt milk
nothing overwhelming with the past
sometimes i just sit in the corner and watch
merely curious of what we are and what am i for real
i let time go and i stay and i relax myself a bit
unmoved, unmoving, i become an object of your disdain
theirs too
a clock without hands
what can i be? a man without feet
with hands but never using any finger
i look at the world like i do not belong here
i sit obeying no one
i deny the sun and i am not talking with the moon
and i see a time bending before me
begging for me
praying that i may go with it or i be left out dying slowly
i am staying and i am waiting
they ask me why i am doing all these
for what reason? under what justification?
and all that i can say is that i am no longer afraid
i have enough of what i really need
to know to have to hold to cherish
and finally to give everything away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Time2
Time is running
Running through my mind
It continuously runs
Even when i waste time
'Time is
A valuable thing
Watch it fly by
Like a pendelum swing'
'Watched it watch me
And the words that i say
But the time of the clock
Echoes in my veins.'
The clock keeps tickin
No matter what you do
You could be action idiotic
But you're wasting time too
'i know that i didnt
Look down below
As i watched the time go
Right out the window'
You can waste your life
If you dont value your time
pay atention to this poem
And just Think of this Ryme.
'i tried to hold on
tried not to watch
As i wasted it all
On the hands of a clock'
Time is Life
poem by Anthony Zeigler
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The Hourglass
The Sands of your time
Gently slide against your hourglass
Time is running out
Better make your life count
The hands of the clock
Always moving
The ticktock
Never ceasing
Each day is lost
You can never gain it back
Time is always continuing
Never frozen
Once that sand
Stops moving
Your gone
Gone until you
Begin again
poem by Autumn Winds
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Sonnet - God's Time Is Best
There is a time to play, a time to read;
There is a time to work, a time to rest;
There is a time to plough, a time to seed;
But when it is God's time, it is the best.
There is a time to laugh, a time to cry;
There is a time for self, a time for guest;
There is a time to stop, a time to try;
But when it is God's time, it is the best.
There is a time to eat, a time to bake;
There is a time to fly, a time to nest;
There is a time to break, a time to make;
But when it is God's time, it is the best.
There is a time to learn, a time to test;
But when it is God's time, it is the best.
poem by John Celes
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There Is a Time To.....
There is.......
A time to write,
A time to listen,
A time to learn,
A time to play,
A time to read,
A time to see,
A time to lead,
A time to sleep,
A time to be happy,
A time to be mad,
A time to be silly,
A time to be sad.
A time to wake,
A time to stay,
A time to talk,
A time to walk.
A time to help,
A time to hurt,
A time to scheme,
A time to dream,
A time to make a difference,
A time to love,
A time to try,
A time to die
A time to wonder,
A time to want,
A time to live,
A time to do something.
There is always going to be a time,
But will you do something when that time comes?
poem by Michelle Hyde
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Eternity
Into a lifetime of the time[? ]
See flowers bloom then fade to dust
I watch each moment sadly die
Time the[? ] stranger called me here
Fields before me I walk alone
Each tear that falls is lost forever
And this illusion where time has its way
Stripping away the future
People standing still, waiting for a tomorrow that never comes
Eternity, deserting me
While time just passes by
Eternity, deserting me
Time...
Time...
My soul has touched [? ] isolation
The ticking clock of passing time who never stops to see today
Time the[? ] stranger called me here
Fields before me I walk alone
Each tear that falls is lost forever
Eternity, deserting me
While time just passes by
Eternity, deserting me
Eternity, it calls me
While time just passes by
Eternity, deserting me
Time...
Time...
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time
We test time by seconds, minutes,
hours, days and years.
We then add figures in front of them.
We put time on everything,
whether it is inanimate or animate.
Time will have a space somewhere there.
We are cultured to
seek out time from everywhere.
When we cannot find it,
we are entirely lost.
However, do we really need
a clock to tell us things?
We can eat when we are hungry,
sleep when we are tired,
work until we’ve had enough
and play whenever the moment takes us.
In reality, we don’t need time.
Just think they never
had watches in the olden days.
Have you ever tried
to do without time?
If you haven’t then
you’re missing something so grand.
There are no worries and stress
that modern day brings.
It is healthier living at its best.
Totally relaxing
to enable you to run with the wind.
Time who needs it anyway?
Do we really need to be governed by a clock?
26 October 2007
poem by David Harris
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Time is Not a River
Time is not a river
Nor a ticking clock
Nor an hourglass
We cannot save time
We cannot spend time
We cannot borrow time
We cannot buy time
We cannot cheat time
Time is not a gift
Time is not our friend
Nor our enemy
Time is not on our side
Time is not ours in any sense
Save for the single second
That holds our full attention
Then slips forever beyond grasp
poem by Mary Havran
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Eternal Sigh
Time is for dying
Never for living
Time is for taking
Never forgiving
Time is forever
whenever that'll be
Time is trapped
Inside you and me.
Time is lying
To everyone
Time is crying
It's almost gone
Time is precious
But only holds pain
Time continues
Again and again.
Time is ticking
without a sound
Time is decreasing
It's never unwound
Time is fading
Away into space
Time is moving
Sliding over my face,
Time is such a waste.
poem by Mark Hopwood
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