what is, if it won’t

what is time
if it will not last
for me

what a waste
in the end
If I can’t hold it

what is time
to me
if it is so

if I take a moment
only to find
it is gone

what is time
without a little body

it is a spectre
that holds everything

that I am was

everything that I was

what is time
how long do I have
to tell you

all that I know
about time
is already gone

© Frank Prem, 2017


do you think
about the clock
at night
as you lay down
to bed

do you think
that it is
through your time

when you close your eyes
you lose yourself
inside a minute

when you open them
at least
you still have breath

the hours of the night
go by
in darkness

the hours spent
not sleeping
are whole lives

wake you
wake you
wake yourself up rising

today light
might be all the time
that still remains

think about the clock
when you lay down
just before your sleeping

think about the clock
in your bed

© Frank Prem, 2017

what day is this

the day
is not long
my boredom
makes it longer

I with the this and the that
of my lot
I cannot bear
to bother

and time drags
on me

the day
is not short
my excitement
makes the minutes heighten

and before I know
hours have flown

the day
is a day
in my mood
I shape it

into more
into less
into nothing at all
into forever

this is my day
what will it be

© Frank Prem, 2017

waiting westerly

the wind raises its intensity
before a change
that’s full of weather

I am lying in the darkness
for the rain

the stars I watch
through a window
are swallowed
by slow cloud
and leave nothing
but the restlessness
of leaves

like me
they are waiting
the weather

© Frank Prem, 2017

being (Shakespeare)

not being

state of mind
in just a moment

make a choice
what you might be

make a choice
be nothing

passes in an instant
might have been
that one

might be the next

you and I
might let it pass
us by
while we
are being

not being

© Frank Prem, 2017

why is the magpie

the magpie
was quietly wardle-ing
speaking his thoughts out

his theme
was the song
his ordle to himself focused on

I wardle because …

that’s just the way
that I am

I wardle for the love
in my heart
that is song

and I wardle when I’m alone

I wardle when I am happy

under the sun
in the rain
up high
in a tree


at a family reunion
I ordle so everyone
can hear me

and sometimes
they join me
we ordle alike
and we wardle
in part-harmony

but mostly I ordle
as something
I can’t live without

I ordle my name
and I sing my songs solo

I can’t tell you why
but ordle
and wardle
are my sounds
and I make them
and they make me



© Frank Prem, 2017

turn my coffee

if I want
my coffee to love me

if I want
my coffee to hold me

my coffee to please me
to make my life be easy
I’ve got to
turn my coffee on


I don’t want
my coffee bitter, Joe

I don’t want
my coffee too black no (oh no no)

my coffee macchiato
make sure I start so
I’ve got to
turn my coffee on


I don’t want to be latte (hey hey)
I don’t like any milk fern
in my froth

I want my coffee to pick me up
so I’m going to have to
turn my coffee

I’ll turn

(so strong!)

© Frank Prem, 2017

dark substance

there is a sleep
that comes
as nighttime weaves
around you

patterns moving
speckled light
against the black

shadow substance
tears away
before your hands
if you reach
to touch it

inside the dream
a still-shaped form
of you

patterns move
the play unfolds
contorted situations
show as real

but it’s only nighttime
the speckle dark

as the dust
of what you dreamt

© Frank Prem, 2017

creative space

everybody tells me
I’ve got holes
inside my head

I say


they’re just

that’s space
around the cortex
of me

they tell me
that I’m wrong

that I’ve got emptiness
in the places
where my thinking
should get done
but I say


that’s just

that’s the place
where my thoughts
and turn themselves
into my big ideas

they laugh at me
say I’ve got nothing

but I say


that’s the place
where genius
will show

and anyway

and anyway

I have nothing more
to say to you
just now

I’m busy

© Frank Prem, 2017


what is the inside
of a poem

are you there
if you live it

do you have to know
or is it


what is the inside
of your life

do you reside
in stanzas

must you recite yourself
or are you
because you


your image has
a lyric flow

your life is rhythm

your world
the driven cadence

how is it
on the inner side

come read to me

your life
in time

© Frank Prem, 2017