The Teacher of Time

The Teacher of Time


To Teach-her the Time

This poem is About damned time:

The name of his true Catalyst. He’d held that back, saying he’d had many: an assassin, a nine-fingered slave boy, a ship’s captain, a spoiled girl, a noble bastard. Not true. His one real Catalyst was FitzChivalry Farseer.

Robin Hobb, Assassin’s Fate

Those who can’t do, teach
Those who can’t say, reach
Those who can’t fight, feat
Those who can’t drink, eat

Those who can’t li(v)e, death
Those who can’t try, (last) breath
Those who can’t give, get
As those who can’t sigh, (fast) Me(th)

Is it Me who can’t or is it me who can?
Who can, who can, teach me about tiMe-ing?
Who can, who can, be a teacher of rhyMe-ing?

A Writer in the Shadows is who
A Teacher of Time is Who?

Dreams V Reality

A Dream Versus a Reality

random hoes, random hose
water drips, wetness flows
where she go, where they goes
now we reachin newer lows

U A, M.

Inspired by conversations with BugLogi and Masa

The seal is broken,
The clock is set
The hour’s token:
An hourglass, yet

Still Time moves fore-wood
As Good Timber grows older
And what’s due at sure-wood,
Blood and Fire, keep getting colder

As Midsummer Madness lasts
Till seasons grow colder
Reaching the end of fasts
Now people grow bolder

This “random stream of consciousness” now fizzles away
As the dreams dripping into reality now drizzle away
The Time of imagination now fizzes away
True Sight will be born again, as Vision viz-zis avvay, AVA\|/

As water drips life into lifelessness
Imagination drools Truth into Reality

A Poem for Mice, A Second Prayer

A rat’s head on a stick. No one holds the stick but it is shaken at the dreamer. The rat squeaks.

“The bait is the trap, the trapper the trapped!”

The rat’s mouth is red, its teeth yellow; its eyes are black and shining. It appears to be the sort of large brown rat often seen near the docks of Clerres town. It has a black-and-white ruff about its neck, and the staff it is fixed to is green and yellow


Robin Hobb
Chapter 24: Hand and Foot



The Electric Mouse Pokémon

A sequel to A Poem, A Prayer

Rats, rats, o mice and rats
Then Hunted by us and also by cats
For thousands of years, of years ago
At the time of time of Tut and tat
Cats were worshipped as they sat
At X of long and Y of lat

Mice, mice, o rats and mice
If Hell is Fire, then Heaven is Ice
And where, pray tell, do dead mice go?
If disease’s evil, then rats aren’t nice
O GodDog r’ TacCat, is it fault o’ flea ‘r lice?
Would death be good, would justice suffice?

We humans too spread disease
Yet “The stronger winds, the stronger trees”
Now we know it ain’t always so
So let this be a prayer, please
For all that’s fallen, let there be ease
Whether rats or mice, death by fire or seas
Whether dreaming or-a-wake, realities or fantasies

Now Apollo and Jeezus come out of Apologiez
For now at last we have impromptu fantasyz

God, Allah, O Jeezus Cries’t
The Sun risen as AtumRa-ised
Apollo risen as Jesus rised
For all who die, and then they rise
Nearer my Goddess, to thee they rise
“Say it ain’t so, say it ain’t so”
Now closer to you, they do go
So so it is, since long ago

Heaven & hell now see Demise
Green and golden be their prize
Of those whose knots are also ties
Look For fallen with your eyes
What-Ever-falls will also rise

No Longer

No longer too hot or cold
No longer too young or old
No longer too shy or bold
No longer, too much is sold

No longer, not any longer
No longer, right is wrong-er
No longer, for the fear monger
No longer, no longer please

Not any longer, now there’s ease
Now for longer, for longer peace
Now for longer, such a tease
Not any longer, end this lease

For now, no longer Times remain
Now, we look at Time’s remains
This longer Time has made us sane
Yet longer Time’s only for insane’s

O Longer Time, O Clock of Doom
O Cosmos’ Tune, O Song of Ruine

For 3+4



Spoiler warning for all 16 books of the Realm of the Elderlings by Robin Hobb

Inspired by

Assassin’s Fate’s Prologue’s Prophecy

For servants and prophets
For corruption in profits
For the Fitz and the Fool
For Eyes of Night’s Rule

The Light splits into 3 or 4
3 or 4 or 6 or 7
A Morphism, a sorta Prism
As colours are sorted
By this Meta-More-Phasing googol

Yes, hundreds of White lights
And 3 or 4 Servants
Red and green, blue and And
Yellow too, and Black and/or
And 4 or 3 or 3 or more
Coming from Candles’ Lights

It was not just the fact that
“One shall be Two
And Two be One”

For the motley of black and white
Would now show answers of true sight:

One shall be Four
And Three bee One
As the Futures’ broken
And Truth is awoken

IceFyre comes with Fitz
Destroyer comes with fitz
Left Clerres without him
Left the Fool all Fixed

Who was the Destroyer?
Was it the Bee, an-noyer?
Or was it the Fitz, the Fool,
& Night’s Eyes’,
Light from death will Rise
For Time to be Right-sized

Black and White
A Darkened Lights
Futures and Pasts’
Present’s now passed

A Fitz without fitz-eye-’tis
A fool without Foresight is
As three but one,
The three have won

O Precious Time, O Clock of Doom,
O Beloved’s Beat, O Beloved Bee
Destroy their Seat, and Find that Sea
Of Silver Rhyme and Silver Loom

So all Paths and Threads
Bee-Come aVoid of Dreads
Then Time moved forward,
and, at last, Bled


Half of Humanity


A Mystery of History or Aragon v Aragorn II


I’m 244 or 6/11

When I’m done, half of humanity will still be alive. I hope they remember you.

Thanos, Avengers: Infinity War

For Ashish Mahto & Inderbir Hair

Four four, 44, 4/4, 4:4
The most common signature
A double heartbeat
Yet an unlucky Time

For 4:44, or 11/11
Was that the time
That men were killed like moths
Or like mosquitoes

Like in the past, a fast of Spain
The mosque eat, O Man-Yet
I am mosquit-O magnet
An unlucky 48 become 24

As 88 becomes 176

0124 will become 53, 28, 1256
or 1609, 42 32, a time of Nix
For if beauty remains in pi squared over 6
Then O Magnet of Time, be in-Stillness Fixed

Heaven, by the Walkmen (Umer’s Version)

Re-writing my own version of the lyrics
With love and respect, as always

Our children
Would yearn to hear
Romantic tales
Of finished years

Our guilty age
May, come and go
June’s crooked dreams
No longer glow

Stick with me
You’ were my best friend
End of my life
You always been

Oh never, remember
All we’d die for
Remember, remember
All we fight for

I need to leave,
Now, you’re my best friend
All of my life, ya always been
I gotta leave,
Now, I’m your best friend
Rest of my life, I’ve never been

Remember, remember
All we’d fought for
Remember, remember
All we’d fought for

A Fifth of Seasons

A Fifth of Seasons
A Work in Progress


A Poet sings of a tale once writ
Melodies of the Exiled One’s ways
Of water, wind, and a fire lit
Of the end of seasons, end of days
“Be it winter, summer, spring, autumn
Sung ‘twill be till the Fifth Season’s start
Whether pitch approach top or bottom
Let neither hinder a wishful heart”
Do Forest Dwellers only talk of night and day?
Do Grasshoppers learn a MantisTurtle’s way?

I. Spring





Bells once again are rung
The song of seasons once again is sung
“Be it winter, summer, autumn or spring-ing
Be forgiving, be light, a soft April shower”
Finally, a journey’s motivations’ beginning
A Light is born even in Final Hour

II. Summer





III. Fall





IV. Winter






The poet met a being after-life, after-death
“Are you the Bard of Time, the Writer of Worlds?”
The voice of the answer was as smooth and shiny as silvering silken
“If I’m Death, then I’m Life-Bringer,
If I’m the Messiah I’m the AntiChrist,
If I’m in the past I’m in the future,
If I’m last then I’m first
If it’s spring then I’m Fallen
If I’m Light then I’m Lucifer
If it’s winter for me, it’s Summer for all, in
The mortal realm
I am not the Bard of Time, but
**I and We Contain Multitudes**
I’m Pros of Prose
I’m Gods of Godds
Fe-Male of Male
I-urn of Eye-rony
I yearn for year(n)s
For ages of Aegis
After rows of rows
Of lines and lines
I am what I am
I’m fine in fines
The fine in deFying
The Vine in diVining

I am a Spell-Caster,
Just as you cast spellings into poetry
I conduct magic into the universal orchestra
And today I decide that the Universe’s song
Needs you(re) instrument a little longer
For we’re not yet at the end of this mythology
Not yet at the conclusion of this chronology
At the apex of this anthology:

A Fifth of Seasons, aDrift of Reasons, a Mix of Lesions

The fifth season isn’t a piece of Time like the rest,
It’s a peace, it’s a rest, it’s a break
It’s a re-ordering of the Pasts,
So that better Futures might be written
It’s a Piece of the Present, It Lives in the moment
In this very moment…

So let me cast one final spell
Now Summer is spelled Fall
And Autumn spelled Winter
And Endless Winter will become Endless Summer

At Time’s beginning
Order was separated from Chaos
The fifth season is the power of re-Order-ing…
Spring then Fall then Winter’end Summer

At Time’s beginning
One became Two, and now SEven become One
The fifth season is the power of re-Fusion
The Man, Woman, Grasshopper,
The Poet, Warrior, Mantis-Turtle,
And Umer, a spellcaster, who echoes:
‘I cast magic out of language,
I cast spells out of spellings’

As what’s Even becomes odder
What’s strange, my Stranger of Death, is
The Alignment already showed the true order of seasons
The image of your writing already showed true Order
Thus we rewrite Pasts into one Past
And brighter futures can begin now,
For the fifth season was already upon you
Now return, Seven-as-One, to the past, to the present, to the future
For the Universal Orchestra needs to hear your voice a little longer

Let not one word define you,
Let not a single note bind you,
Let not your home confine you,
Let not a lone song redefine you,
Let all seasons intertwine with you,
As all colours are divine with you:
Be it winter, autumn, spring or summer,
Be it wind, fire, ice or water,
The Fifth Season’s unending shine is you”

The poet returned briefly to the world to finish his work:
“Be it sapphire or blueberry, ruby or lime
Be it metered or unmetered, rhyme or un-rhyme
Be it Winter, Fall, Summer or Spring-Time
When a line’s a circle, a circle’s a-ligns

At last, alas:

*Since there’s beauty left in pi squared by a sixth
Then time reorders itself again to be fixed

* Rewording the ending of In Glass and Ice and The Edge of Mathematics
** From the poem Song of Myself by Walt Whitman

Self-Care Wheel

Do I own me?

A Majestic Asymmetry

Mandala from:

A Majestic A Symmetry

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