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Mark M Lichterman

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by Mark M Lichterman
Saturday, August 04, 2012
Rated "G" by the Author.

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Recent poems by Mark M Lichterman
•  Words, I Need Words!
•  Really, What If
•  Sex Now
•  Smoke in The Wind
•  Young
           >> View all 410



In the segments of my life,

in the younger years,

in my younger years

time did not move.

Days were never ending;

one following the last

with a full twenty-four hour count

each hour a full sixty minute count.


In my younger years

time never moved;

time taking a life-time

till old enough for dad

to allow me into auto

to explain

the clutch,

to explain

the accelerator,

to explain

the break peddle;

to explaining the mergence

of shifting gears

with the play upon the clutch,

with the play upon the accelerator.

Time took three lifetimes

to come to age sixteen.


From sixteen to twenty;

the good years,

the years of high school

the years of girlfriends

the years of of part-time work

to pay for the girlfriends,

of part-time work

to pay for a ‘47

De Soto with Power Glide.


Older yet.

Responsible but for myself,

time now began to move faster.


The years of family,

the years of my family,

of my wife,

of my beautiful,

then young wife

and of my children.

These years,

the years of family

sped by,

sped by so quickly

as my children

went from child

to adult.

The years of family

sped by,

sped by so quickly

as my children

went from dependent

to independent,

to now,

within their own lives,

to now as my children

became familiar strangers.


Now older,

and older yet

as now time flies.

Time now flies as

day merges into night,

as night merges into day.

Time now flies so quickly

that if today

were Christmas

tomorrow then is

the Fourth of July.

Time now flies so quickly

that If this day is the Fourth of July,

tomorrow then is Christmas

and between,

the time between:

the days,

the weeks,

the months

between are a blur.


Waking at five-thirty,

into bed at eleven-thirty,

mornings come

and nights go


the seconds,


the minutes,


the hours between

are  a blur.


Eleven-thirty now,

feeling tired now,

time for bed now.

Time for sleep now.






©August 5, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman

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Reviewed by Laura Fall 8/14/2012
Remarkable writing my friend Laura
Reviewed by Ronald Hull 8/8/2012
Like my poem, the Time Bandit, when we are the most productive, time slips away like an old Willie Nelson song. This poem is like a lifetime in a nutshell.

Reviewed by Annabel Sheila 8/8/2012
Ah! You have so very eloquently captured how quickly life goes by...we really are here for such a short time...Loved this one, Mark!

Your pal,
Reviewed by Budd Nelson 8/5/2012
the young don't understand this and by the time they do it is in the final laps.

Books by
Mark M Lichterman

For Better or Worse

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The Climbing Boy

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  1. in time for Mother's Day
  3. Big Brother
  4. The Pursuit of Happiness
  5. Talking to an Ancient Moonah Tree.
  6. WE ARE
  7. Jesus' Rainbow
  8. Every Child Needs
  9. Pi Day
  10. Here we go again, maybe...
  11. Disposable Love
  12. It's the Law
  13. Traffic Light
  14. R E D
  15. unraveling...
  17. Taking Stock
  18. Skeletons in a closet.

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