I see them mapped,
Those curious axes,
Of then to now —
And now to there —
A most uncommon graph.
Hark to the moment nearly here —
In flash it comes —
Mere moment to receive it —
Goes it then thence a race away,
Inverse to how it came,
And somehow just the same.
days filled with
nightmares of
people past.
Someone asked
me
to lead the way.
But there’s no
me
to be summoned.
Just a faceless
ticking clock
Like birds of a feather
That flock all together
Like the sifting sands of time
Cuz when we're together
We're safe from the weather
And the many hills we climb
Like snow on the heather
Enduring the weather
By the full moon's gentle light
We're bound by that weather
Our children together
Sleeping safely through the night
An alarm clock.
On the edge of the nightstand.
No one came after me the whole night.
Except the skin of my thoughts.
Shaking but nothing.
It’s like I woke up and ate gravity and passed out again.
It’s all about time.
Wrappers crinkling underfoot.
More and more trash scattered.
Warping.
The sound of the garbage truck is blending into everything…
And no one calls me anymore!
An alarm clock.
Which cooks up seconds for us.
And burns us.
Feeling unwieldy when I stand.
Getting up even though I’ll be late anyway.
Being strong is doing things to make yourself later and later.
Uncooking the toast.
Unbrushing your teeth.
Creating more places to be.
Places which are just outlines.
There’s still that alarm clock.
That goes on.
Beddy bye beddy bye
cuddled up in here I lie
Tickity tickity tock-tock
goes the alarm clock
With a blanky on my tummy
I feel kinda' woozy
Dingy dingy dong-dong,
anka wanka I am cozy
Beddy bye beddy bye
think I'll sleep til' noonzy!
Nature is calling,
your hips swaying.
A light snowfall takes
place in a winter
breeze.
The footprints of a doe
and her fawn grace the
land in fragments.
Broken bits of
grass poke out
from where they
were last seen, in
brown, sticky
patches.
A moose,
a rabbit,
a raccoon—
resting, rejuvenating,
saving their strength.
Birds chirp,
wolves howl.
I close my eyes
and know I’ve
made it.
Did you make it
to Italy, sparrow?
For I am yet to
make it there.
I wish
you well.
Sixty seconds is a minute sixty minutes makes an hour
We all Iive our life by the time
Why has Time go so much power
We set an alarm clock to wake us from our peaceful sleep
We look at our clocks when we are late and have an appointment to keep
We cook our food with time so it doesn't burn
We use time to get to work to make the money we earn.
We use time to live through life and we have to die some time
You can live by your life clock
And I will live by mine.
It was in the morning
When I heard him snoring
Like loud like a lion
He who falls from my eyes
Every sense feeling nonsense
Early lights in goosebumps
Served myself a red riddle
Leaving me tortured and energetic
Shooting my lungs to no air
My kidneys helped me breathe
Each cough counting complaints
In a peaceful war against the snore
It was at the noon
When I took the spoon
As slowly as a chameleon
I heard with my idle itchy iris
The solo sweetness of sugar
The extent the morning envied
The signalled shock swiftly slowed
At this cold clock I realised
You'll possibly progress into pains
In cheerful charming your chains
I needed bread! I had bread!
Was then full a hundred
It was in the evening
When he saw me shoutly quiet
In twilight trails similar to noon
All that split my peas into pies
I had no more morning mourns
More morning laughs had me
Already the morning
is full of momentum
and is beginning to crash through
the defences, leaving pieces
scattered behind.
There are always broken
things left in the wake of time.
Take that Mickey Mouse clock
for example
with the snapped spring
and missing hand, the toy truck
with the bent and rusted out
trailer, the football
with its perished bladder.
You would gather up
all the broken toys
and put them in a box
in the vague hope that one day
they could be fixed.
They never were.
A life always leaves
a long trail of debris behind
until there is nothing left
to fall off, break or perish.
12
11 | 1
10 | 2
9 ______ © 3
8 4
7 5
6
the clock ticks slowly
seconds, then minutes, then hours ~
time once gone is gone
Time — a ticking bomb that will one day fall silent,
with no remorse for your unfinished business.
You can try to delay your time,
but it will only make the silence louder.
In your final hours, you may finally realize
how green the trees were, how smooth the water flowed.
Just then, you’ll long to see
your first blade of grass again.
No one knows when the clock will stop.
Most live with little regard for it.
It’s easy to underestimate time
when all you’ve ever known is life.
Inside of every person is the same fear of their faith.
As the ticking fades into silence,
you’re left staring at the faces
of those you failed—
the ones you let slip through your grasp.
Now your time is up,
and the silence drops.
This was the only life you had,
and you may have just failed to live it.
Still a child at heart
tho' older are some other parts
and only for a lark
back to my childhood here I hark
I remember a rhyme
in the far reaches of my mind
hickory dickory dock
the mice ran up the clock
the clock struck one
the mouse fell down
luckily the plucky other ducked
shucked and jived
escaped survived
got out alive
and ran away
to live another day
with relief and laughter
happily ever after
hickory dickory dock
Burning the midnight oil while writing
this poem one line at a time
looking for reason searching for meaning
making words scan and having them rhyme
consider the hands of a clock
as around the dial they rotate
some arrive early
(tick-tock tick-tock)
others come in late
one is fast the other slow
round and round and round they go
observe this strange conundrum
it's a paradox in every paradigm
tho' traveling at two different speeds
they keep the self-same time
whereas a broken watch
(strange to say),
in its oxymoronic way
tho' its tempo is a no-go
is correct twice each day
and
as it's of the essence whenever I see fit
I simply turn back time
3... 2... 1... emit
Where there's a will
there's a funeral
death is a fact of life
a grave undertaking
for a mortician
and one day some day
you and I
will wake up dead
hopefully the lifetime led
was of our own making
too late for looking back
no regrets and yet
it's appalling
when we wind up
in a winding sheet
waiting on that beir
aside from six feet under
where do we go
from here?
Some say, 'Heaven,'
some say, 'Hell,' oh well,
by then our goose is cooked, wagon fixed,
and we'll never know 'til it's too late
as they've punched our ticket,
cleaned our clock and wiped our slate.
Clock Humming
Clocks hands moving slowly
In no hurry
With no worries
Content and humming
Clocks chiming
Time wondering
With no company
Some people are the same
Parallel reminiscing
Color’s fading
Time crawling
No complaints
Hearts content
No burdens
Take it easy
Just out of curiosity
Eyes are glazed
In a haze
Delirium sometimes
Clock humming
An ordinary day
Time passing by
Time chasing no one
Coffee early morning sun
A lonely life
Birds fling
Clocks tell time
Through the widow, light shine
Just enough to get by
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