Tickin Away
The clock above the bar
Is telling me its 12:15
And its not such a gentle reminder
That Im where I shouldnt be
I just keep waiting for something to happen
Waiting for somebody to come walking in
Somebody as perfect as you were
So I can try it again
(but) chances are so hard to come by
And the second one is impossible to find
The clock keep running
And the odds keep getting higher
That its all just a fantasy of mine
But I shouldnt be thinking about it
I shouldnt be worried about it
Its just a clock on the wall
But its ticking away
Its ticking away
Its ticking away
Its ticking away
I suppose I should cut all my losses
Go home with a six-pack of beer
There aint nobody in the world like you baby
If there was, she wouldnt be coming in here
But I shouldnt be thinking about it
I shouldnt be worried about it
Its just a clock on the wall
But its ticking away
Its ticking away
Its just a clock on the wall
But its ticking away
Yeah, its ticking away
Its ticking away
Its just a clock on the wall
But its ticking away
I suppose I should cut all my losses
Go home with a six-pack of beer
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Her Insomnia
this is a private affair
between her and her wall clock
there is this consistent rhythm
of the tick tock tick tock
her pupils roll and sometimes
still
staring at the walls of the house
restless she avails of all the possible
combination of postures
but to no avail
the clock keeps on ticking and ticking and ticking
she feels like a tick
and she cannot talk
this is her private affair with her wall clock
above her head
her mouth is closed shaped like
a lamppost
without a light.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Listening To The Clock Ticking
that last servant of the house
finally leaves
she also had to go to sleep with her mother
it happens this way sometimes
he is left alone and as he tries to sleep
he feels that the big mouth of the house is eating him
swallowed his body listens to the sound of the clock on the wall
ticking and ticking as if time is running out.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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“Our Clock Of Midnight”(An Acrostic)
Our clock of midnight ticking around
Undiscovered love can hear the sound
Repressed desire lying underground
Certainly this rare love can never be found
Loneliness covers the dusk to adorn
Outcry from the dark quells the forlorn
Crying out for light in the name of the dark
Keeps the distance between fire and spark
Our clock of midnight still ticking around
For we are far away but we can be found
Miles apart yet our minds can be seen
In reality can we make a blue night green?
Don’t want this clock ever to stop ticking
Noiselessness into heart where it’s been sticking
Indissoluble feeling we can feel so deep
Glimmering hope in our souls we reap
Here we lay down in the midst of dream
The clock of our midnight is our time supreme.
poem by Munia Khan
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Grandpa's Clock
in that ticking of the clock
three generations of time
had ticked past...
with some tickings fixed firm
each ticking concealed
tireless roar of the sea
and a conundrum of emotions
time has its way of
teasing and tiring us
one fine evening during
a casual chitchat as sister
got off from the chair
she hit back at time and
the grandfather's clock-
though i had never known him
but through the clock fixed to the wall-
that seemed to chime
eternally into the wee hours
each time waking me up cruelly
from an innocent sleep
lay there in pieces...
the pendulum, still oscillates
the conundrum, still unsolved
the flux of the sea, still echoes
though we could never manage
to get another clock
and external surfaces
still gleam and glitter...
20dec2009
08.21hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Clock Keeps Ticking
I want alone to be
I want to drown in lonely sea
But the clock keeps ticking
I want to stop
I want to forever halt
But the clock keeps beating
I want to run
I want far away from land
But the clock keeps pursuing
I want to hide
I no more want to think of fight
But the clock keeps shouting
I want to rest
I want in dream hibernate
But the clock keeps breaking
I want to sing
I want to strengthen the spring
But the clock keeps shaking
I want to only follow
I no longer want to know
But the clock keeps pumping
I want to hurt
I don’t care if I should hate
But the clock keeps moving
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Time Clock
we all have a time clock ticking every moment
of every day.
until the last gasp of breath
which slowly slips away.
so while here on this earth
use every second that goes by.
for we pass through this world but once
no matter how we try.
we will be remembered by friends and family
for the goodness when we care.
for that is something that they'll always share.
when you share the joys and sorrows
the heartaches and the pain
the warmth and tenderness that you feel
for them is still the same.
open up your heart for all the world to see
that what you have locked up inside
has finally been set free.
enjoy life to the fullest
for there is no turning back
the time clock keeps on ticking
and does'nt ease up the slack.
poem by Louis Rams
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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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To Value The Blessing
Bewitched quick.
By a ticking of a clock,
Heard to grow louder.
And the speeding of it seems,
To emphasize the days one ages...
From one stage to another.
Leaving time one takes to procrastinate,
A waste.
As an awakening to aches and pains felt,
To ignore to value the blessing of life lived...
To accomplish something done,
Yet still enabling one to do.
Bewitched quick.
By a ticking of a clock,
Heard to grow louder.
One can sit to listen and reminisce.
Or decide to experience,
More life in the pursuit of it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Waiting For Hours
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
However...
Nothing prevents a hand to reach out,
For a muffin to stuff a mouth.
OR a burger with a side order of greasy fries,
To find its way to satisfy taste buds.
And people can be seen waiting for hours,
Patiently...
To get their hotdog topped with sauerkraut.
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
And yet...
People give more time in the doing of it,
But will stand in line for days without a single complaint...
To pay to entertain themselves with an array of nonsense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The impatient hours
The impatient hours
~
The drumming of fingers
The ticking of the clock
Loudly fill the impatient hours
Wasteful in their emptiness
Surely there must be something better
But the wait continues anyway
Waiting on a promise to come good
Hoping its not like past promises
Which all became just lies
Paranoia stalks the mind
Reminding of the past disappointments
Why should this one be any different
Why wait in stale confines
When you could leave, walk away
Forget the promise in an instant
The drumming of fingers
The ticking of the clock
Grow ever louder
Counting each possible outcome
The promise bares fruit
Or becomes another lie
Still waiting on the realisation
In the impatient hours
Wasting the day into nothing
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Pleading For More Time
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
And I don't want to be the one,
Pleading for more time.
And I don't want to be the one,
With a trying of time to find...
When it's gone!
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
And I don't want to be the one,
Pleading for more time.
And I don't want to be the one,
With a trying of time to find...
When it's gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Winter Song
I know you now for a thousand years,
Your body still feels nice and warm to me.
The sun is old, the winters cold,
The lake is shining like a drop of buddhas tears.
The mountains lie in a distance
Like the future wed never reach
And I kept my warmth with your body close.
The world must be dead,
We must be the only heads
Ticking on the hillside like a leftover timebomb.
I know you now for what you are,
And my mind still goes through ups and downs with yours.
The moon is clear, the room is bare,
The bed is shining like an old scripture
Thats never been opened before
And I keep my warmth with your mind close.
The world must be dead,
We must be the only heads
Ticking in a farmhouse like a forgotten timebomb.
One day we discovered that the clock was not ticking anymore,
And our bodies kept spreading rapidly like a very, very fine tissue
Until it stretched over the whole wide world.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time in Hell
I float in time with open mind...
A quest; a chance of riddled thought:
Infinity squared, then seek to find
An answer; pained and overwrought,
I dodder with an addled head;
Befuddled, merging with a haze of
Mysticism, then to tread
A metaphoric swamp – a maze
Of existentialism…
But now for time to tick in rhyme
With ‘tock’ – a clock to tell thro’ chime
Precisely on the knell
That as I dared to understand,
I must be deep in Hell…
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Time
Time, time
Time, time, time, time
Ticking time, timing time
Time and time and time in time is time
for time in Hell is time and time for time, is time
Oh time is time, time, time, ticking time in Hell
Ticking time, timing time
Time, time, time, time
Time time
Time
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Ticking Clocks
all my cells
are ticking clocks
like ticking
bombs
about to explode
like
stars losing their
own lights.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sounds
i heard the sound of the clock ticking
some things come
i am remembering these some things
burnt, and melting in my forehead,
i like the sound of the ticking of grandfather's
clock at night, i hear footsteps
and drippings of water
from the gutter to the floor
the window is closed and the wind makes
the sound of someone caught between
door jambs, creaking sounds creeping
on the wall, something is terrible, really terrible
and i turn my body to the left side,
there is this storm, and the strong rain comes
with the grunting wind, and trees are falling
unto each other, i hear leaves and twigs,
and the roof wanting to leave the house,
something is terribly happening on this night
of the suicidal darkness, the shimmer of the river
looks like a stainless knife
who's there? i ask the door. The mirror on the other
side answers, how dare you?
it is nobody. it is just myself, my mouth answers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Norm
The ticking of the clock on the wall
The sound of a car pulling up outside
A cushion on the sofa
The slamming of a car door
Stillness
Me typing on my keyboard
Thoughts in my head
The chance of a plane crashing in to my window
right now is
Very slim to none
The chances of anything out of the ordinary happening
right now
is very slim to none
I carry on waiting...
poem by Nathan Strange
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Souls
It all started here, she was a girl form the midwest
He was a stranger in a strange land
Same old story
He came for the glory
She came looking for a young mans hand
But they found bright lights
And endless nights
And men just used her innocent ways
He found it all so pretty, hypnotized by the city
They lost sight of the reason
They lost count of the days
And they were two souls searching for each other
One spirit looking for the other
Caught between a hard hard place and a rock
Two souls searching for heaven
Rolling the dice looking for a seven
To the tick, tick, ticking of time
Gotta beat the clock
Too many nights on the ledge
He acquired a knife-edge
Still the city didnt acquiesce to his demands
Some nights she cried for pity in the heart of the city
The city smacked her hands
He met her one endless night
Her eyes had a light
There was something familiar about the smell of her skin
He held her tighter and tighter
As he danced inside her
She knew from the moment that she let him in
Theyd been two souls searching for each other
One spirit looking for the other
Caught between a hard hard place and a rock
Two souls searching for heaven
Rolling the dice looking for a seven
To the tick, tick, ticking of time
Gotta beat the clock
Beat the clock
Beat the clock
Beat the clock
Two souls searching for each other
One spirit looking for the other
Caught between a hard hard place and a rock
Two souls searching for heaven
Rolling the dice looking for a seven
To the tick, tick, ticking of time
Gotta beat the clock
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lonely Train on the Lonely Track with 24 Coaches Painted Black
Among the brambles of a shattered heart lies my soul in crags,
Among the shambles of life torn apart lies my spirit in rags;
Tears streaming down my face as snakes crawl on my body lifeless
Leaving amigos and flamingos away at the home, oh life pointless.
Ticktock! All I can hear is the ticking of the clock, yackety-yak!
The lonely train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
I climbed onto the gravel bed in the rain, lo lonely brain tames!
By the dawn from the ocean to every lane, it climbs, dookie salad!
In the noon from flat places to heaven and hell, A pensive ballad;
At dusk, in open air of beach I loitered singing rhyme ugly James.
Ticktock! All I can hear is ticking of the clock - yackety-yak!
The lonely train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
Hardy-har-har! Hold a pebble, a feather or a leaf in your hand
It will say I am lonely; I can't ride, I want to hide in the sand;
I'm single; oh my gosh! I'm sitting between my brother the mountain
My sister the sea - together threesome we live among soulless men.
Ticktock! All I can hear is the ticking of the clock, yackety-yak!
The lonely train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
I'm an air castle with dreams empty and screams plenty with terror
I don't want to be alone in the dark in a spine-chilling horror.
Then, the moon is a friend for the lonely man as flamingo cheers,
Bingo! Stars in the Galaxy are his companions as nature shares.
Ticktock! All I can hear is ticking of the clock, yackety-yak!
The lone train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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The Wait
I stand
As the time fies by
With the ticking of the clock
Sounding large by the dock
Moments turning into seconds
And
Seconds running into
days, months, years.
Alone I wait
In this harbour
For arrival of
Only god knows
Who, what, why?
I think my heart would understand
My mind need not try.
Anxiously I watch
As each cargo is dismantled
Searching
Only god knows
Who, what, why?
I think my soul would recognize
My eyes are too shy.
Silently I witness
As each ship pulls out anchor
Slowly disappearing from eye.
And
I wait
As the time flies by
With the ticking of the clock
Sounding large by the dock
Moments turning into seconds
And
Seconds running into
days, months, years.
poem by Anjali Kakati
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Baby Love-Angelina's Story
If time has elasticity
then stretch it across my love's heart
in the dead of night
make it stop as we try
to make our baby.
Now three years of trying.
Make it stop my aging.
Grant me the time;
reverse the ticking clock
inside my womb.
I want this baby.
I cannot be the barren woman.
Take this ticking clock
and silence it.
Translate
my husband's love into
baby bouncing
free.
Let me hear
baby's cry.
He said
'We could always adopt.'
And I said
'I guess we could
but it wouldn't be the same.'
So strong is baby love
so strong this longing
I'll not sleep again this night:
tiny hands
tiny face
in my dreams;
reaching out.
I have this baby love
yearning for my own
tiny hands and arms
reaching out to me.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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