A Clock Stopped
poetry in progress
the old wooden clock at
the grocery store ticks on
and on on the wall of my mind
taking me back to childhood years
it peeks at me every time
i pass by one lone child
hungering for love and
sweet adventures
in it a mirror pendulum
stands very still to the one
in my mind that tilts to
to and fro, to and fro
a child concentrating
on his yo yo
the golden horse on its top
gives it a different chi
with spanned wings that
looks ever anxious to
take me to wherever
i wish to be - carte blanche
so long i have the time
it is a no show though
the minute and hour needles
do the same hands over head
posture of a ballet dancer
yesterday, today and tomorrow
and the clock looks onto me
like a deaf man with all the
endowments to talk but without a
proper word to get things across
so that he is all hands and fingers
a round and well bred
attentive audience numbered
one to twelve sit like ministers
as they wait for hands to point out
the importance of each, why
they should be at their place
the clock is old as myself
even time must grow old and
must stop one day and what a
graceful way to do so with
such a glamorous and
flamboyant posture and on
a face everyone once confided in
- a face that blandishes
a rough mole where
its owner would work
every now and then
to put back the health
of his time so that
it would chime at the right time
morn, noon and night
the clock invariably
takes me back to years ago
when our house was flying high
with a horse with spanned wings
that promised much fun with its hourly
ding dong ding dong solemn call
that never failed to to plough into us
the seriousness of time
then it was a new clock and
had dutifully counted the minutes
and seconds with absolute accuracy
as we inched our way up the
expectations of dad and mom
grannies, teachers, and friends
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Me-Time Continuum
I watch the clock ticking out its time.
I hear the gears tocking 'till the chime…
I hold my stare acutely
And focus ears astutely.
The whole gestalt of this assault by me on clock
Collapses in to hence become
A new me-time continuum,
This clock and I a vacuum;
Dial and me, we've come to be
A synergistic, fatalistic victim,
Hmm…
When it ticks, I then tock:
I am me as well as clock.
When it tocks, I then tick.
We burn together down the wick
In candle wax, both cold and warm,
Together now in molten form.
We jump the side but soon to stall,
Only to solidify
Until the active plateau
Chases…
Down…
Sinking…
To melt again the bit that ran (us) –
All in a time storm
With timeless plan.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Ti me time time time time time time time time
Time time time time time
Time time time
Time time
Time time time
Time time time time time
Time time time time time time time time time
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tick Tick Tick....!
Tick Tick Tick Tick,
Clock Ticks,
Lub dub Lub Dub heart beats,
Cycle of inhaling and exhaling
makes breath,
Pulses from unknown center has own lifetime,
keeps time for us, clock that set in
every cell schedules its life and
birth! Life is light trapped in atom,
excited electron has to fall back,
Just like life raises up and falls
back,
rhythm, wavelength and
frequency decide energy of light, local time may not match with
clock in other region,
Light travels covering space
does truly decide time?
You are the medium where light
is slowest, faster it is in different medium
and plane, Before the internal clock stops,
Sending warning alarm,
Alarm thyself, you are here not
only to know,
But also to the wish of the one
beyond light and clock, who can fix clock even in a light
photon,
can fix clock in everything,
Arise and awake before chime of
alarm,
No snooze is there in your clock, Never get yourself lost in
yawning,
No one can stay here.
when time is up!
Namaste and thank you all before
my clock ticks and buzz to say
time is up!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
Mood is right
Spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply havng a Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
The party's on
The feeling here
It's all because
This time of year
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
The choir of children
Singing their song
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
They practice
All night long
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
The word is out
About the town
To lick your glass
I don't doubt
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
Mood is right
Spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
x7
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Clock On The Wall
The clock ticks on the wall
The same walls
That saw my family
Grow from childhood
To adulthood
The tick tock of time
Each stroke captures
A time a place
Were we visit back
In memories of old
A birth a death
A wedding of bliss
Each memory reflected
In the glass of a
Clock that sits upon the wall
As time ticks by
We look at our lives
What we have done
Where we have gone
Have we wasted any?
Precious time that
Makes our lives whole
So savor the moment
And make each moment count
poem by Kaila George
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Flexitime for Friend Denis joe
A blank faced clock which has no hands
must still obey Chronos’ commands.
The minutes pass without display.
Times moves on inexorably
the hours passing speedily
Today replaces yesterday.
Why are men obsessed by the clock
they measure every tick and tock.
What does it matter anyway?
we know that darkness rules the night
and that the day is filled by light.
Some time to sleep and work or play.
Avid clock watchers fail to see
that time can pass variably.
4-May-08
http: //Blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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 is clicking
The clock is clicking
It is clicking to show just then
A time span of one second
Has become the past
The clock is clicking
Each click means a step
Towards your progress and growth
Optimistic wisdom says
The clock is clicking
Each click means a nail
Onto your coffin
Philosophical wisdom says
The clock is clicking
Each click means the arrival
Of a child in India
Population expert worries
The clock is clicking
Each click means the committal
Of a crime
Police personnel observes
The clock is clicking
Each click means a travel of 2.5 km
In space of the earth's surface
Astromer estimates
The clock is clicking
Each click means a change
In fortune of an individual
Astrologer announces
The clock is clicking
Each click means the admission
Of a heart patient
Health specialist heaves
The clock is clicking
Each click means the drain
Of my battery
The clock cries within
The clock is clicking
Let the clock be clicking
Let any one have his or her inkling
Let us be lively and kicking
Let nothing stop us becoming a king
The clock is clicking
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Dirge for a Righteous Kitten
To be intoned, all but the two italicized lines, which are to be spoken in a snappy, matter-of-fact way.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
Here lies a kitten good, who kept
A kitten's proper place.
He stole no pantry eatables,
Nor scratched the baby's face.
He let the alley-cats alone.
He had no yowling vice.
His shirt was always laundried well,
He freed the house of mice.
Until his death he had not caused
His little mistress tears,
He wore his ribbon prettily,
He washed behind his ears.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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At Six O'clock
I heard the Ave Maria at six o'clock,
Today hear crimes on the radio at six o'clock.
I watched The Little Princess on tv at six o'clock,
Today watch explicit sex at six o’clock.
I was playing catch-up with my friends at six o'clock,
Today lonely children play atari at six o'clock.
I drank hot soup at six o’clock,
Today guys smoke crack at six o'clock.
I prayed to the guardian angel at six o'clock,
Today they kill people at six o'clock.
I studied algebra at six o'clock,
Today are planned crimes at six o'clock.
I was happy at six o'clock,
Today are all scared at six o'clock.
Parody in honor of Llorca
poem by Aschelminto Da Silva
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Jesus Built Me Hot Rod
soon i discovered that this rock thing was true
jerry lee lewis was the devil
jesus was an architect previous to his career as a prophet
all of a sudden, i found myself in love with the world
so there was only one thing that i could do
was ding a ding dang my dang a long ling long
ding dang a dong bong bing bong
ticky ticky thought of a gun
everytime i try to do it all now baby
am i on the run
why why why why why baby
if it's so evil then?
give me my time, with all my power
give it to me all again (wow)
ding a ding a dang a dong dong ding dong
every where i go
everytime you tell me baby
when i settle down
got to get me a trailer park
and hold my world around
why why why why?
ding ding donga dong dong ding dong
dingy dingy son of a gun
half my time i tell you baby
never am I all for sure
why why why why why baby
sicky sicky from within
everytime I stick my finger on in ya
you're a wild wild little town bitch
now how 'bout ding a dang dong dong dong ling long
dingy a dingy dong a down
everytime you tell me baby
when i settle down
got to get me a trailer park
and hold my world around
why why why why?
in my dang a ding a ding a ding dong
a sticky sticky son of a gun
ding a danga danga dong dong ding dong
why why never know
why why wack a dong a dang ding dong
then you take it on the bill
ding dang dong don't dong
whoa!
i wanna love ya!
why why why, why why darling
do you do you tell me to play?
half the time I talk about it all now baby
you know what I'm talkin' about I said
why why why it'll
ticky ticky ticky ticky
son of a gun
d
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Time
We test time by seconds, minutes,
hours, days and years.
We then add figures in front of them.
We put time on everything,
whether it is inanimate or animate.
Time will have a space somewhere there.
We are cultured to
seek out time from everywhere.
When we cannot find it,
we are entirely lost.
However, do we really need
a clock to tell us things?
We can eat when we are hungry,
sleep when we are tired,
work until we’ve had enough
and play whenever the moment takes us.
In reality, we don’t need time.
Just think they never
had watches in the olden days.
Have you ever tried
to do without time?
If you haven’t then
you’re missing something so grand.
There are no worries and stress
that modern day brings.
It is healthier living at its best.
Totally relaxing
to enable you to run with the wind.
Time who needs it anyway?
Do we really need to be governed by a clock?
26 October 2007
poem by David Harris
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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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The Lonely Room
Tiptoe around the room.
What is it that is found?
Silence, except for the clock that's ticking
nothing else is around.
An empty room with nothing in it,
only the clock that ticks the minute
in this lonely room.
Why was the clock left behind
with not a soul to tell the time?
It was on the mantelpiece
with nobody to hear it chime.
Was it left as a reminder?
I think it would have been kinder
to remove it from the room.
Left alone, it had no purpose.
Who could hear it now?
Ghosts from the past that once lived here
that have taken a vow
to listen to the clock's every minute
in the room with nothing in it
but the ghosts and the time.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Clock
The clock, it tells a story-
One look at its tired face-
And a glimpse of both of its hands-
Why those seconds, just simply race...
Tick tocking its continued sounds-
Reminding us that time simply flies-
No it does not sprout feathered wings-
Nor take to the azure-blue skies...
But it moves nonetheless-
And with each day that passes away-
We are another day older-
And out of our youth-filled May...
Out of our heated July...
Rapidly, the clock, it simply ticks away-
Out of the falling leaves of our October-
Into Decembers white-ice chilled days...
'Tempus fugit', all we old timers cry-
Where oh where did all of our minutes go?
Just look at the clocks tired old face-
And its worn hands and you will surely know...
Dedicated To: G.A.C., Phillip, Joe, Bub, Lugh,
Zeike, and Pete.
poem by Theodora Onken
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The Cuckoo Clock
The cuckoo flew out of the clock
and landed on the arm chair.
It looked me in the eye and said,
“I’m not going back in there!
People expect too much of me,
going back and forth all day.
I’m not going back inside.
No! Never! No way.
The clock’s none stop ticking
has made my head feel sore
Calling ‘cuckoo’ 24-7 it’s too much,
I’m not doing it any more.
I want to breathe the fresh air,
and feel the rain and sun.
I want to be able to fly around
and enjoy proper cuckoo fun.
I should be leaving my eggs
here, there, and everywhere.
Eating lots of juicy worms,
and being free without a care.
What do you mean I’m not real
and I’m only made of wood?
Of course I am; I call out ‘cuckoo’
like every cuckoo should.
Just put me on the windowsill
and I’ll show you how I can fly.
Why..? I can’t move my wings,
no matter how much I try.
And I can’t call out ‘cuckoo’,
my ‘cuckoo’ cry has gone.
My head and body won’t move,
and my wings won’t open.
Oh dear, what am I to do?
I’m just a piece of wood.
I’ve been shaped like a bird
and my paint job’s not so good.
I’ve a spring sticking out my bottom
and my feathers aren’t feathers at all.
I haven’t a sound to call my own,
and when I try to fly I fall…
Will you please put me back in the clock?
It’s the only place I can call my home.
I’ll be happy to remind you of the time,
and I promise never again to moan.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The clock invites the child to have fun
grandfather's clock
wakes the three year old
rosy cheeked chubby child
with its ding dong song
to spell out to him a day
of fun: 'Come let's
go out for some games.
dont let time run away.'
and the child replies: 'Yes,
yes, i would love to have
some fun with you. first please
teach me how to walk the
way you do, bouncing
up and down, to and fro
without a care of the world.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Old School Clock
'Twas a quaint old clock with a quaint old face,
and great iron weights and chain.
It stopped when it liked, and before it struck
it creaked as if 'twere in pain.
It had seen many years, and it seemed to say,
'I'm one of the real old stock',
To the youthful fry, who with reverence looked
on the face of the old school clock.
What a terrible frown did the old clock wear
to the truant who timidly cast
An anxious eye on those merciless hands,
that for him had been moving too fast!
But its frown soon changed, for it loved to smile
on the thoughtless, noisy flock,
And it creaked and whirred, and struck with glee,
Did that genial, good humoured old clock.
Well, years had passed, and my mind was filled
with the world, its cares and ways,
When again I stood in that little school
where I passed my boyhood days.
My old friend was gone! And there hung a thing
that my sorrow seemed to mock,
As I gazed with a tear and a softened heart
at a new-fashioned Yankee clock.
'Tis the way of the world. Old friends pass away
and fresh faces arise in their stead.
But still 'mid the din and bustle of life
we cherish fond thoughts of the dead.
Yes, dearly those memories cling round my heart,
and bravely withstand Time's rude shock;
But not one is more dear or more hallowed to me
than the face of that old school clock.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Corydon's Doleful Knell
My Phillida, adieu love!
For evermore farewel!
Ay me! I've lost my true love,
And thus I ring her knell,
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head.
For my fair Phillida
Our bridal bed was made;
But 'stead of silkes so gay,
She in her shroud is laid.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
Her corpse shall be attended
By maides in fair array,
Till the obsequies are ended,
And she is wrapt in clay.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
Her herse it shall be carried
By youths that do excell;
And when that she is buried,
I thus will ring her knell.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
A garland shall be framed
By art and natures skill,
Of sundry-colour'd flowers,
In token of good-will.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
And sundry-colour'd ribbands
On it I will bestow;
But chiefly black and yellowe
With her to grave shall go.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
I'll decke her tomb with flowers,
The rarest ever seen,
And with my tears, as showers,
I'll keepe them fresh and green.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
Instead of fairest colours,
Set forth with curious art,
Her image shall be painted
On my distressed heart.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
And thereon shall be graven,
Her epitaph so faire,
'Here lies the loveliest maiden,
That e'er gave shepheard care.'
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
In sable will I mourne;
Blacke shall be all my weede:
Ay me! I am forlorne
Now Phillida is dead!
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Nip It In The Bud
From the time the lights come on,
And from dusk 'til dawn...
You're giving me the lip!
I don't need the clock to ding-a-dong,
Since my peace is gone.
And in my ear you babble lip.
Why can't you nip it in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you handle it?
Nip it in the bud.
Why can't you take a walk as I lay?
Do whatever it takes!
But don't bother me with it!
I don't need the clock to ding-a-dong,
Since my peace is gone.
And in my ear you babble lip.
Why can't you take a walk as I lay?
Do whatever it takes!
And don't bother me with it!
Why can't you nip it in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you handle it?
Nip it in the bud.
Why can't you take a walk as I lay?
Do whatever it takes!
But don't bother me with it!
From the time the lights come on,
And from dusk 'til dawn...
You're giving me the lip!
I don't need the clock to ding-a-dong,
Since my peace is gone.
And in my ear you babble lip.
Why can't you nip this in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you handle it?
Nip it in the bud.
Why can't you take a walk as I lay?
Do whatever it takes!
But don't bother me with it!
Why can't you nip this in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you handle it?
And just nip this in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you take a walk as I lay?
Do whatever it takes!
And don't bother me with it!
Why can't you nip this in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you handle it?
And just nip this in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you take a walk as I lay?
Do whatever it takes!
And don't bother me with it!
Why can't you nip this in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you handle it?
And just nip this in the bud, baybay.
Why can't you take a walk as I lay?
Do whatever it takes!
And don't bother me with it!
Why can't you nip this in the bud, baybay.
And take my 'daze' away!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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