Quickened Is the Ticking
There is no more than the shadows of ghosts,
Appearing in the troubled eyes...
Of those perplexed by the days betraying,
The shredding of power bases dared.
Hour upon dreaded hour,
Ears are exposed to hear...
Each thunderous crack,
Of foundations splitting apart to entrap.
And quickened is the ticking of the clock,
Under watchful eyes nonstop.
As a flow of placing blame remains unchanged.
While a tossing about of accusations,
Refuses to cease a decreasing sanity increasing shame.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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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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Some Days
If you see dark skies in my green eyes
Its just that I cant find no cover
These ghosts that haunt me
They get me when they want me
And some days are better than others
I didnt sleep last night, I guess thats the price
You pay for a soul thats troubled
And curse or blessing Im here confessing
Some days are better than others
I have these moments of weakness
But Ive had a lifetime of strength
And I know I will defeat this
But thats not what my heart wants to think
And even tomorrow is tinged with sorrow
When one fool longs for another
This cant last forever, just like the weather
Some days are better than others
If you see dark skies in my sad eyes
It just means that I cant find no cover
These ghosts that haunt me
They take me when they want me
And some days are better than others
Some days are better than others
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knock By Mocking
Knock by mocking.
The clock will not stop.
Intimidate by shocking.
Your destiny becomes the one that's blocked.
Reduce those to tears and fears.
Make it clear the greatness of your power.
And every hour the ticking of the tock that is heard...
It is you that becomes devoured!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Insomnia
even the ticking of clock
is hardly audible
in that rumbling that
filled the sleepless night
there aren't any shadows
or ghosts let loose
except the beat of heart
and the breath beside
it's a silence difficult to swallow
i sit like a monument
the outline of body
absorbed by the darkness
...and then
i hear the crows ca...ca...ing
and then
i hear prayers
from the distant mosque
in spite of closed
doors and windows...
26jul2010
04.40hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Blind Them With Your Reach For The Stars
Why cling onto what people think?
Is that going to change?
Are you...
Going through any misgivings?
If you are...
Let that be a natural process.
People are going to voice their opinion.
And some do not care how that is done.
Or if what is done,
Hurts anyone.
They just want the taste of that venom,
Dripping from their lips.
Every second, minute and hour...
A ticking clock tocks.
Why try to stop what is a fixture,
Of one's routined appetite?
As long as you give 'power'
To that which decides, select and contemplates,
Your choices made in your life...
What is the point of saying whose life it is,
Lived?
You definitely are not the one living it.
And if you are...
Why cling onto what people think?
When in the environment of those who are thoughtless...
You do not have to pretend to do the same..
And not one of them are pretending to maintain a sanity.
Why stoop to that level?
When you can blind them with your reach for the stars!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Little Clock
Why in pensive ticking, silent thoughts
You wile your time away
When all around huge swelling bells
Toll the days away!
Every hour that announced may go
Your silent hands take hold
And though the ages chimed in ears
Yours they never behold.
If all the clocks the world had known
Had struck one strong big note,
They would never still your plodding tone
Nor the working hearth you alert.
Do you wonder, wonder, little clock
What makes the grandfather tick!
Or his aching belly in the depth of sorrow
Cries to the world it's sick!
Thirty million years and Pleistocene dark,
They are one split second short!
And whimpering suns that rise and flop
Have scarce stolen your tick or thought!
So, my little clock, my faithful clock
When I hear the tall town bell,
I'll shrug my shoulders, one tiny moment
And know that all is well.
Dedicated to Gertrud Widmayer, my landlady at Heidelberg
(©: T. Wignesan,1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Why the silence?
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the eyes may straggle and it's the hour of dreams
Or the mind may have been displaced and it's hour of reflections
Or the heart has been busy and it's hour of the groans
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the words have got lost in the midst of ideas
Or silence now become the language of the times
Or the tongue tie with a sunset
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or now no need for my presence
Or now I am a hidden friend
Or now I am not who I was
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or... And the story continue silently
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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I am not all that i am supposed to be
A cry a sigh a reason why
this world should be for me
No sanity, humanity
Can ever let me be
I close my eyes from troubled skies
Pretend I am elsewhere
But all around the folk I've found
Would rather I'm not there.
From days alone in mortgaged home
To Nights where sleep was lost
A price to pay for every day
It all comes down to cost.
The single tear then born from fear
Exposed your weaker side
A striking pose with runny nose
Your feelings you can't hide.
Confidence or on the fence
Our very soul at risk
No in-between for troubled teen
The punishment as brisk
So don't let bile turn people vile
Just be the friend you can
No medals earned for people spurned
Just love your fellow man.
poem by Dave James
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A Million Days
It's only been a hour since U left me
But it feels like a million days
If Eye had a magic wand eye could turn back time
Eye'd never let U go away
Eye didn't have the heart 2 say eye'm sorry
Now eye haven't got a heart at all
Eye could tolerate the pain if eye could talk 2 my best friend
But U won't even call
Eye'm contemplating pulling out my suitcase
And packing everything eye own
Eye didn't back then but eye do know now
Wherever U r is home
Eye'll crawl on my belly and beg U
But Ur so far away
U've only been gone 4 an hour
But it seems like a million days
It's only been a hour since U left me
Eye wish eye had somebody 2 blame
But Ur the perfect picture of what love should look like
And eye wanna b Ur frame
It's only been a hour but it feels like a million days
A million days
One hundred thousand million days
Come home, come home baby
Eye can't take this no more
Well, come home baby oh yeah
Baby, eye know eye shouldn't put my faith in heroes
But eye can't c U any other way
It's only been a hour since U left me girl
Feels like a million, feels like a million days
Come home baby
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old House
The candle flame flickers from a draft
on a dark and stormy night,
the floorboards creak with every step
as I move about the old house.
There is a chill in the air,
that seems to be everywhere,
and the clock’s tick sounds louder
as time passes hour to hour.
I hear the thunder rumble in the night
and see lightning illuminate the sky
and I stop and listen intently
to the yawns and groans that echo in my ears.
The old house’s settling graces
that are always heard in the quiet of the night.
My heart beats against my chest
as my imagination begins to fly.
I breath in the musty air within the room
where I am about to sleep.
Everywhere the shadows move
under the light of my flickering candle.
I know the old house is not haunted,
but my mind tells me other wise.
My imagination creates noises
where the dancing shadows fall.
I gaze about suspiciously
knowing that there is nothing there
as a branch outside taps my window
wanting to come in out of the storm.
The curtains move from a draft
as if something is sheltering behind them.
All of which make my mind
thinks of ghost stories I have been told.
In bed, I slip under the cover,
and then blow the candle out
as something gets on the bed
resting across my legs for the night.
My ears detect the slightest sound
in the blackness that surrounds me
and I am blind to everything
on this stormy moonless night.
The streaks of dawn break through the window
and the terrors of the night have fled.
I smile at my imagination
as I lay there with the cat upon the bed.
The old house is reputed to be haunted,
but take it from one who lives there
that the only ghosts are our imagination
and on dark and stormy nights it grows.
5 June 2010
poem by David Harris
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People can be in general pretty well trusted, of course--with the clock of their freedom ticking as loud as it seems to do here--to keep an eye on the fleeting hour.
Henry James in The Ambassadors, Book Fifth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Haven't You Called
I wait hour by hour
Minute by minute
Second by second
To hear the sound of ringing
I yearn to hear your voice
Only yours
Do you like to see me suffer?
Do you even know I suffer
I suffer so bad I want to gauge my eyes
I suffer so bad I want to slit my wrist in front of your eyes
I’m sick and tired if waiting by the phone just for you
I’m sick of seeing your pictures and not being able to touch you
I have to see you
I have to talk to you
Why haven’t you called?
poem by Brytanne Lee
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Time Ticks
Reach out and rewind your clock before
it melts away like the flow
of crimson from a dying animal
that slowly loses its color,
for your clock ticks like a metronome
keeping time until the very last
beat of the song. Mend
your clock until your last
note is sung and your breath
is taken away from you. Before
the shadow that advances like water
filling in every crack gets to you,
rewind your clock to stay alive
and rid yourself of the tang
of fresh blood and the menacingly silent
ticking of your clock. Simply wrap
your trembling hand around the cool,
slippery surface of your timekeeper,
and rid your world of the stench
of Death. Or will you simply awaken
to find your death a mere dream?
Will you find that the reality
of Life is only a frank lie?
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Mirabeau Bridge
Under Mirabeau Bridge the river slips away
And lovers
Must I be reminded
Joy came always after pain
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
We're face to face and hand in hand
While under the bridges
Of embrace expire
Eternal tired tidal eyes
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
Love elapses like the river
Love goes by
Poor life is indolent
And expectation always violent
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
The days and equally the weeks elapse
The past remains the past
Love remains lost
Under Mirabeau Bridge the river slips away
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Dangerous Game
Written: paul anderson, dave seaman
1:
Surely this cant be heaven
Though it feels like I died
I guess its just goodbye then
Theres nowhere left to hide
Cant you see you have the power
To make or break my day
Im getting weaker by the hour
All the time you stay away
Chorus:
Im so in alone I feel so lonely
Here on my own Ive lost my way
I never dreamt that it could hurt like this boy
Lost in the absence of your precious kiss
Why do I feel this pain
Loves just a dangerous game
2:
So where do I go from here
What do I have to do
Something to make you realize
Just how I feel for you
Dont you see you have the power
To make or break my day
Im getting weaker by the hour
Do you hear me when I say
Chorus:
Bridge:
But the feeling still remains
And the embers feed the flame
How I hope you feel the same
So I love will grow again
3:
Its only you see you have the power
To make or break my day
Im getting weaker by the hour
Cant you hear me say
I cant face the world today
Chorus:
End:
Wake up baby give yourself to me
Im the one for
Ill show you intimacy
Forever no question unbridle my affection
And you will feel my love explode
In your direction
End:
(repeat 2 times)
song performed by by Kylie Minogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After-Thought
I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
As being past away. -Vain sympathies!
For backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall not cease to glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish; -be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have power
To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,
We feel that we are greater than we know.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Quickened Endings Speeds The Change
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And games played once reliable...
No longer,
Remain the same.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
Knock down those blocks,
And...
Open up what's been locked.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
Don't try to cease them.
Hoping to keep...
Whole and complete in one piece,
A picture wanted perfect...
But,
Soon from you to leave.
Soon you will believe!
Quickened endings speeds the change.
Let what was known go!
And....
Don't try to cease this speed.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And games played once reliable...
No longer remain.
So...
Knock down those blocks,
And...
Open up what's been locked.
It's futile to keep clinging,
To meanings coming to a stop!
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And...
Don't try to cease them,
With a picture held to keep.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
And...
Don't try to cease them,
With a picture held to keep.
Quickened endings speeds the change.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fleeting moment
The moment is fleeting
The final hour is about to cone
What else do one needs to do
For all to be over and done?
We started early morning
Just before sun
Or shall we just allow nature
To take it's course, only
later to reconsider, and
Wished we had won?
The clock is ticking
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Los Flores de la Luna
No one in the world
Be quite like you
With honeysuckle eyes
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
I have seen the
Ever blooming lotus,
To grace these lips
Life’s most humorous
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
Above all others
You are a flower
Growing ever more
Vibrant hour by hour
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
All flowers will fade
As beauty will too,
But a beautiful mind
Will always remain new
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
poem by Jeffrey McCambridge
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