Bones ache, sleep evades…
Oh, grandfather clock strikes twelve;
Someone snores next door.
Its same time, but different strokes
One rich but the other broke.
tanka by Mamta Agarwal
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Related quotes
Seasons of Life- Haibun! ! ! !
I gather dry leaves,
Autumnal hues still alive;
Fresh flowers fade, wilt.
Poppies dance in breeze,
Bright red nodding their head,
On crowded pathway.
Hot winds are blowing,
Stay indoors, sip lemon tea;
Await evening breeze.
Pomegranate-
Arils the shade of garnets,
Jewels, on my plate.
Sun is westward bound,
I gaze from a rock on beach…
Silence, despite crowd.
Slowly, darkness creeps,
Water reflects temple lights
On the banks of Ganges.
Bones ache, lie awake;
Oh, grandfather clock strikes twelve.
Someone snores, next door.
A storm is raging,
Not alone in my misery;
I have some company.
Have a fitful sleep,
Someone nudges my elbow-
Morning smiles, tip toe…
Sun’s rays light up room
Slowly lifts weariness, gloom
Snug, pull up my quilt.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Nurse's Watch
From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'
The moon it shines,
My darling whines;
The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer
The sick both far and near.
God knoweth all;
Mousy nibbles in the wall;
The clock strikes one:--like day,
Dreams o'er thy pillow play.
The matin-bell
Wakes the nun in convent cell;
The clock strikes two:--they go
To choir in a row.
The wind it blows,
The cock he crows;
The clock strikes three:--the wagoner
In his straw bed begins to stir.
The steed he paws the floor,
Creaks the stable door;
The clock strikes four:--'tis plain
The coachman sifts his grain.
The swallow's laugh the still air shakes,
The sun awakes;
The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone,
He puts his stockings on.
The hen is clacking,
The ducks are quacking;
The clock strikes six:--awake, arise,
Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.
Quick to the baker's run;
The rolls are done;
The clock strikes seven:--
'Tis time the milk were in the oven.
Put in some butter, do,
And some fine sugar, too;
The clock strikes eight:--
Now bring my baby's porridge straight.
poem by Clemens Maria Brentano
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Identity Of Moment
At twelve of night philosopher thinks with a cup of tea
At twelve of night exuded in dream
At twelve of night cloud of blue sky burns
At twelve of night strip by strip waves fall to ground
At twelve of night full moon flashes of light
At twelve of night horn of car strikes on door
At twelve of night couple enters into dwell of love
At twelve of night loud cry of progenitors comes
At twelve of night machinegun of devilish roars
At twelve of night whistles of train strikes
At twelve of night the red sun of monument raises.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Almost Twelve Noon
it is the silence
that i shall wait
when the clock strikes
twelve noon
when everyone goes out
of the door
and when i am left alone
talking
with my thoughts
it is perfect for me
when i begin to look
around
and find out that this world
is too small
for departures
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Seven o'clock
When the clock strikes 7
i say to myself that time sure does flly
so fast that i don't even realize wahts going in my mind
i say why does time fly when the clock strikes 7
it dosent make sense because when i look up from my homework
i say it's 8 o'clock and my mom will be home soon
like my aunt use to say time fly so fast
that when i fall asleep its now morning and im starting a new day
wow time really does fly!
copyright 2009
poem by Nalaysia Cannonier
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Twelve O'Clock
Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Grandfather Clock
The old grandfather clock stood in the hall
It kept time for us all
Through winter, spring, summer, fall
When I was young I would say
The big hand is on five today
and that's how I told time that way
As I progressed in age
Time was read in the correct usage
And time became more of a gauge
Time to go to school and learn
Time to work for what you earn
Time to leave no stone unturned
Time for weddings dresses worn
Time for children to be born
Time for graduation gowns adorned
Time for me, time for you
Time to see things through
Time for living and dieing too
The old grandfather clock still keeps time
Counting the hours that life is prime
So make the most or be left behind
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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A Homeland
My beautiful Armenia
that since the day
i never saw
Though It was my
dream since my
chidhood days
The longing and the
love of a mother land
Melted with ache and passion
always were there
At the deepest
corner in my childish
heart
The love and the
ache of being away
from the home
gave me the
inspiration to write
The first poem i've wrote was about my motherland
Yet all that I knew
about my home
i've learn it from
the history books
I've watched the
beauty of my home
with the eyes of my soul
I figured it in my mind
I saw it with the eyes
of my soul and i
admired
Every time a friend
asks me
'what do you want from
homeland'?
I answer
'.A bottele of an air
and a piece of
stone'
From the grounds of
my home.
To kiss the ground
of my grandfather's land
To smell and breath
the pure air
The memorial lands
rich in history
Where my
grandfather's
memories lie.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Elusive Sleep
Sleep evades me in the night
I listen to sounds make thoughts
which play upon my mind
in the dark of the room I lay
waiting for serenity to come
time passes slowly
as though held imperfect
its warm, too warm for comfort
and too cold beyond the bed sheet
the day has been long, the body aches
still, still sleep evades me
and those sounds, each shadow
play upon the mind more and more
restless and anxious for sleep
to rest, to dream, to be at peace
the elusive sleep in the night
where thoughts consume me
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Ache, Ache, Ache
Stay calm
Put your mask of indifferent
Stay in control
You have gone through the worse
Stand tall
Throw the pain to the wall
Spread the smile
Even to deceive a little longer
Before it consumes you
And ache, ache, ache
Before it defeat you
With ache, ache, ache
Whisper you to break
For ache, ache, ache
Pushing you to the world
Full ache, ache, ache
Keep moving
Your body needs the adrenaline
Keep struggling
You don't want to end here
Glare angrily
It's better than being a hopeless
Act strongly
Do not let it weakens your will
Because it starts throbbing
An ache, ache, ache
Because you don't need pity
Though ache, ache, ache
They waiting you to fall
By ache, ache, ache
And wish you to slowly die
In ache, ache, ache
Focus on your duty
Forget other unnecessary mind
Carry your burden
Even you have to endure it forever
Brace the inevitable
Never let anything get you down
Give up is losing
Whatever left for you to own
But it keeps reminding you
Till ache, ache, ache
But it rounds you to the corner
To ache, ache, ache
You don't know where comes
This ache, ache, ache
And how to stop or numb
The ache, ache, ache
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Astronomy
(originally recorded by blue oyster cult)
The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst
Out at you from their hiding place
Like acid and oil on a madmans face
His reasons tend to fly away
Like lesser birds on the four winds, yeah
Like silver scrapes in may
Now the sands become a crust
And most of you have gone away, then youre gone away
Ah, come susie dear, lets take a walk
Just out there upon the beach
I know youll soon be married
And you want to know where winds come from
Well, its never said at all
On the map that carrie reads
Behind the clock back there you know
At the four winds bar, mm, yeah
Yeah
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Four winds at the four winds bar
Two doors locked and windows barred
One door left to take you in
The other one just mirrors it
Hey!
Hey! yeah!
Hey! yeah!
Hey!
Ooh, in hellish glare and inference
The other ones a duplicate
The queenly flux, eternal light
Or the light that never warms
Yes, the light that never, never warms
Yes, the light that never, never warms
Never warms, never warms
The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst
Out at you from their hiding place
Miss carrie nurse and susie dear
Would find themselves at four winds bar
Its the nexus of the crisis
And the origin of storms
Just the place to hopelessly
Encounter time and then came me
Yo!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Call me desdenova, eternal light
These gravely digs of mine
Will surely prove a sight
And dont forget my dog, fixed and consequent
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy (astronomy) - a star, yeah
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sleep
Sleep
With good bed...
At least sleep
Sleep good...
Body ache...
Back ache...
Simply remove
The bed at your cot
With sleep well...
Sleep every time
Not good...
Day time
Not good...
Better night time
Sleep...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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My Gems Are Not Here For That
Do what you wish and with who or whom.
But you are not here to dose on my composed prose.
If you need to read something that aids your sleep...
Don't you dare nod,
On any of my precious stanzas.
Or blink an eye on my rhymes.
I did not take my time,
To attract your snores.
My gems are not here for that.
You can take your naps next door!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bad Dreams (Children)
In my dream, I heard a tiger
so I hid behind a tree.
I was frightened he would eat me up
'cause he roared and roared at me.
I woke up scared and sweaty,
thought I'd sleep with Mom and Dad,
but when I went in their room,
Dad was snoring really bad.
I climbed between them anyway
with the blanket pulled up tight.
I closed my eyes and wished real hard.
No more tigers, not tonight!
I remembered what my daddy said,
that your bed is like a book.
If the page on the right is scary,
turn left and take a look.
I turned to my left and fell asleep.
The tiger wasn't there...
but in its place, and growling L O U D
was a big old grizzly bear!
This time, I woke up shaking!
That really scared me bad!
I had turned both left and right
and they were the only turns I had!
Daddy's snoring like a buzz saw.
How will I go to sleep?
I'm not too good at counting yet
or I'd count myself some sheep.
I thought about his snores some more...
hmmm, Daddy sounds just like a bear.
On second thought, a tiger, too,
so I got out of there.
I closed their door behind me,
then I tiptoed quietly,
and shut the door to MY room, too.
No more roaring snores for me!
The Grandfather Clock
The old Tudor house was half-timbered and gaunt,
Was gloomy and dim in the hall,
And time had stood still, since my father was born,
In the clock that had stood by the wall.
Its pendulum hung, never making a sound
I'd never so much heard it chime,
But then, on the day that my Dad passed away,
Its tick had begun to keep time.
My mother was dead and my father was gone,
The half-timbered house passed to me,
I wandered its passages, sad and distraught,
As lonely as one man could be!
I'd sit in the lounge and I'd read by a lamp
With the rest of the house cloaked in gloom,
And heard the dread tick of that grandfather clock
As it echoed in time through the room!
Each tick was a portent, the passing of life,
Each tock brought me nearer to death,
I'd listen for noises, the timber that creaked,
Sit terrified, holding my breath!
The warm summer showers pit-pattered the thatch,
The wind would sough-sough at the eaves,
And summer passed quickly to autumn that year
In a thick golden carpet of leaves.
I never once wound up that grandfather clock,
I waited for it to wind down,
But like a tap dripping, it never would stop
I felt I was starting to drown.
I found in the library's masses of books
An ancient collection of tomes,
And one that was covered in leather, I looked,
And read, and I wished that I'd known!
Sir Richard FitzWalter had lived in that house,
And he it was, ordered the clock,
He'd fought against Cromwell for Charlie the First
‘Til Charles lost his head on the block!
He'd fled to the country, was caught in the house,
And hanged on the tree by the gate,
His wife, Lady Mary, had begged for his life
But the Roundheads had jeered: ‘You're too late! '
She left them, went sobbing back into the hall
And she clung to the grandfather clock,
But just as her husband, his heart ceased to beat,
She heard that the ticking had stopped.
That clock never ran for the rest of her life,
But showed just a quarter to four,
The time that Sir Richard was pinioned and hung
At the gate, on the tree by his door.
The clock began ticking when Mary had died,
Had taken her grief to the grave,
And each generation it stopped or began
When the master was born, or was saved!
I knew then the clock had been ticking for me
And I wanted it never to stop,
I'd wake in the night and I'd tremble to hear
If my heart was still pounding, or not.
Then one winter's night I was restless, and rose
From my sleep, and walked down to the hall,
A Cavalier soldier stood facing the clock,
Adjusting the pendulum pawl;
Resetting the weights on that grandfather clock
So my heart would continue to beat,
From that time to this, I have lived here content
While Sir Richard returns as I sleep.
6 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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In April
I sit on my pillow
My cat on my head
I hear your voice, boy
And cant forget
Your kisses were cold and
Full of loneliness
Hold deep sadness
With my hands
I wont be here - I wont be there
I will write another story
And my tears
Will create
Will create a lake of sorrows
Chorus:
But in april it sounds like love
When you call
You call my name
You call my name
But in april it sounds like love
When you call
You call my name
You call my name
You call my name
The door is open now
I have to go
The moon shines brighter
Than it did before
The clock strikes twelve
Theres no time
Time to sleep
Well go upstairs
Straight to the sky
Im not here - Im not there
Took a ball point pen to write you
And my tears
They create
They create a lake of sorrows
Im not here - Im not there
Took a ball point pen to write you
And my tears
They create
They create a lake of sorrows
Chorus
The door is open now
I have to go
The moon shines brighter
Than it did before
Was not here - was not there
song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hello, Night! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
As the twilight hour strikes,
I eagerly await the night.
My heart beat never rises,
Nor am I overcome with fright.
As the darkness slowly creeps,
And nature gives subtle cues to sleep;
For once, I don’t pay heed,
Just tune to my instincts.
For the night is my friend,
For me, it’s a Godsend.
It’s the night alone that keeps
Its appointment with me.
Noiselessly it comes, as I wait
We grin and make eye contact;
Hug, hold and warmly embrace,
I feel The presence of grace.
Darkness, silence and night-
My soul stirs and lights,
I hear the sound of my breath,
And stretch out on bed full length.
At midnight, when grandfather clock
Strikes a dozen times- ding dong, ding dong.
I quietly take a blanket and turn on my side,
Close my eyes, hesitantly… with a playful smile.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Heavenly Thought
I had a thought, that if I got to Heaven
And knocked on the 'pearly gates' at seven,
St Peter would say ' Hold it there'
We haven't got a place to spare,
Not at least, until the clock strikes ten
Then we would consider you again.
Now, if you would like to take a seat
Outside somewhere, and rest your feet,
We'd definitely be able to take you through
When the clock strikes half past two.
But if by chance a 'harp' you play,
There'd be a place for you, right away!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Insomnia
Everyone is asleep
silence all around, not a peep,
Yet here i sit wide awake
can't sleep again even though its late,
Sleep evades me all the time
that why I'm up writing this rhyme.
Wanting a sleep so deep and natural
but its floating away down stream, like a Spanish mackerel,
really who knows how long I'll be up
maybe out to the kitchen for a warm tea cup
Now what else is there to say,
But looks like this could be a long day.
poem by Taylor Knapczyk
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