The City Clocks
THE City clocks point out the hours
They look like moons on their darkened towers-
And I who was shown my destination
Thrice, but have no sense of location,
Am back again at one or the other
Looming clocks that have changed the figure.
Moments a thousand have hurried over,
And the sought place is as far as ever.
The City clocks point out the hours
They look like moons on their darkened towers;
That Time and Place are a tangled skein
Their mingled strokes say over again.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Related quotes
Hearts are like clocks
Hearts work like clocks
Ticking and tocking
Turning and spinning
Hearts work like clocks
Fragile
Gentle
Hearts work like clocks
Some are broken
Some are fixed
Hearts are like clocks
Every one has been broken
Everyone has been fixed
Hearts are like clocks
They are all bonded by something
And
Someone
poem by Joelstine Gonzaga
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Near the Black Forest
Living in a house
near the Black Forest,
without any clocks,
she's begun
to listen to the walls.
Her neighbors have clocks,
not one
but twenty clocks apiece.
Sometimes
a claque of clocks
applauds
the passing of each day.
Listen to the walls
& wind your watch.
Poor love, poor love,
have they caught you
by the pendulum?
Do they think they've
got you stopped?
Have you
already gathered how,
living near the Black Forest,
she gets by
on cups of borrowed time?
poem by Erica Jong
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Turn
Seeing things, going places
Living out of suitcases
Everyday's like a dream
I find myself talking to shadows
Taking the train of youth back home again
'Cause I don't wanna be a hero
But I don't wanna be a zero
And I don't wanna sit here wasting time
I just want a place inside your mind
I wish that I could turn the clocks right back
It's easy to forget just what you've got
Seeing things, going places
Meeting all kinds of faces
Every day's like a scene
I find myself going through phases
Trying to find somewhere that I can be me
'Cause I don't wanna be your hero
But I don't wanna be a zero
But I don't wanna sit here wasting time
I just want a place inside you mind
I wish that I could turn the clocks right back
It's easy to forget just what you've got
I'm not trying to find an easy way
Picking up the pieces of a page
I'm looking for a place inside you're mind
'Cause I don't wanna leave it all behind
So come on, give in
There's no beauty in this pain
So come on, connect
We've gotta find ourselves again
'Cause I don't wanna be your hero
And I don't wanna sit here wasting time
I just want a place inside you're mind
I wish that I could turn the clocks right back
It's easy to forget just what you've got
I'm not trying to find an easy way
Picking up the pieces of the page
I'm looking for a place inside you're mind
'Cause I don't wanna leave it all behind
And I don't wanna sit here wasting time
I just want a place inside you mind
I wish that I could turn the clocks right back
It's easy to forget just what you've got
I'm not trying to find an easy way
Thinking of the pieces of the page
I'm looking for a place inside you're mind
'Cause I don't wanna leave it all behind
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 03: One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand
One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.
Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air,
These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.
Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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One
One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.
Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air, These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.
Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Time To Turn Back The Clocks
Time to turn back the clocks,
wishing I was twenty six,
and we where young again,
can't change time,
it is liner but one might wish it not to be,
twenty two or twenty six,
now looking at the pick up game,
going for the for the full deck soon,
one year shy of the change,
burn the ace of spades,
not ready for the grave,
time to turn back the clocks.
poem by Walter C. Edwards
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The Daily Act of Presence
Eight hours at work, commuting sometimes two,
the daily act of presence is assigned
its p[l]ace, weak celebration paid in kind,
traced race to waste bereft, much left to do.
Eight hours abed, at table almost two,
the daily act of presence, daily grind,
few dare opt out of as life's clocks unwind, -
such haste to conquer Time, whose ride’s askew.
Three hours of leisure, then, without ado,
day's drive departs, leaves most deprived of breath.
Who'd buck luck's trend bends in the end to Death
whose lock mocks motto 'to thyself be true! '
Three hours for chat, sex, net or television,
no wonder Man’s case-study for derision.
16 May 2001 revised 18 December 2008
robi03_0936_robi03_0000 SXX_EJZ
for previous version see below
The Daily Act of Presence
Eight hours at work, in travel up to two,
the daily act of presence is assigned
and celebrated weakly, paid in kind, -
so much to waste, so little left to do.
Eight hours abed, at table almost two,
the daily act of presence, daily grind,
few dare opt out as life's clocks unwind, -
such haste to conquer Time, whose ride’s askew.
Three hours leisure, then, without ado,
the day departs, leaves most deprived of breath.
Who'd buck the trend bends in the end to Death -
what sense retains 'unto thyself be true'?
Three hours for music, films or television –
no wonder Man’s case-study for derision!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Second thoughts for MY Lady Irene
To time my lady’s attitude,
that she, not clocks is in control
She makes it clearly understood
that she considers on the whole.
That time is only relative
to what she wants or needs to do.
She’s most unlikely to forgive.
anyone who thinks she ought to
be ruled by clocks like other folk.
Content to hurry up and wait
she treats the whole thing as a joke.
When circumstances make her late.
She sees no need to fume and fuss
and those who do as ludicrous.
28-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Second thoughts for MY Lady Irene
To time my lady’s attitude,
that she, not clocks is in control
She makes it clearly understood
that she considers on the whole.
That time is only relative
to what she wants or needs to do.
She’s most unlikely to forgive.
anyone who thinks she ought to
be ruled by clocks like other folk.
Content to hurry up and wait
she treats the whole thing as a joke.
When circumstances make her late.
She sees no need to fume and fuss
and those who do as ludicrous.
28-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Jody Girl
Words and music by bob seger
Jody girl, jody girl, spend your time today
Watching clocks spin the hours away.
Jody girl, you know the worlds
Goin around all day,
Thinking back to the things you used to say.
Didnt he put you on a pedestal,
When first you met?
Sure was some honeymoon,
Aint it hard to forget?
What ever happened to that crazy boy
With the love light in his eyes?
Used to bring you flowers every day.
Now you sit here on a cloudy afternoon
Watchin a soap opera on t.v.
Your old mans workin
And your kids are out playin
And youre not feelin too free.
Keep thinkin back, thinkin back to high school,
Them high school days.
All those wild, wild times you had.
All those boy friends, boy friends knockin on your door.
Jody girl, jody girl,
Spend your time today
Watchin clocks spin the hours away.
Jody girl, you know the worlds
Goin by all day.
Thinkin back to before you promised to stay.
Didnt he put you on a pedestal
When first you met?
Sure was some honeymoon -
Aint it hard to forget?
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Time
Canyons and mesas
have no use for time-pieces;
moments are measured in blowing dust,
hours by how far of a walk it is
to the nearest water hole,
days by sun's rise flowing into sun's set,
season's by birds migration back and forth.
No calendars to pressure,
no must do list,
only survive
and fully live.
In the world
where alarm clocks rule human beings
no one ever truly wakes up;
kept in a daze of capture regrets, and
bound there by unnecessary needs,
that their hearts quietly contend
are worthless.
Man's obsession with time
is an almost unforgivable vice,
that like alcohol addiction
has done more harm than we shall ever understand.
But, out there where the ghost of a warrior
still swims the ruddy river free,
nothing has changed.
This is the land
without time.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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I Have Been Through The Gates
His heart to me, was a place of palaces and pinnacles and shining towers;
I saw it then as we see things in dreams,--I do not remember how long I slept;
I remember the tress, and the high, white walls, and how the sun was always on the
towers;
The walls are standing to-day, and the gates; I have been through the gates, I have
groped, I have crept
Back, back. There is dust in the streets, and blood; they are empty; darkness is over
them;
His heart is a place with the lights gone out, forsaken by great winds and the heavenly
rain, unclean and unswept,
Like the heart of the holy city, old blind, beautiful Jerusalem;
Over which Christ wept
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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One Hundred Moons
On the battle turfs of a vernacular
hunger, the hikes were killing
the uncertain values. Committing suicide
was a regular feature.
To pay off the debts of a flag.
By using pesticides on unsuspecting
guests of tomorrow.
The clocks were set one century back.
What could be done of an anonymous
terror bomb placed in a lunchbox?
Do we wait for an accident?
Who will open it?
All summer, one hundred moons
I will wash your face
to read the command.
Who had put the stiletto in your hand?
poem by Satish Verma
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I think that in the future, clocks won't say three o'clock anymore. They'll just get right to the point and rename three o'clock 'Pepsi.'
quote by Doug Coupland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sojourner
Are your herds all dead
That you walk the street alone?
And do you have your own bed
When the toiling day is done?
City nomad without his herd
Wanderer, pilgrim of the mind
Wont you rest your tired head
You herdsman of a kind?
Were your ancestors cattle rearers
Who sought where grasses were green?
But you have mingled with the city dwellers
Leaving your herds either dead or lean
Tell me, city nomad
Why did you leave your father's way
And choose the city, tis' sad
That you roam the streets day by day
Or are you of the gypsy race
And your clan, minstrels and magicians?
Who wander from place to place
Sleeping and waking in caravans
Foxes have holes, and bird the trees
Do you have any to call your home?
Some live in houses, some in tents
Why do choose the streets to roam?
I am but a sojourner in every city
Seeking my God and the crown
And may he lead me to that heavenly city
A better place to call my own! !
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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A Second Ago
A second ago I was young.
Everyone else looked old.
I was always among
The newest in the fold.
Clocks seemed never to run.
Mirrors were frozen in time.
I was busy with fun
In a world of the sublime.
Then that second passed by.
All changed before my eyes.
No time to ask how or why
So quickly new moments arise.
Now all young surround me.
I strain to hear what they say.
Waste not a moment since I see
Clock and mirror slipping away.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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An Impression
I heard the city time-bells call
Far off in hollow towers,
And one by one with measured fall
Count out the old dead hours;
I felt the march, the silent press
Of time, and held my breath;
I saw the haggard dreadfulness
Of dim old age and death.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Forever Changed
Train entering the city
I lost myself and never came back
Took a trip around the world and never came back
Black silhouettes, crisscrossed tracks, never came back
Forever changed
Forever changed
You might think Im frivolous, uncaring and cold
You might think Im empty, depends on your point of view
Society andy who paints and records them
The high and the low, never turn back
Forever changed
Forever changed
Forever changed
Forever changed
Got to get to the city, get a job
Got to get some work to see me through
My old lifes behind, I see it receding
My lifes disappearing, disappearing from view
Hong kong and I was changed
Burma, thailand and I was changed
A few good friends to see me through
Henry and brigid to see me through
Only art to see me through
Only heart to see me through
My old lifes disappearing, disappearing from view
Forever changed
Forever changed
I was forever changed
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Age
It may be, when this city of the nine gates
Is broken down by ruinous old age,
And no one upon any pilgrimage
Comes knocking, no one for an audience waits,
And no bright foraging troop of bandit moods
Rides out on the brave folly of any guest,
But weariness, the restless shadow of rest,
Hoveringly upon the city broods;
It may be, then, that those remembering
And sleepless watchers on the crumbling towers
Shall lose the count of the disastrous hours
Which God may have grown tired of reckoning.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Atlantis
In that ocean.
Wide eyed and deeper in your gaze,
And bluer than the bright that's in the cave.
There is a city,
Came out from you, Atlantis
In ruins, sunken below the waves
But in the city,
Where there is no one.
What's the point of being free, eh?
When there is nothing there to tie me down,
Oh, no more here.
The bluest city,
Covered in coral and coral,
On sea chests,
And sealed Jamaician tales.
There is nobody
To count the soldiering meandering whales,
With a shoal of herring amongst the sails.
But in the city,
Where there is no one.
What's the point of being free, eh?
When there is nothing there to tie me down,
Oh, no more here.
There is the city Atlantis.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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