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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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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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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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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House Of Many Rooms
The sound of the clock ticking
How this old house creeps
Another storm tonight approaches
So restless I can't sleep
Dark filled big long rooms
Portrait of a lady in view
Corridor that never seems to end
From a distance I thought I seen you
House Of Many Rooms
The sound of heavy rain falling
Feelings sourround of another place
An oval mirror hangs on the wall
And there I thought I seen your face
The smell of wild flowers
A gentle breeze blows from outside
Heavy laced dark curtains
A vision of you before my eyes
House Of Many Rooms
poem by Suelynn Walters
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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 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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Tickity Tick Tock
can't sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
tick tock
tick tock
tickity tick
tock
tock
tock
the little hand drills a hole into my tired mind.
can't
tick
don't
tock
won't
tick
shan't
tock
never
tick
nev er
tock
never sleep
the clock keeps ticking
as my mind struggles to keep up
too many ticks.
too many tocks.
the clock's too loud
it echos through the silent night
too many thoughts
all at once
i need them on paper
scribble
tick
scribble
tock
that fucking clock
it never fucking stops
i cant fucking sleep.
a dog barks
tick
a car screeches
tock
a horse neighs...what?
i can't be that tired
i can't be hallucinating
i
can't
sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.
i need a digital clock
“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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Time Ticks Like Death Crawling In My Skin
at 6: 15
twilight,
darkness chokes the neck of day
i hear nothing
i tell the fence, steel and rusty, feeling death itself
on its rails,
that death makes no sound, it is only the time ticking
like the dripping of the water from the gutter
to the rocks
at the foot of the house
it is only its hands that move
round and round my body
feeling the irrationality of my wrist,
the mind closes like a window at night
the thoughts are turned off like the lights of the village
the self loses itself in this darkness
you hear nothing of its insanities
no one talks no one listens
at 8 o'clock in the evening all the eyes pretend that sleep is just nearby
in bed my hands argue
there is something wrong
the feet stamp against themselves at the foot of the bed
there are no changes without a bloodshed
that is still the philosophy of life
this world is not a playground for saints
this world spins upon its own foolishness
at the center is the hub of all selfishness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sound Of Your Cry
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
The clock by the bed is ticking too loud in the quiet night
I lie in the darkness thinking I must go before its light
Before you open up your eyes and you beg me to stay
Ill leave cause I cant stand to see you hurt this way
Sleep my love as I kiss you goodbye
Then I wont hear the sound of your cry
Though I knew the time was coming and our love would end somehow
I just couldnt bear to tell you exactly just when or how
I know we cant go on, that it was wrong to start
But if you wake up crying now, you know youll break my heart
Sleep my love as I kiss you goodbye
Then I wont hear the sound of your cry
Sleep my love as I kiss you goodbye
Then I wont hear the sound of your cry
Ohhhh, sleep my love as I kiss you, kiss you, kiss you goodbye
Then I wont hear the sound of your cry
Ohhhh, sleep my love as I kiss you
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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 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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The Independent Woman....
we are in this house
that from our sweat built
there are only two of us
in this house
which we have not really
called as home,
something's missing
you give me a hint
not the glass window or
the ceiling fan,
i know it but how can i
tell you?
i won't tell, it will hurt you,
we continue living
somehow
just the two of us in this house
we have our own careers
and every morning we rush to go on our different ways
the night is the only place
of our tryst
we manage to spend time for love
we sleep together and share
what we can
there will be a time when this house shall fall
because it is not a home for us all
there will be one morning when you will finally leave
and take away everything from me
and then i will write it on the wall
this house is never a home,
she never wanted a child to bear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Woman of the Roads
O, to have a little house!
To own the hearth and stool and all!
The heaped up sods against the fire,
The pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains
And pendulum swinging up and down!
A dresser filled with shining delph,
Speckled and white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day
Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,
And fixing on their shelf again
My white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night
Beside the fire and by myself,
Sure of a bed and loth to leave
The ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark,
And roads where there's never a house nor bush,
And tired I am of bog and road,
And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high,
And I am praying Him night and day,
For a little house - a house of my own
Out of the wind's and the rain's way.
poem by Padraic Colum
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An Old Woman of the Roads
O, to have a little house!
To own the hearth and stool and all!
The heaped up sods against the fire,
The pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains
And pendulum swinging up and down!
A dresser filled with shining delph,
Speckled and white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day
Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,
And fixing on their shelf again
My white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night
Beside the fire and by myself,
Sure of a bed and loth to leave
The ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark,
And roads where there's never a house nor bush,
And tired I am of bog and road,
And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high,
And I am praying Him night and day,
For a little house - a house of my own
Out of the wind's and the rain's way.
poem by Padraic Colum
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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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Sleep Forever
Down I lie
Sleeping all day
Still asleep for years
Surrounded by tears
Of friends, relations and further
But still sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
My eyes all closed extremely shut
My body is dry, straight and flat
As I lie in wooden house
Helpless like a dead mouse
Alone with no any other
As I sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
In my best black suit
My voice on mute
Waiting for the judgement
In a new environment
Coping with underground weather
As I sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
I've left all my worth
And ignored all my breath
Tell that I slept to each and every head
For that's a polite word to me as the dead
To come back I'll never
It's a sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
poem by Walani Ndhlovu
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When I'm trying to go to sleep and there are little noises, like a clock ticking or a fan squeaking, it drives me completely insane.
quote by James Lafferty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maria's Lullaby
An extract from a poem written for my grandchildren to Brahms Lullaby
Sleep; little mice sleep
Mother will watch over you
Shut your eyes and don't peek
Tomorrow the skies will be blue
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
No harm will come whilst I am here
The sun has gone down by the peak
When the day dawns it will appear
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Your father is watching the house
That no owl or cat dares to seek
Harm to creatures or mouse
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Tomorrow you run and play
Now is not time to speak
When you awake a new day
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Rest now for your own sake
Shut your eyes now be asleep
I will be here when you awake
Sleep; little mice sleep.
poem by Thomas Golding
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