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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The Death of the Hindu
Chin cupped
on the ancient bone
of his elbow
he spread five fingers to the world:
and like a cat on zither strings
the hoarse voice of his fathers
issues from his forgotten children:
now he picks one tick
from the back of that suckling cow:
his failing fingers
find not the strength to crush
Not a single eyelash twitters
pass him by
pass him
'Wake not a man asleep
And tell him he has
Nothing to eat.'
(©: T. Wignesan - Paris,1957; from T. Wignesan. Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in 'Forum Academicum', University of Heidelberg,1957)
poem by T. Wignesan
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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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I saw a tree a-falling...
I saw a tree a-falling
a-falling down on me
I had no way to turn
it was close on me
I thought it was a plot
to force me out
I knew I could not
even hold it or shout
It was a tree I sheltered
on many a longing day
And now it was so altered
coming to make me pay
I asked it why it longed
to touch its upmost brim
When all around no foe
turned the sun down dim
I touched its bark to hear
I thought I heard a cry
Two leaves it shed on me
and brushed its bark up high
I asked it why it stood
alone and left to brood
It shook its sticks in emphasis
as if to say it was good
(©: T. Wignesan - Kuala Lumpur,1957, from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: Rayirath Publications,1961.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Coal-Truck
I am a coal-truck
Carrying gold dust.
Someone threw some
Coal-dust upon
My gold-dust.
I am a coal-truck
In a gold mine.
Someone struck a coal vein
And piled me full in vain.
I am a coal-truck
Covered in subterranean dust.
Someone shovelled my soil
And found an ancient bone
All coiled.
I am a coal-truck
Waiting for the rain.
The sun is my rail
The night my shed.
I am a coal-truck
Rumbling all the way.
Wash me in the rain-storm
And fill me full of coke
Until I choke.
(©: T. Wignesan,1957 - Pub. in 'Forum Academicum', Heidelberg University,1957; from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Unheeded in the spread of his name, quaking
Unheeded in the spread of his name, quaking
Through the knit brow cuddling the sombre eye
Twice buckled into the couch of his yearning
The mouldy cast of unsculptured hands, moulting
In the surging sweaty cries' unexpected sigh
Sooner lost than won with unrenewed longing
Every day, every night in chastened haste, calling
That one face, one hand trembling on bosomy thigh
Through all the twigs of his knotty brooding
Mighty log in the dismembered chips, raking
In uneasy orgasms of a protracted lie
The woman clasped in the memory revolting
Fleshy hair to press, hovering nostrils, drinking
In the incensing vapours, and that face a wry
Screaming in the rubbing spasm, a bloody cursing
All, all and more, and the biting shame, clawing
Now at the name, silently growing, that shy
Child of old hopefully shared and lingered moaning
(© T. Wignesan,1957; first pub. in 'Forum Academicum', University of Heidelberg,1957; from the collection: T. Wignesan. Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
poem by T. Wignesan
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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
The Gnat Nebulae
Full pummelling fisticuffs
Stitch over stitch
In and out
Imperceptibly kaleidoscopic
Swirling from ear to ear
Sporadic
Thrumming mystical notes
Notes of whisper
Whisper in the ear
Now a bothered swish of clawing
Cleaving slipping fingers
Immalleable rolling universal ball
Microcosmic needle into
Macrocosmic wool all
Silently thudding kneading pulling
Sealing a sin all opened unforgiven
Eternally whispering to a few
And never really heard
Pummelling sewing the invisible centre
Round and round the darkless sun
Only the end that began
Only a scratch and a bother
What bother to scratch
For scratching bothers
Bothers a scratch
Scratch and not to bother
Scratch Scratch Scratch
Dedicated to J.C. Alldridge
(©: T. Wignesan - Paris,1957; from T. Wignesan. Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in 'Forum Academicum', University of Heidelberg,1957)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Automation
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
steal lady of the night.
She sits alone while birdies flock
to bid her a goodnight.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
the world's automated
and the lady in a metal cloak
will live alone, unaided.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
her hard drive stirs again
and while I type this poem,
so dies my mighty pen.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
so true, so true the fear
that life as we once knew it
has slowly disappeared.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock
we victims of our time.
The last bird flies above us
while all of nature dies.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Tired sick.
When you don't have something that is what is everyone craves,
Then the trouble begins in waves. '
The clock loudly and soundly does tick
While you get tired sick.
You go do something that depends on others
Better do quick lest disagree your mothers.
Rhyme does you no then good,
Seems like that something is the only food.
The world beats around in their newly acquired fun
While you sit alone there, one and only one.
The clock loudly does tick
making you sick; really really sick
Tired of the fun, you go sit one,
While the music subsides and leaves you then,
With what you want.
The clock does tick,
Making you tired sick.
poem by Pablo Picasso
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Pied à terre
Once within a break in brambly fields
something stirred its fearful head in sleep:
Though it be woman or child, work or vision
something that dares not hold me in derision
But till that lingering day bares your face
with prating breath I bide my bane
And even as I clear the brake, shift the trunks
hosannas crop up before you every dawn.
And someday as I have you in my arms
in osculation's brimming nirvanic bliss,
May I not then turn away empty handed
though warm in your inane atmanic face
Then as I wend my kindly way down the road
pitch my tent on this terraqueous matter-mind
Should I then go looking for my immortality
through doors that are forever locked to me
Or could I then lie upon nescience' impervious skies
upon some smoky grass unmapped or husbanded
And hear the awakening cries of spring born trees
then get up to wind my way to some factory blast
(©: T. Wignesan,1957, from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
poem by T. Wignesan
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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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Sequel to Grandfather's Clock
Once again have I roamed thro' the old-fashioned house,
Where my grandfather spent his ninety years.
There are strangers in charge, and the change they have wrought--
Oh! it saddens me, even to tears.
Dear old clock! when they found you were speechless from grief,
Then they went and swapped you off, case and all.
For that vain, stuck-up thing
(tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick),
For that vain, stuck-up thing on the wall.
Grandfather sleeps in his grave;
Strange steps resound in the hall!
And there's that vain, stuck-up thing
(tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick),
There's that vain, stuck-up thing on the wall.
While we talked of the old clock they all ran it down.
Tho' they claimed that it couldn't be made to run.
It was useless they said-- it was quite out of style;
Built, no doubt, just about the year One.
And the words echoed round, with a faint, mocking sound,
As if some one gave assent to it all;
'Twas that vain, stuck-up thing
(tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick),
'Twas that vain, stuck-up thing on the wall.
From the clock-peddler's cart in the junk-shop it went,
Where its cog-wheels were sundered one be one;
And the brass-founder joked as they writhed in the flames--
"Melt'em up," says he; "then they will run."
There is grief in my heart, there are tears in my eyes.
Yet indignantly the sight I recall
Of that vain, stuck-up thing
(tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick),
For that vain, stuck-up thing on the wall.
"An extremely hard case!" said the junk-dealer's wife,
As she carried it for kindling wood and sighed--
That mahogany case, with its quaint, figured face,
Which so long was my grandfather's pride.
"There is hope for the small; there's a change for us all;
For the mighty ones of Time, they must fall!"
Says that vain, stuck-up thing
(tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick),
Says that vain, stuck-up thing on the wall.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Snake Charmer and the Hamadryad
Piccolo and been-throated pibroch
Dilating dimpled hood
Spreading photometric darkroom eyes
Waxing waxing matching
Venomous lip to music's piping lip
O Queen of stung dragon-mouthed Po
Dancing girl of nuanceless ancient reliefs
The apotheosis Brahman curling on the neck
Must you now sink sink
Dread watched
Spineless
Into the winding womb wickerwork
Watching watching pipe-eyed watching
Until you slip
Over the sill of the pipe and the lip
Anathema!
Amorphous piteous anathema!
Amulet of Siva!
Licking the boneless air companionless
Then slithering to lie on the trodden path
Must you have this one last lick
A lick that
Stills the
Unheeding
Child astray
Or ripple tailless
In the reedy gust
To the squat charmer's
Hypnotical pibroch
(©: T. Wignesan - Paris,1957; from T. Wignesan. Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in 'Forum Academicum', University of Heidelberg,1957)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Pleading For More Time
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
And I don't want to be the one,
Pleading for more time.
And I don't want to be the one,
With a trying of time to find...
When it's gone!
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
And I don't want to be the one,
Pleading for more time.
And I don't want to be the one,
With a trying of time to find...
When it's gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tick-Tock
Tick-tocking in my ear
My dollar clock I hear.
'Arise,' it seems to say:
'Behold another day
To grasp the golden key
Of Opportunity;
To turn the magic lock--
Tick-tock!
'Another day to gain
Some goal you sought in vain;
to sing a sweeter song,
Perchance to right a wrong;
To win a height unscaled
Where yesterday you failed;
To brave a battle shock--
Tick-tock!'
You measure out my breath,
Each beat one nearer death . . .
O God, grant unto me
A few more years to be,
That somehow I may prove
My loyalty and love:
Wind up this worn-out clock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock!
poem by Robert William Service
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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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Souls
It all started here, she was a girl form the midwest
He was a stranger in a strange land
Same old story
He came for the glory
She came looking for a young mans hand
But they found bright lights
And endless nights
And men just used her innocent ways
He found it all so pretty, hypnotized by the city
They lost sight of the reason
They lost count of the days
And they were two souls searching for each other
One spirit looking for the other
Caught between a hard hard place and a rock
Two souls searching for heaven
Rolling the dice looking for a seven
To the tick, tick, ticking of time
Gotta beat the clock
Too many nights on the ledge
He acquired a knife-edge
Still the city didnt acquiesce to his demands
Some nights she cried for pity in the heart of the city
The city smacked her hands
He met her one endless night
Her eyes had a light
There was something familiar about the smell of her skin
He held her tighter and tighter
As he danced inside her
She knew from the moment that she let him in
Theyd been two souls searching for each other
One spirit looking for the other
Caught between a hard hard place and a rock
Two souls searching for heaven
Rolling the dice looking for a seven
To the tick, tick, ticking of time
Gotta beat the clock
Beat the clock
Beat the clock
Beat the clock
Two souls searching for each other
One spirit looking for the other
Caught between a hard hard place and a rock
Two souls searching for heaven
Rolling the dice looking for a seven
To the tick, tick, ticking of time
Gotta beat the clock
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Monotony Of A Clock
I envy the monotony
Of every single clock I see
I behold the mystery of the clock
I'm jealous of each tick and tock
The variations of its hands
Are much greater than in my plan
All that changes in my life
Is how sad I am from day to night
If you listen carefully
You may just see what I see
What plans have you for our short-lived time?
Do you sit like me and rhyme?
Go out, be free
Let no schedule hinder thee
Wonder not upon the clock
I surely tell you, it won't stop
Unto our friend, you should not mock
But instead, respect this wise old clock
If for nothing else than this
It showed you the pain of repetitiveness
poem by Scott Marek
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Me Against the Clock
Running out of space,
Running out of time,
I must escape,
Before I lose my Frame of mind,
The clock it keeps going,
But where am I,
Still stuck on one,
When I should say goodbye,
The clock: Tick, Tick, Tick,
Why do I stay,
When He's such a D**k,
Yet, I Feel Happy,
I must Break Free,
I must Let go,
Cuz this aint me,
I should have known,
The clock strikes 12,
And the Fairy Tale Ends,
I'm still myself,
But Now Forver Broken.
poem by Dezere DeLaRoca
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It Makes Me Sick
It crushes me to see it I try to keep a smile
Even though it doesn't even last a while knowing I will never Have you the thought makes me sick each wakeing moment when you leave I'm watching the clock tick
Idk why the pain seems to subside when I get a blade an start to slit my wrist.
I'm sick of it, be okay for you when I'm really not, trying to be happy even though its asking a lot
I'm done I'm sick of everytime I see you my heart does a flop an flip.
I wish you two the best
Even though it really really makes me sick.
poem by Bleeding Willow
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