I loathe the expression "What makes him tick." It is the American mind, looking for simple and singular solution, that uses the foolish expression. A person not only ticks, he also chimes and strikes the hour, falls and breaks and has to be put together again, and sometimes stops like an electric clock in a thunderstorm.
quote by James Thurber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
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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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
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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The society is problematic.
I am for freedom of expression
But I loathe it when it comes
From the people who are under me.
I am for strict obedience,
That I expect from those under me
Though I loathe practicing it.
I expect loyalty that I loathe showing.
That is why the society is problematic.
28.12.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Man With No Expression
There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
Have you ever ridden horses through a rainstorm
or led a lion through a busy street bazaar
There are many things I'd like to turn you on to
but somehow I feel you're safer where you are
If you're looking for examples to refer to
take a look around yourself I'm sure you'll find
there are many things to make your life much brighter
and I'd bet there's many more inside your mind
There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
But I've never seen this man laughing
and come to think of it I've never seen him cry
But I might by sitting hear him singing
By and by he'll stop and sigh
he'll feel a breeze and then begin to freeze
as he thinks goodbye
Have you ever ridden horses through a rainstorm
or led a lion through a busy street bazaar
There are many things I'd like to turn you on to
but somehow I feel you're safer where you are
There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
There's a man with no expression
man with no expression
man with no expression
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monitored or Not It Just Becomes Hypnotic
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.
Toxic.
Toxic.
And nothing exotic will make this erotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And people who want what they want wont stop!
Like the hands of a clock that ticks with a tock!
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Or the chopping heard of meat on a butcher's block!
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop.
Sssshop chop!
People like their beef stewed nice and hot!
And nothing exotic will make this erotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And people who want what they want wont stop!
Like the hands of a clock that ticks with a tock!
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
People think that happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit!
Just sit!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.
Toxic.
Toxic.
And the running and humming becomes toxic.
Toxic.
Toxic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Like people wishing happiness will come and just sit.
Just sit.
Just sit.
And all they have to do is just wait for it!
Like the hands of a clock that tocks with a tick.
Tock tick.
Tock tick.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
Hypnotic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
And monitored or not it just becomes hypnotic.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Clock On The Wall
The clock ticks on the wall
The same walls
That saw my family
Grow from childhood
To adulthood
The tick tock of time
Each stroke captures
A time a place
Were we visit back
In memories of old
A birth a death
A wedding of bliss
Each memory reflected
In the glass of a
Clock that sits upon the wall
As time ticks by
We look at our lives
What we have done
Where we have gone
Have we wasted any?
Precious time that
Makes our lives whole
So savor the moment
And make each moment count
poem by Kaila George
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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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Great literature, past or present, is the expression of great knowledge of the human heart; great art is the expression of a solution of the conflict between the demands of the world without and that within.
quote by Edith Hamilton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Without Expression
Written by: Terry Reid 1968
Have you ever ridden horses through a rainstorm?
Or a lion through a busy street bazarre?
There are many things I'd love to turn you on to
But somehow I feel they're safer where they are
Yes, there's a man I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
Yes, there's a man that I know
With no expression, darling
He's got none at all
Well, some people are inbound with infatuation
And some others spill depression as the law
From one's mother getting at no imagination
So beware then, maybe sin is at your door
Yes, there's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
Yes, there's a man I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
But you may never, never
See this man laughing
Come to think of it,
I've never seen him cry
But he might be sitting
And you hear him singing
And by and by he'll stop and sigh
Before his voice would even begin to speak
And he'd just cry
Yes, There's a man I know
With no expression, darling
He's got none at all
Yes, There's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
Have you ever, ever ridden horses through a rainstorm?
Or a lion through a busy street bazarre?
There are many things I'd love to turn you on to
But somehow I feel they're safer where they are
Yes, There's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
There's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Poets are Farmers Still
We poets are farmers still,
ploughing our mind in the invisible field,
whenever the mind makes the pen wield.
Sowing the seeds of emotion,
in the field of melancholy,
we reap the expression of joy
with our hearts happy and merry.
Gardeners we are to our core,
as we are happy to see our words bloom
amidst the reverberation of “Encores”.
Idioms, our fertilizers,
simile and metaphors, the growth enhancers.
The monsoon, the joy of spring,
when in the winds of expression,
our joy swings.
Words bearing a new look,
publicity reaping the best
out of our joyous moods.
Our alert mind, the scare crow,
driving the birds of plagiarism away,
helps the expression to bloom and grow.
Again we wait for the next showers,
hoping this time, the day will be ours.
We then sow the time awaited seeds of expression,
with the waves of time, the blooming showers.
Their timed sprout is now,
when you lovers of art,
read it aloud and feel it in your heart.
poem by Dr. Sandeep Kumar Kar
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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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An Old Chiming Clock
There's a clock on the shelf in the old lady's house
and I have a bad feeling inside,
for it ticks and tocks and it chimes every hour
and I fear it marks time till she dies.
She sits all day long by the fire in a shawl,
knitting in rhythm to its beat.
and she seems quite oblivious to time passing by
as she stops now and then to make tea.
It's dark in her house and the furniture is old
the curtains are brown where they've aged.
I'd really like to stay but it's getting very cold
and the clock on the shelf says it's late.
She rocks in her chair, by the fire, most days,
knitting and watching the TV
Sometimes she will hum a funny little song,
then she'll talk to the cat or to me.
I bring her a newspaper every day
and a loaf of bread twice a week
On Sundays I stay for a lovely piece of cake
that she bakes extra specially for me!
Someday I'll be old like the frail lady there
I'll sit in my house all day long
I might have a cat and a big rocking chair
but I wont have an old chiming clock.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Time, unfortunately, though it makes animals and vegetables bloom and fade with amazing punctuality, has no such simple effect upon the mind of man. The mind of man, moreover, works with equal strangeness upon the body of time. An hour, once it lodges in the queer element of the human spirit, may be stretched to fifty or a hundred times its clock length; on the other hand, an hour may be accurately represented on the timepiece of the mind by one second. This extraordinary discrepancy between time on the clock and time in the mind is less known than it should be and deserves fuller investigation.
Virginia Woolf in Orlando: A Biography
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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School's Out
Watching the ticking of the clock,
Tick-tock tick-tock
The clock that counts our days away.
Tick-tock tick-tock
Two minutes left and shrinking fast.
Tick-tock tick-tock
It’s summer time and school is out!
Thank you Sir for teaching us
Another year is gone.
Thank you Miss for showing us
The meaning of those songs.
Summer’s here, summer’s here,
School is out, school is out.
Although we’re glad it’s holidays
Thank you for the year!
Heavy feet trudging through
The sweet smelling grass.
A sneeze, a speck of hay fever,
Blame it on the class.
A fire bell with lots of groans,
Hurry up, we want to go home,
Ticks on registrations chart
Jimmy, here ma’am, no it’s Mark!
Yes Sir no Sir, three bags full Sir.
Left right, left right.
Emily, Amy, quiet now!
Tick-tock tick-tock
I’m too hot in here now Miss!
Tick-tock tick-tock
Sssshhh, there’s only seconds left.
Thank you Sir for teaching us
Another year is gone.
Thank you Miss for showing us
The meaning of those songs.
Summer’s here, summer’s here,
School is out, school is out.
Although we’re glad it’s holidays
Thank you for the year!
It's now the summer,
School is out,
The last day gone with and enormous shout.
Some of us you'll see again,
Some of us you won't.
But the thing that we want you to know is
Thank you for the year!
poem by Thistle Wargul
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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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Cuckoo Clock
We knew it must have been late
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We had no time to wait
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I went to light the fireplace
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I planned it all this way, and
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I snuggled close to her
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Her heart began to purr
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I held my breath inside, and then
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I put my arms around her
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
I put that birdie away
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
His cuckoo was gone to stay
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We both apologized for why
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Forgave that doggone cuckoo
I went back to her side
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I had to swallow my pride
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
The fire had almost died away
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We just got situated
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
I took that clock apart
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I broke the cuckoos heart
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Hell never bother us again
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We just forgot about him
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Middle of Madness
I can hear every tick of the clock.
My body is showered from nervous sweat.
Oh no my pencil tip broke,
and I must stop to sharpen it;
all the while losing time.
My mind has gone as blank
as the paper which I’m writing on.
Tick – Tock goes the clock as time moves on.
Times up the voice shots;
My hand goes limp and my pencil falls to
rest upon the edge of the paper.
I let out a big sigh of relief, for the madness has subside,
For my mid-terms are done.
Time Bomb
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock
Hands stilled upon the clock
Frozen on the midnight hour
End result of love gone sour
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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We should be eternally vigilant against attempts to check the expression of opinions that we loathe.
quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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