Messenger at Midnight (circle and rectangle of waiting)
1
12 o clock
in a needle leap
the imperfect half of
the most perfect absurdity
is sabotaged.
/
12 o clock
A blood stained hand of
a clock may make
the next half an hour,
bloody
2
A boy
with an angel face
may come through this
dark rectangle,
dropping rain from his coat,
he may say
no....
insp ired by Samuel Becket, especially his television play 'Ghost Trio'
augustine Sebastian
poem by Augustine Sebastian
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Related quotes
At Six O'clock
I heard the Ave Maria at six o'clock,
Today hear crimes on the radio at six o'clock.
I watched The Little Princess on tv at six o'clock,
Today watch explicit sex at six o’clock.
I was playing catch-up with my friends at six o'clock,
Today lonely children play atari at six o'clock.
I drank hot soup at six o’clock,
Today guys smoke crack at six o'clock.
I prayed to the guardian angel at six o'clock,
Today they kill people at six o'clock.
I studied algebra at six o'clock,
Today are planned crimes at six o'clock.
I was happy at six o'clock,
Today are all scared at six o'clock.
Parody in honor of Llorca
poem by Aschelminto Da Silva
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The Clock Keeps Ticking
I want alone to be
I want to drown in lonely sea
But the clock keeps ticking
I want to stop
I want to forever halt
But the clock keeps beating
I want to run
I want far away from land
But the clock keeps pursuing
I want to hide
I no more want to think of fight
But the clock keeps shouting
I want to rest
I want in dream hibernate
But the clock keeps breaking
I want to sing
I want to strengthen the spring
But the clock keeps shaking
I want to only follow
I no longer want to know
But the clock keeps pumping
I want to hurt
I don’t care if I should hate
But the clock keeps moving
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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It's Five O'Clock Somewhere
[Alan:]
The sun is hot and that old clock,
is movin' slow, and so am I.
Work day passes like molasses,
in winter time, but it's July.
Getting paid by the hour,
and older by the minute.
My boss just pushed me,
over the limit.
I could call him something,
think I'll just call it a day...
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve. But I don't care,
it's five o'clock somewhere.
This lunch break is gonna take
all afternoon, half the night.
Tomorrow morning I know there'll be hell to pay,
but, hey, that's all right.
I ain't had a day off now, in over a year.
My Jamaican vacation's gonna start right here.
If the phone's for me you can tell them
I just sailed away....
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve. But I don't care,
it's five o'clock somewhere.
[Instrumental]
I could pay off my tab, pour myself in a cab,
and be back to work before two.
At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder,
what would Jimmy Buffett do.
[Jimmy:]
Funny you should ask Alan, I'd say...
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve, but I don't care.
[Together:]
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve. But I don't care,
it's five o'clock somewhere.
[Alan:]
... but he don't care, I don't care.
Together
It's five o'clock somewhere.
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cortège
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Fifteen hundred miles away:
So it goes, the crazy tune,
So it pounds and hums all day
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Earth will hide them far away:
Best they go to go so soon,
Best for them the grave to-day.
Had she gone but half so soon,
Half the world had passed away.
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Best for them they go to-day.
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Love will hide them deep, they say;
Love that made the grave so soon,
Fifteen hundred miles away:
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Ah, but they go slow to-day:
Slow to suit my crazy tune,
Past the need of all we say.
Best it came to come so soon,
Best for them they go to-day:
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Fifteen hundred miles away.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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The clock is clicking
The clock is clicking
It is clicking to show just then
A time span of one second
Has become the past
The clock is clicking
Each click means a step
Towards your progress and growth
Optimistic wisdom says
The clock is clicking
Each click means a nail
Onto your coffin
Philosophical wisdom says
The clock is clicking
Each click means the arrival
Of a child in India
Population expert worries
The clock is clicking
Each click means the committal
Of a crime
Police personnel observes
The clock is clicking
Each click means a travel of 2.5 km
In space of the earth's surface
Astromer estimates
The clock is clicking
Each click means a change
In fortune of an individual
Astrologer announces
The clock is clicking
Each click means the admission
Of a heart patient
Health specialist heaves
The clock is clicking
Each click means the drain
Of my battery
The clock cries within
The clock is clicking
Let the clock be clicking
Let any one have his or her inkling
Let us be lively and kicking
Let nothing stop us becoming a king
The clock is clicking
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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It's Five O'clock Somewhere
The sun is hot and that old clock is movin' slow,
An' so am I.
Work day passes like molasses in wintertime,
But it's July.
I'm gettin' paid by the hour, an' older by the minute.
My boss just pushed me over the limit.
I'd like to call him somethin',
I think I'll just call it a day.
Pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
It's five o'clock somewhere.
Oh, this lunch break is gonna take all afternoon,
An' half the night.
Tomorrow mornin', I know there'll be hell to pay,
Hey, but that's all right.
I ain't had a day off now in over a year.
Our Jamaican vacation's gonna start right here.
if the 'phones for me,
You can tell 'em I just sailed away.
An' pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
It's five o'clock somewhere.
I could pay off my tab, pour myself in a cab,
An' be back to work before two.
At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder,
What would Jimmy Buffett do?
JIMMY BUFFETT:
Funny you should ask Alan,
I'd say:
Pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
ALAN JACKSON & JIMMY BUFFETT:
Pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
He don't care.
I don't care.
It's five o'clock somewhere.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
What time zone am I on? What country am I in?
ALAN JACKSON:
It doesn't matter, it's five o'clock somewhere.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
It's always on five in Margaritaville, come to think of it.
ALAN JACKSON:
Yeah, I heard that.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
You been there haven't you.
ALAN JACKSON:
Yes, sir.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
I seen your boat there.
ALAN JACKSON:
I've been to Margaritaville a few times.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
All right, well that's good.
ALAN JACKSON:
Stumbled all the way back.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
OK. Just wanna make sure you can keep it between the navigational beacons.
ALAN JACKSON:
Between the bouys, I gotcha.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
All right. Well, it's five o'clock. Let's go somewhere.
ALAN JACKSON:
I'm ready, crank it up.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
Let's get out of here.
ALAN JACKSON:
I'm gone.
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fairy Clock
Silver clock! O silver clock! tell to me the time o' day!
Is there yet a little hour left for us to work and play?
Tell me when the sun will set--tiny globe of silver-grey.
It has been so glad a world since the coming of the morn,
Oft I wondered when I met any souls who seemed forlorn--
And I scarce gave heed to those who were old or travel worn.
Mayhap I have loved too well the merry fleeting things;
Run too lightly with the wind--chased too many shining wings;
Thought too seldom of the night, and the silence that it brings.
Well I fear me I have been but an idler in the sun--
All unfinished are the tasks long and long ago begun--
In the dark perchance they weep, who have left their work undone.
And I know each black-frocked friar preacheth sermons that, alas!
Fain would halt the dancing feet of those careless ones who pass
Down a sweet and primrose path, through the ribbons of the grass.
Silver-clock! O Silver-clock! It was only yesterday
Dandelions flecked the field, starry bright, and gold and gay;
You are but the ghost of one--little globe of silver-grey!
Tell me--tell me of the hour--for there is so much to do!
Is it early? Is it late? Fairy clock! 0 tell me true,
As I blow you down the wind, out upon a road of blue.
poem by Virna Sheard
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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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A monologue on 'nothing in particular
Well you know,
It always begins like this
'The day starts'
Half an hour early for me
Clocks set hour an hour early
The day begins
Well morning starts
With a break of sunlight
Flooding through the cracks
In the blinds
In summer it is always much earlier
Than the pre set time on the alarm clock
Which is primed to go off
Half an hour earlier
Inevitably
The light wakes me at sunrise
Which often occurs around five o'clock
Like some cruel trick
I am woken exactly an hour or is it half an hour
Before my alarm clock goes off, half an hour earlier?
Which is set to go off half an hour early
But that never happens in the summer
The lie in ends up a sleep over
In winter this is a different matter again
With no light
So there I am at five in the morning
exactly or, approximately the time
The sun is meant to set
[bar a second or to or maybe a minute
behind or ahead of prediction]
There I am WIDE AWAKE
No lie in
No chance of sleeping
Again
Exept at the WRONG TIME!
Then I recover
Five minutes behind schedule
pull the blind
make a cup of tea
giving myself exactly
thirty minutes
Before drinking it
to get ready for work
Flossing does not happen until
A much later time
There is a ten minute interval
For toast and tea
And tidying away
My watch is set five minutes ahead
Or maybe three minutes
I leave on time
In time for the bus that leaves
Two minutes early
The next one arrives ten minutes late
The driver
Has donated his brain to medical science
Thirty years prior to his death
Give or take a couple of hours or minutes
He slips into a slow coma behind the steering wheel
The world is in slow motion
Catatonia eclipses the traffic
I am now on time
To be late
despite all my carefully timed efforts
Now that was just the beginning of the morning
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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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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Looking at the clock
If you watch a clock time goes slowly,
If you don’t watch a clock time goes fast.
There is an expression,
Time flies when you’re having fun,
-ignore it, it is fake! -
Time goes fast if you don’t look at the clock or
If you watch television or a DVD,
Time goes slow if,
You keep asking what time it is or
If you keep looking at the clock.
poem by Kayleigh Butler
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Time Ticks
Reach out and rewind your clock before
it melts away like the flow
of crimson from a dying animal
that slowly loses its color,
for your clock ticks like a metronome
keeping time until the very last
beat of the song. Mend
your clock until your last
note is sung and your breath
is taken away from you. Before
the shadow that advances like water
filling in every crack gets to you,
rewind your clock to stay alive
and rid yourself of the tang
of fresh blood and the menacingly silent
ticking of your clock. Simply wrap
your trembling hand around the cool,
slippery surface of your timekeeper,
and rid your world of the stench
of Death. Or will you simply awaken
to find your death a mere dream?
Will you find that the reality
of Life is only a frank lie?
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Not a clock telling me the truth
oh clock
on and on
you go
belting out
the inaccuracies
universal inacurracies
on and on
you go
announcing
the minute second
you miss
at speed
of my thought
on and on you go
lambasting
a concept
no human
has yet fathom
able to escape from
a mystery
as great as
the whole universe
which too
circles on and on
confusing
the little universe
clock, clock, clock
everywhere
yet not one telling
me the truth
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Drinker's Prayer
O God our Help at two o'clock,
Our Help at half-past three,
What do You do at four o'clock
When we are having tea?
Must we each tread the bitter path
That leads unto the Cross,
Deny ourselves all happiness
Because You are the Boss?
I'd like to drink a pint of beer
(In fact I'd relish three) ,
Give me a pub with open doors
Throughout Eternity!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The duel
The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn't there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)
The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!"
And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!"
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(Now mind: I'm only telling you
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)
The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw -
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(Don't fancy I exaggerate -
I got my news from the Chinese plate!)
Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(The old Dutch clock it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)
poem by Eugene Field
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Four Of Two
Underneath a big clock at the corner of 5th Avenue and 22nd Street
I stood and waiting for a girl I knew at the spot where we agreed to meet
It was four minutes of two
At four of two, I stood waiting for the girl
I was four minutes early for the date we had planned
I was planning to say I was in love with her
Just as soon as she showed for a two o'clock date
And the clock said four of two
At four of two, I was staring into space
She was not yet late, according to the clock
I was feeling nervous so I kept looking up
At the clock sticking out of the side of the building
And it still said four of two
At four of two, I began to feel tired
And I rubbed my eyes, and again I checked the time
It seemed as if the sky was growing dark...
But I felt reassured when I looked at the clock
And it still said four of two
I lay my head down on the sidewalk so in case she were coming I would have a better view
But no one was there so I stretched out and closed my eyes for a second or two
It was four minutes of two
At once I awoke to a futuristic world
There were flying cars and gigantic metal bugs
I'd grown a beard; it was long and white
But I knew that the girl would be coming very soon
For though everything had changed, there was still that clock
And it still said four of two
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fall of Fitzmickle
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Rules with an iron rod
His house and home; 'neath its red-tiled dome
He struts like a little tin god.
When Popper says stay, the family stay;
When Popper says go, they go;
And early and late, like the trumpet of Fate,
Sounds the fierce Fitzmicklean 'No!'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Came on his small son when
There, listening in to the cricketing din,
He sat as the clock struck ten.
'What? Sporting rubbish? At this hour, too!'
Said he: and his brow grew black.
'Things that I wouldn't do my son musn't do.
Bed, sir! And don't answer me back!'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
His hand on the wireless switch,
Listened a wile, and a ghost of a smile
His stern face seemed to twitch.
'Another man out!' He paused in doubt,
As he noted the latest score.
'Well, I might as well sit and listen a bit;
But a bare half hour, no more.'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Just as the clock struck four,
Weary and worn in the cold, bleak morn
Crept by his small son's door.
And out of the stygian darkness there,
Swift to discover his sin,
A small voice cried from the gloom inside:
'Please Popper. Did our side win?'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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“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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Fate
There once lived an olive green frog
in the back of a half-rotten log.
He was killed in his sleep
well, the log wasn't deep
and the killer was simply a hog.
As for truffles the hog searched in vain
it was clearer than glass and quite plain,
in his terrible mood
he came wholly unglued
but he later was hit by a train.
Thus the hog and the frog bought the farm,
it was sad that there was no alarm,
though the frog owned a clock
which went tick and then tock
'till the sun was well past the yardarm.
But one night there was Ezel the lizard,
he was known in the woods as a wizard.
Called to fix for the frog
his small clock in the log
a small spring disappeared in his gizzard.
Since no parts were on hand for the clock
they marked North and then South on a rock.
It would show them the time
(the idea was sublime)
'till the clock parts again were in stock.
But, the sun let them down and slept in.
(It is said she is partial to Gin) ,
thus two critters lost big
through no fault of the pig
but the lizard's huge overbite chin.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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When I started my program... there was a big clock in the corner and I looked and it said nine o'clock exactly. And it was funny, because when I was standing on the podium, it said exactly 10 p.m., and this whole hour had changed my life.
quote by Sarah Hughes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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