hectic music, cocktail talk
she hears the caustic
ticking of the clock
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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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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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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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“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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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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On Thirtydays Of Separated Love
Thirty
Days ago on Shakespeare's birthday
We had our last talk..
Thus,
Days passed the shrouded love
Is ticking with the secs of clock.
My,
Repentance for denying the last call
From you to stay back.......
Now,
Crawling in my teary sight
Chooses to retreat to old track.
Still,
I celebrate lone cocktail
Without a peg of drink...
Addiction,
Chases me back to the talkative tick,
Prancing on my sorrowful brink;
Flash,
Bursts into thousand beams but,
The fire flies show their lovely light..
I
Silently make you the guest,
Of my segregated special night;
Let,
Sip the tumultuous cup of love,
To widen it to a long stride;
We,
Must take part in life's fest;
Our love is our sky-kissing pride!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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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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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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To Value The Blessing
Bewitched quick.
By a ticking of a clock,
Heard to grow louder.
And the speeding of it seems,
To emphasize the days one ages...
From one stage to another.
Leaving time one takes to procrastinate,
A waste.
As an awakening to aches and pains felt,
To ignore to value the blessing of life lived...
To accomplish something done,
Yet still enabling one to do.
Bewitched quick.
By a ticking of a clock,
Heard to grow louder.
One can sit to listen and reminisce.
Or decide to experience,
More life in the pursuit of it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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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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What About The Music
I don't mind talking, girl
But there's a time and place
Right now we're alone, yeah
But it's just gone to waste
Look up and see the moon
Slide down the clouds
The radio is playing softly now
So if you talk above a wisdom
It's too loud
What about the music, babe
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
You keep on talking, girl
We can talk on the phone
We should be kissing, babe
Now that we're alone
Though when they're singing
Love songs to the moon
You know it's love
That makes the flowers bloom
But you keep saying things you
Could tell me in a crowded room
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon, babe
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music
Sweet soul music
What about the moon
Hey, what about the moon, babe
We are loving and i can't lose it
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon
I said it's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music, yeah
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
What about the music
What about the moon
It's a shame if we talk music
We'll be leaving soon
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ticking Clock....
Overwhelmed.....just need a place to sit....
the thoughts in my mind,
well....they just won't quit!
Funny how a clock can grab my attention,
you know.....
the kind with the seconds...
counting down.
As I loose my mind in thoughts of the day,
that click...the seconds....
I have to weigh...
I'm here...
I'm now...
then seconds are clicking....
So I have a thought.
Why am I wasting now?
Just how do I love this second?
I don't want to waste precious time....
the clock makes me hear my stupid whine....
Damn you ticking clock! ! !
Waiting For Hours
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
However...
Nothing prevents a hand to reach out,
For a muffin to stuff a mouth.
OR a burger with a side order of greasy fries,
To find its way to satisfy taste buds.
And people can be seen waiting for hours,
Patiently...
To get their hotdog topped with sauerkraut.
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
And yet...
People give more time in the doing of it,
But will stand in line for days without a single complaint...
To pay to entertain themselves with an array of nonsense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Lonely Room
Tiptoe around the room.
What is it that is found?
Silence, except for the clock that's ticking
nothing else is around.
An empty room with nothing in it,
only the clock that ticks the minute
in this lonely room.
Why was the clock left behind
with not a soul to tell the time?
It was on the mantelpiece
with nobody to hear it chime.
Was it left as a reminder?
I think it would have been kinder
to remove it from the room.
Left alone, it had no purpose.
Who could hear it now?
Ghosts from the past that once lived here
that have taken a vow
to listen to the clock's every minute
in the room with nothing in it
but the ghosts and the time.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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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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Rhythm Machine
I'm a rhythm machine; you know what I mean,
I'm a rhythm machine; you know what I mean
I got time, running through my
head in bed,
Instead of sleep, how it looks instead,
I'm a rhythm machine; you know what I mean,
I'm a music man; I play the blues whenever I can,
I'm a music man; I play the blues whenever I can,
I get a flat backbeat, instead of food when I eat,
The ticking of a clock gets me out of my seat
I'm a music man; I play the blues whenever I can.
I'm her cross cut saw before I
was four
Smoked-staked lightning had me crawling across the floor
The beach ball didn't get me but that son-in-law did
I'm been keeping time ever since I was a kid
I'm a music machine, don't you know what I mean,
I'm rhythm machine; he knows what I mean, oh.
Yeah, yeah.
I'm a rhythm machine; I'm a rhythm machine,
I'm a rhythm machine, don't you know what I mean
I'm a music man, yeah,
I'm gonna play the blues whenever I can,
Hey, play the blues then,
Oh, yeah, yeah, play it for Kings and Queens,
Yeah, yeah, I'm a music man,
I'm a rhythm machine......
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The impatient hours
The impatient hours
~
The drumming of fingers
The ticking of the clock
Loudly fill the impatient hours
Wasteful in their emptiness
Surely there must be something better
But the wait continues anyway
Waiting on a promise to come good
Hoping its not like past promises
Which all became just lies
Paranoia stalks the mind
Reminding of the past disappointments
Why should this one be any different
Why wait in stale confines
When you could leave, walk away
Forget the promise in an instant
The drumming of fingers
The ticking of the clock
Grow ever louder
Counting each possible outcome
The promise bares fruit
Or becomes another lie
Still waiting on the realisation
In the impatient hours
Wasting the day into nothing
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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