Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Advent Oct 2014
when the clock ticks at 12,
another minute has passed and another day has been renewed.
it replenishes an entire moment that separates yesterday from today.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a part of me has left something for good.
something that could only be retrieved by the nostalgia
of the passing hours that gives a pang of discomfort and dismay.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a fairy godmother is there waiting for me to move past everything and start fresh,
like nothing has ever happened from yesterday

but when the clock ticks at 3,
my emotions are scattered,
eating me alive.
it kicks me out of the zone - exposing me to a world of nothing but things to hide.
it haunts my core, dwells with my demons,
building up emotions that don't seem to collide

and at 3, I find you - once again with all the sublime images we’ve captured
and grand words we’ve uttered.
i find you, drowning from the roots
of my memoirs... and there I see how midnights took parts of me

because at 3, I’ll always remember how I grew with thee


a.t.
Jerry Jul 2018
“Strange place as if, a university campus. Last week of August, bit chilly though dark afternoon. Some random corridor seats. Surrounded by her loud chirps wrapped with unbidden happiness... and me still in some sort of shock... what am I doing here?
Conversation took toll about random university matters, she felt hungry and suggested to have lunch together. So we came out and took a bus towards town to allow ourselves luxury of 'A La Carte'. As we get off the bus cold wind struck us, “Lady shivered and grabbed my wrist with her right hand and same arm with her left, letting herself rest her right cheek on the edge of my left shoulder. My whole existence felt her magnetic presence”.
I uttered if she’s feeling cold she mumbled, I took it as a yes so wrapped my blue jacket around her. She responded to the gratitude with a smile and I allowed her grip on my arm to become more firm... so both of us kept on walking towards an undefined destination... and then my 7:00 am alarm interrupted the most beautiful dream i ever had since HER...”
Rough draft, suppose to be transformed into a poem but i decided to let it be...
Tanay Sengupta Sep 2018
The shifting sands obey none.
They whirl and twirl to their own will.
There is nothing that can be done.
We have already done our fill.

Tick tock, the clock goes on,
The period is coming to an end.
It is just too late to move on,
Time is really no one's friend.

It moves on its own way
Making its own path.
Turning night into day


Don't fear time
But fear its wrath.












Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
You know the drill, no explanations. Read and perceive it in your own way. Happy reading!
Wilkes Arnold Mar 2016
I was relaxed, and deep in thought
The type of talk that silence brought
When just in earshot it rocked,
tick tock
tick tock
"Must be a clock"
I told myself and resumed my thought

Though as the seconds passed I could not,
Despite the will with which I fought
Do to its incessant knock
Tick tock
Tick tock
I searched for the clock
Unable to find the train I sought

I grew more and more distraught
With each and every tick and tock
That find the clock, I could not
As the silence grew more fraught
With the knock,
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
I knew the pain of Lancelot

On and on it ticked and tocked
I cursed at the unseen dreadnought
It no longer merely mocked
But each and every tick and tock
Became an unseen onslaught
TICK TOCK
TICK TOCK
T'was 11 o'clock,
When my heart felt the gunshot

Though the shots I could not block
And on and on the bullets poured
Further into the fray I bored
Each foot a cinderblock
Weighed by war
I slowly walked
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
How I'd make it answer for

Alas
With little blood left to speak for Desperately I implored
"Restrain your hands that caused such gore;
We need not fight evermore!"
But when I heard the ceaseless knock
Tick tock
Tick tock
I new my words had been ignored
And slowly collapsed to the floor

****** and bludgeoned when I hit bed rock, I had still found no clock
But tick and tock it had forgot
The church bell rang t'was 12 o'clock,
Though mortal wounds the seconds wrought
I no longer was distraught
And as I lay in the hemlock
It occurred in my last thoughts
I would miss the beating knock
tick..., tock...
tick..., tock...
First poem looking for feed back critical and complimentary
D Awanis Dec 2016
The best gift one could give to another is a clock
Simply because it is a constant reminder that;
nothing lasts forever; that our time is not limitless

The 'tick' and 'tock' that never stop warnes us in which
the time passes us by with or without announcement
For its nature is to remain constant and eternal

Maybe that's why us, humans, we tend to regret
the time we didn't cherish and spend well enough
—because our nature is never safe and sound
Ashlie Dene' Nov 2013
Not long before you came around,
An empty heart and lost soul were found.
He who stood where you do now,
Our hearts and souls that took a vow.
Our given trust, our emotions ran deep,
A quickened clock, rushed to weep.
Then came time to speak the mind,
Looking for words I could not find.
Before your breath could unveil the truth,
Before my heart held its proof,
Words were spoken in my ear,
Heart wrenching words I’d always feared.
With heavy limbs, cheeks soaked and red,
Air meaningless, life was dead.
Like the few others who came before,
The ones who just walked out the door,
Its strength and power held within,
That picks one up to start again.
As strength grows, the heart soon finding,
Where you stand now, two hearts binding.
Forgetting scars I once knew,
Every time that I’m with you,
Like an open book you read so well,
Reading page after page you can always tell.
Like the words are written on my face,
All those worries, gone, without a trace.
Time now passes, weeks go by,
Remembering that incredible Fourth of July,
No matter the time, no matter the day,
My feelings for you could never be pushed away.
The more days past the more I knew,
I would never again, meet anyone quite like you.
Butterflies in my stomach I couldn’t believe,
That months would go, yet, I still perceived,
That you still felt the way you did,
On that fourth when all fears hid.
But...
Without a warning, no doubt at all
You took a step back, you shielded you wall
From your actions, my heart plundered
The more time passed, the more I wondered.
Where you went, and why you shut down.
Why the **** were you not around.
All I saw was an empty shell
Thoughts of the past, you couldn’t dispel.
Put in a place you didn’t belong
Finally a decision you could no longer prolong.
Two years pushed you, broke you down inside
Two years taken, that you couldn’t rewind.
Past all the feelings, in the back of my mind,
Remembering why, I let my heart become blind.
Being reminded as time passed,
Knowing what we have, might not last.
Ticking time hit the clock,
I cannot run, I cannot walk,
Away from time which haunts me so.
Away from heartache, I’ve come to know.
Every moment spent with you,
Another memory I won’t undo.
I’ve grown so close, in fact too much,
Close to something I cannot touch.
They pass again, the hands of time,
And I hate the way there is no rhyme,
No rhyme, no reason, I’m left behind.
Praying… wanting time to just rewind.
Watching you leave, my heart feels death
Feeling our last kiss, our final breaths.
Keep in your mind, always know
That is was time, that let us grow
That is wasn’t long before you came around,
It was my heart and soul that you found.
No one can stand where you do now,
Because my heart and soul took a vow.
A given trust, emotions ran deep,
These are words to remember, words to keep.
<3   <3   <3   <3   <3
Time let me see, something I felt… something I already knew
The moment you walked away, I realized just how much…
I truly loved you.
If you choose to share this, I ask that you quote me. This was a piece of art that took two months to write and years to edit. Thank you and I hope you enjoy.
Jessop Oct 2018
At the swinging of a pendulum
The seconds pass one, by, one.
Like beats of the drum
The spinning of the hands which dictate time

But it ends,
The weight hits the bottom, the pendulum stops swinging
The drum falls silent
With its energy all spent, it stops.

Without the will to continue,
It is allowed to die,
and silence takes over.
As time is allowed to stop.
Although I didn't realize until after writing it, this is my take on the country song "My Grandfather's Clock" by Johnny Cash, but obviously a poem
GRANDFATHER CLOCK

"When granda died
he turned into a clock!"

I was 7 or so, so this seemed
an acceptable fact.

"Oh we still kept him in the corner
wound him up every night."

I glanced at the nothing in the corner.
There was only a slab of sunlight dozing.

"Oh we had to **** him
a long time ago!"

I gasped: "Noooo!"

"Oh he had to go
he had only one hand

and his pendulum
was broken."

Sam the dog barks
asks if I am coming out to play.

I of course am
coming out to play.

Auntie Nellie scolds
Uncle Michael.

"For God's sake Mikey
will ya ****** well stop!"

Mikey sticks his tongue in cheek
a characteristic tic.

"Can't ya see the poor child is
ejeet enough to believe ya!"

Whenever later I chance to meet
a clock that could be my granda

I touch its face tenderly
****** the mottled glass

"Ahhh Granda!" I smile
giving him a great big hug.

"TickTock!" says granda
"**** ****!"
My da's da died before I was born so I never knew him...only shards of stories...fragments of who he might have been. I used to walk around the farm imagining him doing the exact same back in the day of say 1922.  When I was as small as ****** and as impressionable as **** my uncle would answer a normal question about my granda with a tall tale such as this. He'd tell me the most surreal things with a straight poker face and I love him so much I believed anything and everything he'd make up. If my father gave me his love of poetry...it was Uncle Mikey who made me one with all his glorious making up! Nellie used to scold him about this but it didn't stop him as the words coming out of his mouth grew into an enchanted entangled forest. He was the treasure trove of my childhood and I was rich beyond my wildest dreams.
John Stevens Jan 2015
(c) 01-25-15
The cold has come
What once was green , now brown.
The air is cool
Promise of Spring to come.

Boys are gathered
Practice begins
for the games
to see who wins.

The ball is passed
Ball aloft at last.
Through the hoop
the points are cast.

They finesse the ball
as they pass and trick.
To out wit the opponent
as the clock does tick.

They win they lose
this season thus far.
Led by great coaches
has been better than par.

When the games are done
whether lost or won.
It is all in the fun
As they have a great run.
Basketball is upon us. The bleachers are hard but the fun is great.

Has been 6500 reads.
11-18-16.   16,100 times
12-21-16.   17,200 times
07-28-17.  28,300 times
05-18-18.   42,400 times
10-15-18   48,400 times
Who in the world is reading this?

Version called "Baseball"
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1583323/baseball/
Luke May 2018
"You're wasting your time."
Familiar line, I'm sure;
Leisure, time you take pleasure
In wasting, fighting off chores

With scores of swords forged in
Words, nouns and verbs, you argue
"I've nought to do, work's been,
I've earned it!" The frayed border between

Toil and sleep, 'spare time',
Your crime is laziness, sloth;
The clock – time's warden – watching
As your lies thicken like simmering broth;

The monitor melts your eyes into half-smiles,
"Wasted time, your pastime,"
A degree in procrastination, hesitation
To face – "the clock, the time!"

The moon hides behind the horizon,
Your fingers flurry, too late to hurry
Out the piece you left so late.
"Wasted time" stinks like left-over curry,

Let it permeate your nostrils; exhale blame
As you **** in the shame that you've failed.
Cradle the melted clock, warm butter,
Spread it onto toast, yellow trails

Crying "why?" Place it between guilty lips
And chew; the taste's bitter.
"It's raining today."
Pitter patter, patter pitter.
A poem about procrastination.
Lᴇ Feb 26
I still wonder of orion's belt
I still wish to see the moon
I still love parts of life

I may never live the best version of myself

I still want to try
Ms Noma Sep 2018
The clock strikes again
But I am still the same
Keep thinking of back when
Life was still a game

Yes my age increases
With each monumental minute
But I'm still those broken pieces
Done with life, not here to win it

I watch the swinging motion
Of the pendulum so grand
It reminds me of an ocean
As waves lap in and out of land

I envy the clock's rhythm
Because I am so still
I've lost my future vision
Just a void with nought to fill

I guess my heart does tick
And there's things that make it skip
But nothing seems to stick
And back here I am - this blip

Will I finally realise
Only when my time is up
That I should have looked beyond the skies
During this hiccup?
Kat Pan Jun 2017
I’m a victim as you stream my life
Like a short film and I can’t remember my own name
You drape my skin over rusty bones that fail when the clock chimes
Yet you collect every strand of my hair
Torn and grown
Cut and combed
and repaint the shapes I used to be into finer lines
Why do you whisper silly words to me?
Yet I hang myself on them and engrave the fate you sealed for me
Why do you twist me at every angle?relishing in my deterioration
Soaking and rinsing your own wounds in the pools of my bitter mistakes and sweet memories
But these scars I wrap with your worn stems, vanish beneath my exterior
I am stainless
Sometimes,
when I am to tattered to walk, you carry me on your shoulder
But I remember when you grabbed my ankles and cracked my wrists
You cast me like a stone
And polish me like a trophy
*Conceal me in your clock work
Talking to time
i swear i heard this title from somewhereeee
c Nov 2018
I look in the mirror at a person I don’t recognize anymore. Prodding and pulling at my skin just to make sure this is who I am I only cake on so much makeup because this is the me I don’t want them to see.

So they don’t

They don’t see me and time is just running away and what if I can’t make them see me before time is up?

It’s not that I’m invisible, I know they can hear me and they tell me that really, I’m fine, and I’ve never been an issue but then why do I feel so out of place in my own day to day routines?

In fact nothing is routine anymore I have no constants. Eating, sleeping, it’s all ireggular and sometimes I can’t remember doing any of it at all.

I have pictures filling my camera roll of happiness in a moment that I can’t bring back, why do I keep them for happy if all they do is make me sad?

The clock is ticking and I can hear it but they can hear me so I can’t scream, they don’t see me but I’m tearing at my mouth trying to get out the words that I really want them to hear.

And they tell me, that it’s okay to be yourself.

But only around certain people. Because society wants you to have curves but never in the wrong places. They want you to feel free to speak your mind as long as it’s something that they want to hear. If you keep your secrets to yourself you’re hiding something and if you share them you’re being too open.

But time is passing.

I need time, I need routine, and I need to remember happy so that I don’t fall in love with sad because far too many do.
So I will scream into the wind where they cannot hear me.
And paste on my paper facade.
Someday, they will see me.
Now you don’t.
I tried to make this in the form of slam poetry, which I’ve never really done before. Any feedback is appreciated! :)
Seb Tha Guru Dec 2018
A new year is coming.
We want all the money.
Telling every woman bag back.

We was lost.
We fell off track.
Let's hope we do not relapse.

How could I worry about shot clocks, when I’ve been fighting just to make it to the playoffs.
Getting fired and hired and laid off.
You’re too focused on materialistic and pretend things.
Trying to impress your friends and these women.
I say all the time let’s move different.
This won’t fix none of the things that I’ve mentioned.
The relationship’s more like tradition.

We fight and don’t talk but we're moving on.
I still stay to myself, I’ve been traded on.
I can’t rush into something I keep my patience.
But you’re giving techs, fouls and a flagrant.

We know I can hit me a buzzer to win the game.
But why would I win just to feel pain.
Trying to fix myself and my mind-frame.
Stay true to myself in my own lane.

We all know these other women all want me, but I act expensive yet they all adore me.
To tie the knot won’t complete this story.
Better tighten up, soon they can afford me.
A couple of years of dating.
We on thin ice like we’re skating.
Don’t want to break, I’m just saying.
Believe it or not, I’m not faking.
Spent my whole life for this training.

For shot clocks...

So you can keep timing me or move along.
I should be writing a better poem and songs.
Self centered, you’re right and I’m always wrong.
If anything, you’re the one taking too long.

For shot clocks...
She Writes Sep 2018
Shadows dance upon the walls
The clocks incessant tick
Why am I awake right now?
Because insomnia’s a ****
Why am I awake zzzzz
Sonia Ettyang Feb 23
Back and forth it goes

Bruising hearts
Yearning souls
Misguided spirits
Forever in a quest
To realign with the infinite
But eyes wide shut
Minds on snooze
Bodies on cruise

Tik tok
Tik tok
The pendulum sways
  everytime and again
© Sonia Ettyang
"How did it get so late so soon?"
Dr. Seuss
Next page