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Donall Dempsey Sep 2017
CLOCKLESS



the car's wipers
slosh the world back & forth
back'n'forth




how stupid of me
left my heart out in the pain
my thoughts gone rusty




white noise
on the telly
my fingertips touch the static




"Suicide is painless..." I hum
I tell the waiting room
"I...hope...it is!"




the objects in the room
look terrified
look on in silence




locked inside
the whisper
( the shout )




this room is clockless
time locked outside
howling to get in




I ...sit...and
crochet on the couch
time looks sheepish




clicking needles
I knit
one moment to the next




there is only this
little moment
left to live in




"Too much time..."I tell myself
"That's the trouble. . ." I tell the room
"Think I'll cut it down to size!" I say to nobody




"Time to be gone..."
I say
in a melodramatic way




I laugh at myself
weep in my private
theatre of heartbreak




my reflection & I
both reaching for
the razor blade




the room
holds its breath
I close my eyes &. . .




this one perfect moment
time rearing up like a wave
that never ever breaks
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
CLOCKLESS

the car's wipers
slosh the world back & forth
back'n'forth

how stupid of me
left my heart out in the pain
my thoughts gone rusty

white noise
on the telly
my fingertips touch the static

"Suicide is painless..." I hum
I tell the waiting room
"I...hope...it is!"

the objects in the room
looks terrified
look on in silence

locked inside
the whisper
( the shout )

this room is clockless
time locked outside
howling to get in

I ...sit...and
crochet on the couch
time looks sheepish

clicking needles
I knit
one moment to the next

there is only this
little moment
left to live in

"Too much time..."I tell myself
"That's the trouble. . ." I tell the room
"Think I'll cut it down to size!" I say to nobody

"Time to be gone..."
I say
in a melodramatic way

I laugh at myself
weep in my private
theatre of heartbreak

my reflection & I
both reaching for
the razor blade

the room
holds its breath
I close my eyes &. . .

this one perfect moment
time rearing up like a wave
that never ever breaks
Naomi Firestone Feb 2019
Wake up!
It’s time to wake up!!
I mean really wake up!!!
It’s not about the hands on the clock
That tick tick tick tick tock
The clock that never stops
Like a pendulum weighted rod
Reducing peripheral awareness
Routines that seems senseless
Coffee, breakfast, traffic relentless
The hands that clock you in
and clock you out
Never do you stop and doubt
The beat to which you march about
The mind checked out
It’s 5 o’clock somewhere
Drown my mundaneness out
Blindfold and gag my inner shout
My robotic need to march to the monotonous beat
For what will i have but despair and defeat
Oh holy one, save me from my inner beast
My natural instincts would have me feast
On love and lust and defenceless defeat
No boundaries, no walls, just vulnerability
The clock keeps tick tick ticking
The mind keeps click click clicking
Until finally I did see
Beyond its purpose to notify me
of daily chores and deadlines to meet...
It was in the hospital, starring at me,
A clock that asked how to be free
For time is not a commodity
It cannot be sold or bought for a fee
It has to be lived despite pain and poverty
For in the struggles there is also glee
No matter how sad our sorrows go deep
The time that we have is worth it to keep
Unchain that inner beast
For love is a necessity
And lust a natural need
Don’t waist your time on complacency
Live each second, minute and hour
Every day, week, and seasonal flower
Growing each year, knowledge is power
Don’t take one moment for granted
For time is no fairytale enchanted
A seed that flowers and dies
Was originally planted
Donall Dempsey Sep 2019
CLOCKLESS

the car's wipers
slosh the world back & forth
back'n'forth

how stupid of me
left my heart out in the pain
my thoughts gone rusty

white noise
on the telly
my fingertips touch the static

"Suicide is painless..." I hum
I tell the waiting room
"I...hope...it is!"

the objects in the room
looks terrified
look on in silence

locked inside
the whisper
( the shout )

this room is clockless
time locked outside
howling to get in

I ...sit...and
crochet on the couch
time looks sheepish

clicking needles
I knit
one moment to the next

there is only this
little moment
left to live in

"Too much time..."I tell myself
"That's the trouble. . ." I tell the room
"Think I'll cut it down to size!" I say to nobody

"Time to be gone..."
I say
in a melodramatic way

I laugh at myself
weep in my private
theatre of heartbreak

my reflection & I
both reaching for
the razor blade

the room
holds its breath
I close my eyes &. . .

this one perfect moment
time rearing up like a wave
that never ever breaks
Lawrence Hall Dec 2016
Pilgrimage Along The A1

For all DeBeauvilles, Beauvilles, Bevilles, and Bevils Everywhere

From Peterborough drops a road
Across the Fens, into the past
(Where wary wraiths still wear the woad);
It comes to Chesterton at last.

And we will walk along that track,
Or hop a bus, perhaps; you know
How hard it is to sling a pack
When one is sixty-old, and slow.

That mapped blue line across our land
Follows along a Roman way
Where Hereward the Wake made stand
In mists where secret islands lay.

In Chesterton a Norman tower
Beside Saint Michael’s guards the fields;
Though clockless, still it counts slow hours
And centuries long hidden and sealed.

And there before a looted tomb,
Long bare of candles, flowers, and prayers,
We will in our poor Latin resume
Aves for old de Beauville’s cares.
Lawrence Hall Dec 2017
Pilgrimage Along the A1

From Peterborough drops a road
Across the Fens, into the past
(Where wary wraiths still wear the woad);
It comes to Chesterton at last.

And we will walk along that track,
Or hop a bus, perhaps; you know
How hard it is to sling a pack
When one is sixty-old, and slow.

That mapped blue line across our land
Follows along a Roman way
Where Hereward the Wake made stand
In mists where secret islands lay.

In Chesterton a Norman tower
Beside Saint Michael’s guards the fields;
Though clockless, still it counts slow hours
And centuries hidden long, and sealed.

And there before a looted tomb,
Long bare of candles, flowers, and prayers,
We will in our poor Latin resume
Aves for old de Beauville’s cares.
Seanathon Oct 2019
It's newfound lovers beneath the first starry night sky shared together

It's a child playing at the tail end of a wave, just wishing for a second longer it would stay

It's a moment consumed by a clockless mouth

It's the most pleasant forget which you can find within yourself

It is a passionate glory in a war without spears

It is the flowing rivers of song in communicative ears

And therefore in being, be it the evermore near

Such love at first words is all that you wish you could hear
The First Time You Speak - nuff said
Third Eye Candy Nov 2019
how merry the weathered stones, how jaunty with vigorous erosion, exposing-
clockless epochs of perfect zen. all shipwrecked in the intricate glamor
of having all the facts and solving none of the riddlesome noise.
just all the beautiful things caste about in the strewn Oblivions
of an impartial Cause.

Our bearings are slight adjustments
in a cavalcade of operas
hopping trains.

— The End —