"oclock" poems
It was almost 10 oclock, their eyes heavy as rocks, Erik and Jamal headed home
The fork in the road that they've always known to mean they tread on all alone
They made their embrace and started their pace and Erik did not hasten much
Jamal however was quick to endeavor, because mama had told him to rush
They walked their separate ways, reflected on their days, and coveted what tomorrow would bring
At that very moment, their train of thought stolen, by the bellow of sirens they sing
A large police van rolled upon each young man, and flashed a light on each of their face
They told Erik hurry, his mom needn't worry, yet they questioned young Jamal's pace
They told him get down, he got on the ground and struggled in his discomfort
Erik heard a bang in the night, that had gave him a fright, and thought to himself where'd it come from?
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
I have studied the tight curls on the back of your neck
moving away from me
beyond anger or failure
your face in the evening schools of longing
through mornings of wish and ripen
we were always saying goodbye
in the blood in the bone over coffee
before dashing for elevators going
in opposite directions
without goodbyes.
Do not remember me as a bridge nor a roof
as the maker of legends
nor as a trap
door to that world
where black and white clericals
hang on the edge of beauty in five oclock elevators
twitching their shoulders to avoid other flesh
and now
there is someone to speak for them
moving away from me into tomorrows
morning of wish and ripen
your goodbye is a promise of lightning
in the last angels hand
unwelcome and warning
the sands have run out against us
we were rewarded by journeys
into desire
into mornings alone
where excuse and endurance mingle
conceiving decision.
Do not remember me
as disaster
nor as the keeper of secrets
I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars
watching
you move slowly out of my bed
saying we cannot waste time
only ourselves.
7.9k
Pillows lay the case to wake up past 3 oclock
Face faded in dreams make razors on cheek comfortable to me
Blond bold because i barely gave red a try
Is breakfast ready for me
Backing beauty with a blue t , turning to me all bright and free , afro messy , eyes maybe brown, maybe green
Did i mention i couldnt see
Reality just came back to me
Even tho these eyes rarely catch seas
I still see star shaped almonds in cereal bowls put before see
Meet her meteor shower plastic kungfu hopes
My mettle met with metal, she was bars for the screen
So in between things, i smell scent and add my two cents
But when change comes short, gasoline gases up things
Thunder booms and she can never quite see was behindthe bangs
But that's another thing cause cereal is really tho
Another taste of almomd milk cheerios
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 2:23 AM UTC
Becky turns on her radio
It’s 4’oclock you see
Says she’s got a date with just me
Her Keds dazzled in red
With thoughts of Psychedelic Furs in her head
Thomas headin home
On the floor of ole truck lies his 80s comb
Hasn’t seen old school in years
The thought brings him to tears
Michael’s on a break
Wants to take time by the lake
Thinkin about Sarah
And that iconic leg warmer era
When she hadn’t worn waterproof mascara
Sarah walkin thru the old store
Hears em say, vintage is a good score
Records musty smell
Makes her feel swell
Polaroid on a shelf
Drifts back to a time of her younger self
Instant prints
Memory hints
Friends together
In spring weather
High school dance
Parachute pants
Puffy sleeve print
Tubular and mint
Neon color
Teenage pustalar
This much is true
With a Converse shoe
Glares, stares and dares
Waves in their hair
Synth-pop
They bop
First crush
They blush
Friendship pins
Shy grins
Floppy disks
The unsaved risks
Laughs enter
In present time
Fallen purse
Fate or curse
Hand holds out a dime
Blank look
Like a old good book
Mumble jumble
Who do you see
lookin back at me
In a flash
It all goes past
Familiar face
Of time & place
If you leave
No one would believe
Together again
It was then
When they remembered when
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 10:20 PM UTC
Raining
Pouring
My dad’s up a ladder,
Wet,
Cold,
Attaching the reindeers antler,
Up
Down
I start to climb,
1’oclock
2’oclock
Taking too much time
To high
Wobbling
Cat’s eating the wire,
I pull
It pulls back
My patience starts to tire,
Mum
Comes out
“It’s in the wrong places”
Goes inside
We take it down
“This is going to take ages”
Cold
Tired
It’s eventually done
Inside
Warming up
“Now wasn’t that fun?”
Dec 5, 2009
Dec 5, 2009 at 6:32 AM UTC
I have a next door neighbor who's always short of cash
This neighbour is aware I have a little stash
Every second friday I await his usual knock
A three day loan of twenty pounds at exactly 10 oclock.
This has become a habit, these loans to my friend Jack
I do not mind him asking as he always pays me back
He needs some gas and electric, it's not good to go without
That and more dubious substances, of that I have no doubt
But then it got me wondering, this money I do lend
Cash in perpetual motion, seems like it will never end
To and fro and back and forth for all eternity
Am I the one who lends to him, or does he lend it to me?
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
im trying to decide
if this is hell
or heaven
when im eleven oclock ******
and its only seven
ive got enough
to power through until nine or ten
but then im crashing
ill be passing out
and ******* meself
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
Walls of wind batter the house
Its that time oclock
Bullet rain keep all inside:
willing prisoners.
And all one can feel is cold
with a sense of not really taking part in life
just a waiting for better days,
everyone and everything your teacher;
you a pupil who knows nothing and
needs to learn a lot.
The Evergreens, how do they do it?
some special chemistry the alchemy
of which is beyond thinking about
and reasons? who knows.
Until you bring God into the equation all is futile
And means nothing and then
one has to admit one knows even less.
Good enough or should enough are not valid questions
And no answers are forthcoming.
All is dead or dying except the Evergreens
who welcome the wind and bullet rain
as their brothers and sisters.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
The lake is colored a hue of purple, even though the retina is deprived of blue.
Freedom to swim, yet choosing not to.
Choosing to eat, although mandatory.
Funny how the world works. Especially while dreaming.
Wake up at 8, feeling like the amount in my pocket.
2 dollars and 47 cents. Illegally consumed.
Breakfast at 9, ****** eggs again. We eat in silence.
After breakfast I am forced to the yard, forced to smoke, with no gun to my head.
Run run, shoot, steal. Basketball used to be fun.
1 oclock, and I decide to read. Not much choice on activities, but a crate full of books to read. Yet what's the point?
Why fill my mind with wild dreams? Wishing the problems of the protagonists were my own?
The cell is colored a hue of gray, and yes my retinas can manage.
Freedom to think, no choice but to.
Choosing to eat, but why not?
Funny how prison works, especially when it's reality.
Wake up at 7, the nap was delicious.
Pockets are empty, and with two cigarettes to show for it.
Dinner at 8. Oh **** it, its the same **** every day.
Sleep by 9.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 6:44 AM UTC
Oh mother dear, where do I begin?
I do love you, mommy,
I love you like a venomus snake,
in which I run from,
hoping to find shelter in my own mind,
I run and I run and I run,
only to find myself back again,
because as much as I want to distance myself,
from the mistakes you've made,
I find myself drawn to the idea of change,
but who am I kidding?
In the back of my mind,
I know you'll never change,
I know you'll only get stuck deeper in your current ways,
the way you need the ***** and the ****
just to cope with the mistakes you've made,
because you've never forgiven yourself, for everything you failed to change,
and you'll never realize,
that drinking yourself into a coma, won't change a ******* thing,
but mommy, I love you, as you love me,
in the only way we will ever know,
We live in a small town,
you live upstairs, and I live below,
where I listen to you stomp about your little home,
you were never light on your feet,
and I can hear almost every move you make,
which is kind of comforting,
for if I can hear you, I know,
you have not yet went on your daily trip,
to that little store you head to every morning, around the same gravely time,
9 oclock the liquor store opens, and down the block you go, for your first dose of poison,
its not very comforting to know,
your slowing killing yourself with deadly liquids,
You my dear, are the reason I hate alcohol,
the reason I swore I'd never become you,
it all leads back to you,
the reason I can't sleep sometimes,
just thinking about the one I call mom,
and the way she started life mistakes early,
thinking about the way you started drinking at just barely fourteen,
maybe it wasnt your fault,
maybe you were lead to the bottle,
by some events around you,
can we possibly blame your mother,
was she cruel, did she not love you?
I will never ask you these things,
but may I say, curiouser and curiouser, I do get as time goes on,
who made you like this? or was it all on your own?
I can't help but believe you'll never get better,
you'll always be a mom by day and a drinker by night,
and sometimes, a drinker full time,
stomping about with your ever so heavy steps,
if i'd never met you, I'd swear you were a hundred pounds heavier,
just from the way you walked,
and sometimes fell, tumbling to the ground,
breaking skin into cuts i'm curious about the day after,
and you just say you fell,
you don't tell the truth,
I'd really rather you just say, okay, fine, it happened when I was *********
and still drinking,
because as the saying goes,
one is one too many,
one more, is never enough,
which is why you drink until you can keep your eyes open, no more,
and then is the time you finally hit the floor,
to wake up confused the next morning,
only to start all over again,
this be the cycle of the one I call mommy,
mother dearest, I love you,
in the best of ways,
I love you so, that I can only be honest when I say,
you have a problem and you need to change,
but just the same,
I love you, as you love me,
in the only way, we will ever know
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
I agape of all finished afterthought, some allude to almanac's packed of alms, some totaled, sold and bought!!
Altruism,pigism, ambiguous to ambitions own an'nals,
Some take fairies to ride, some get high getting annulled on thine way out!!!
Antagonisms councils costumed to personify perverse college boys,
They all wear ties,
Doest thou prepare to die?
Doth thou succumb to heavy metal noise? Subterfuges narrate concert speakers of noose tied voids!!!
Precious,
Precious flamboyant memorizer,
Hath thou memorized to thy fullest privelage?
Art thou the born leader thou claims to be?
Or art thou the slave of thine flattery made village?
This forlorn spirit is burdened down to be free,
To be free of all devils,
All doubts and all deed!!!
Where is ones donational vocational school grads love?
Is it hidden within lockers of broken hearted hunnies?
Doth thy stomach overflow with butterfly fluids?
While many rob you of lovers money,
Dizzy funnies!!!
Hand holders of descendants grumpy mishappers,
Where is love when one seeks so hard for it????!
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
It is 12 noon and I have swagger
Everywhere I look is my domain
I can pick and choose
I can create a scene
I can walk right in.
My universe, so they say,
is under my control.
People even know my name,
Love has come my way.
It's 12 noon and I have swagger that even I must refrain.
By 3 o'clock my life is slipping
The moon eclipses the sun
The sun eclipses the moon
I see the hints of darkness
that was not there at noon.
I reach the ledge and hang swinging,
my finger tips barely grip.
I am sweating but I am holding on.
By 6:00 o'clock
I am on the Bay Bridge,
traffic jammed in
My electrical system fails
and I know if I stop I'm doomed.
I watch the brake lights snaking towards me
No control now for me.
Inevitable as Monday morning
My car stops and I will probably die on this road.
The darkest hour surrounds me now.
My eyes are blind
My hands are numb
My lover has left me
and
I am wondering what I have become.
Sitting now in this empty space
all furniture moved out,
only this rocking chair remains,
Everything I have been has died
and now through finding this meaning
I sigh.
I surrender and all longing vanishes
I drift right back into this moment
and for a moment my heart sings.
At 9:00 o'clock I see a light
I see a path,
I start to move.
Once frozen now thawing
my heart resumes.
The clock clicks out my time
in digital sequence and rhymes
I even feel a dance begin.
I move towards 12:00 o'clock
but this wheel has rolled down the road
and even though back at noon
I start again
but in a different spot
and singing a different tune.
There is humility in my walk.
Down the road I see three oclock.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
Charlotte sat in her queen sized canopy bed in her attict bedroom, her crimson red hair hanging over her face as she scribbled in her journal. her hands trembling. her pulse racing, overwhelmed with sadness, and anxiety.
dear journal,
i feel like an ant in the ocean, being tossed every which way by multiple tides and ruthlessly ripped apart. i feel useless and hopeless and confused. nothing ever gets better, only worse. and i feel so tired and beaten down by life. i just want to give up, because i dont have any fight in me, not anymore. im too damaged. i'm 18 years old and i feel like i've had enough of life. & that it's too laight for me. i dont want to live this life anymore .
charlottes p.o.v
i walk down the stairs and into the kitchen to get a glass of water. only to walk in on my mother and father watching the 10 oclock news, i see the apartment building on fire and all of the people standing around it hugging talking and crying. and then i a reporter comes on. "sophia ryan, 87 year old resident passed away in this fire. not only did the residents of this apartment building lose all of there belongings but a closs friend as well." a picture of the old woman is now on the screen. it's her. my eyes widen and my hands begin to shake. i drop the glass that i was holding and it shatters all over the kitchen floor. my father jumps and looks back at me with fear and confusion in his eyes.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Once a five oclock shadow, now an unkempt beard
This reflecting familiar looks a little weird
My straggly hair, my unwashed clothes
My lack of self confidence grows and grows.
A lack of interest, no get up and go
My personal hygiene at an all time low
So many plans I have lodged in my head
If only I could turf myself out of this bed
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
7 oclock
I pull up to the house where the party is at
Which happens to be your house
And I can see that the place is packed
But I already know that no matter how many people are in those rooms
I will be alone
9 oclock
2 hours and only four shots in
And I am not yet drunk enough to be having a good time
11 oclock
I saw you looking at me from across the room
And maybe it was just the alcohol
But I could've swore I saw longing in your eyes
1 oclock
I left without saying goodbye
Because I knew if I opened my mouth around you my lips would carry themselves to yours
2 oclock
I couldn't stop thinking of you on my ride home
And I hated myself for avoiding you
The crash of metal against metal that filled my ears was surprisingly enough to make my thoughts stop
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
i told my mother
this place haunted me in my sleep
feverish
sweet-syrupy, drowning in other people's memories
he reminds me of someone a long time ago
small and broken
tough, i even remember
that other person saying
if he ever got a tattoo, it would be a smiley face
on his arm--
exactly the same as the one this boy has.
he wakes up with the dust of last night's numbness
in his eyes, washes it out first thing with a warm beer
and stumbles around the ***** glasses, tripping
over the bits of broken rules on the floor, fumbling
for a slightly crumpled cigarette.
he says good morning when it's three oclock in the afternoon,
because bedtime was nine am, and creatures only come out at night--
because he feels safer in the dark,
because there's something
inside him that cracked once
and will never grow back, something inside him
that i bruised and made him give to me, made him hold me
as if i were the damaged one.
i know these small dark spaces so well--
i sleep right next to them, try not to roll over
and fall in. these cavities dark like
dilated pupils, huge and haunting, pulling the light away
i remember this face but i don't know
where have we met? you couldn't be the boy i knew
and yet
you're so familiar.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 6:42 AM UTC
Sleeps a myth.
Red eyed, at 3:00 super markets
I’m there just because their open
Four cups of coffee and a dollar tea
I’m not any thing.
The only light be the moon and the blue smoke laces
Of cigarettes and the flashback glasses
Three phone calls and I answer everyone
He pleads desperately for words I don’t have
And for word I have no way of knowing
Nosh on a truck stop sandwich and try to find the watershed of my back days
Dreams in the dunk take that lead me to this bed without comfort
Contemplate connections concerning the girl whose half work knowing
I go home
It is 4’Oclock
A good and godless hour
But I want faith
Thinking back, yesterday was the start of today
Make that four phone calls, a rerun
Make that five phone calls, a rerun
Casablanca and a warm blanket
Problem is it’s hot out
“play it again Sam“. The phone rings.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 2:04 AM UTC
the sun sets at 4'oclock central time
it's not right, it's not real
and when I turn off the lights and sit in silence.
I am in a constant state of overstimulation
I want it all
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
its one oclock
and i'm scared of the dark
why can't I be scared of snakes-
but I guess if its night
and I hear a hiss in the quiet,
Christ, that gives me the shakes.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
It's 5 o'clock and my world seems bleak once again, surrounded by the same ecompassing shade of remorse that it was last year
It's five oclock and I think I've remembered the art of despising myself but most importantly someone else too because sometimes I forget good enough isn't possible
It's five o'clock and the shadows surrounding my room are that familiar kind of inviting - the kind that doesn't need make up and cheekbones and ediquette and good grades
It's five o'clock and I just want a ******* break for once in my life
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
Sleeps a myth.
Red eyed, at 3:00 super markets
I’m there just because their open
Four cups of coffee and a dollar tea
I’m not any thing.
The only light be the moon and the blue smoke laces
Of cigarettes and the flashback glasses
Three phone calls and I answer everyone
He pleads desperately for words I don’t have
And for word I have no way of knowing
Nosh on a truck stop sandwich and try to find the watershed of my back days
Dreams in the dunk take that lead me to this bed without comfort
Contemplate connections concerning the girl whose half work knowing
I go home
It is 4’Oclock
A good and godless hour
But I want faith
Thinking back, yesterday was the start of today
Make that four phone calls, a rerun
Make that five phone calls, a rerun
Casablanca and a warm blanket
Problem is it’s hot out
“play it again Sam“. The phone rings.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 2:03 AM UTC
The drunken dance of our war torn hearts are just the echo of a better time in my shattered mind....
The laughter of the peak of hapiness is just a cruel mask to temporary solitude...
Bring me back to my home or at least the castle in memories and stay safe in my arrogant tower...
Let your pedastal stand in hoarded surroundings so my clutter looks up to something...
Ill pull myself together and break the spell of shattered dreams only to make the moment seem beautiful....
But dont look back or the five oclock shadow of a broken man will engulf the joy i see in your eyes....
I disappear into the nothingness created by my wisdom to let her be free....
And as i watch her leave she takes the last breath of pure air in my vaccuum of heartache...
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
I sometimes wonder
What morning think.
I sometimes wonder when, where, and why
My eye lashes blink.
I wanted to relax,
Take time and think.
Meditate before I start my day.
Before the sun came up and show the
World beautiful displays.
I wanted to write my poetry,
And recite my words,
Put curves of my life on paper
So my voice can no longer
Be heard.
I wanted to pick flowers,
Pray,
And grant wishes,
Maybe.
Just maybe,
I wanted to eat my breakfast,
And not clean the dishes.
Call it a lazy morning,
Before the sun comes up.
Its 4’oclock,
And the coffee makers is empty,
Right along with my cup.
It’s 5’oclock,
And yet the sun hasn’t risen.
I think I’ll play soft reggae.
Close my eyes,
And just listen.
It’s 6’oclock,
Maybe 6:30.
The sun is now up,
And the mocking birds
Are in a hurry.
Reggae,
And my curved lines are still
Telling a story.
It seems like
The coffee is on,
And my cup is ready.
My mind has stimulated.
My words are now written.
7’oclock is almost near,
And my coffee has started Beginning.
Marci H.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC