"plock" poems
Whipping chip, clipping the drip,
The droplet of alabaster flat-knock,
Rocking the winded chalice off the fat dock,
Plock, Magock.
Skibdoof, pibby. Dr. Pibb. Dr. Face,
Take'ed off my face glands,
Jovial hoagie,
Mold'ed Imhotep,
Brendan Frasier is my hero.
The Mummy 3, see it in theatres.
C-3
3-Peat
Must See
TV
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 10:29 PM UTC
Plock plock plock plock
The sky begins to knock
I feel it on my skin
Yet it's sound is thin
They start to go and run
They start to scamper with fun
Although I remain standing
I feel as though I'm hanging
Hanging off the edge of life
Faced in front of a knife
Nowhere to go and hide
No one to rest and be beside
The trials of life are dark and cruel
Not even a glimpse of a shining jewel
Not even a moment to breathe and live
Not even someone who will forgive
Soaked underneath the rain
But doesn't even wash the pain
The pains that one disagrees
The pains of you and me
Another's arms are what you wish
Her arms that move and swish
Her gaze that you melt in
Your world that starts to spin
A friend I held dear
When I didn't even fear
Assured that it would never be
But my love can never be free
I had hope that it'd be you and me
I had hope that it'd never be three
Cause three is a lonely number
Where two would be lovers
My dear friend had pushed me to you
To help stop another heart that grew
Yet when I let go and flew
She had come and went to you
What to do, what to feel
To lie now and conceal?
Yet stupid ol' me
I seem to be a wannabe
You were never mine
And you to me, never aligned
I can just hope for another one
Where I'd share with no one
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 4:49 AM UTC
Tick-tock the hands of the clock plock
the pendulum swings to the immutable
rhythm of hypnotic seconds measuring time,
the soundtrack to the great oeuvre that is
our life. An existence we perceive
ephemeral, thus instinctively preparing
suitcases since inception, on an earthly
sphere we interpret merely as a vestibule,
be it a pretty one awaiting to embark
on a journey to a destination unknown,
neatly folding experiences one by one,
hiding mistakes between the nethermost
layers, shameful feelings, regrettable deeds
tucked under blankets of tears, loving
sentiments nostalgically stowed as valuables
in secret pockets where fears glow.
Achievements meticulously placed in side-
compartments for easy retrieval, references
just in case, identity printed in capital letters
on a stateless passport holding the blank
ticket stretching ears to heed announcements,
last call for immediate boarding, hopefully
after blowing on candles times enough
for departure to be tolerable, desirable. Yet
the bell tolls every so often unexpectedly,
rendering the baggage of a life time instantly
redundant, while climbing the invisible ladder
naked, slowly dissolving into the ether, a rapid
transition between who we are, have been
and will be once more, pure energy melting
to recompose, metamorphosis in tune not
with the pendulum but with the mute
timeless cosmic flow encompassing all,
the solemn moment the weight suspended
from the pivot ceases to swing.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 3:45 AM UTC