"tickety" poems
Clicketyclick —
sickly screens,
shooting
sixty
picture-frames
per second
Tickety ticktock, rapid-fire
photon cannons,
ripping holes
through our
faces
rectangles,
riddled with anxiety ridden
read scripts
the resultant
retinal scarring
Wicketywicked, weary eyes,
dripping with serrated pixels
triple dotted,
typing-awareness indicators
create silly suspenses,
inducing temporal
dramas,
emotional
micro-traumas
every second a slice
through my,
now practically nonexistent,
patience
Am I a server,
or am I a servant?
Eyes, sunken, with
withered skin
I'm waiting for my fix
Ding-ding
Bloop!
Pinggg
Here comes the dopamine! —
—Clicketyclick
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
“Here’s your morning PSA,
Laced with saccharine and anaesthetic,
Unfortunately the missiles are on their way,
So leave the sick and try not to panic,
Ignore the hysteria, and those calling your name,
Avert your eyes as the world sets aflame,
We apologise for keeping this from you,
Secret for all of these years,
But please keep in mind, though we’ll aim for your rescue,
Death is the least of your fears
This will be our last transition,
I’m afraid the president must catch his flight,
You may wait to hear from us but until then,
Goodbye, goodluck and goodnight.”
We were the PVC plastic barbie dolls,
Waiting to be burned alive,
Unlucky enough to live,
We woke up to an absence of we,
No Nevada left to test in,
So I’m a model mannequin,
Melt me down,
Tick-Tick-Tick,
The light was white and empty,
Tick-Tick-Tick,
My madness steeped in silence
Tick-Tick-Tickety,
Geiger is telling me to run,
Tickety-Tickety-Tickety,
But it’s no use now,
I threw up on Monday,
Tuesday, I choke back fallout,
Ignore the bubbles when it hits my skin,
On Wednesday, my gums blink bright red,
Thursday I know I am all alone because the wind has ceased to blow,
And Friday I realise I am not,
They came with rubber masks,
Silicone,
Respirators and coils of filters,
We both had big black eyes,
But neither of us saw people reflected in them,
I counted three,
Alpha, Beta, Gamma,
One smiles by exhaling clean air,
Reaches out a hand across the barren wasteland,
Fingers tipped with lead and tells me:
“There’s a prize for the last standing.”
I am not ionised,
So I bruise every time they touch me,
These guides through plagues of acid rain,
The graveyard of monuments stripped bare by a world of rot,
My hair falls out as I breathe dead air,
I don’t remember what PSA stands for,
I don’t remember my name,
I bleed sand and the echo of a failed civilisation,
But with heavy breathing and a muffled voice,
Gas masks filtering what used to keep me alive,
I wonder if there is anything behind those masks at all,
I know there is nothing behind mine,
None of us are human anymore,
And we haven’t been for quite some time,
Together, we watch the sky rain black ash.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
~
*gone to earth
left for dead
everything is tickety-boo
forget your iron-on measures
and scuttled installation
your life is a bakery
that cake is like your head
bittersweet
and full of regret
what am I reading these days?
a book across the stars
where dreams in the throes
of giddy aerosol cans
**** the passersby
and sleep against
the exit sign*
~
May 16, 2022
May 16, 2022 at 10:32 AM UTC
Sat here with the clock
and its tickety tock.
There's holes in my heart
and holes in my socks.
The wallpaper peels,
reveals wallpaper from,
two decades before,
when we were still young.
Now aged with the years,
covered over in time.
Lost to the new,
lost to our eyes.
Its beauty, still present,
so I peel back some more.
Listen to records
and lie on the floor.
The ripples of smoke
swirling to the ceiling
kinda portrays
the way that I'm feeling.
Floating around
always lost to it all.
My mood just like wallpaper
can rise and can fall.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Tickety … tock
Tickety … tock
Tickety … tock
All I hear is the ticking of tha stupid clock.
With each step I take
With heart beat of my heart
With each inhale and exhale
All I hear is that stupid clock.
That clock is someone you know.
It’s someone you care about.
It’s me.
All the words that you say
And all the actions that you don’t do
Is making the clock go
Tickety … tock
Tickety … tock
Tickety … tock
Molding me to fit your model
And dressing me up in my sister’s clothes
And putting her shoes on my feet
Make the clock go faster
Tickety tock
Tickety tock
Tickety tock
Let me live my own life
The way that I want to live it.
Let me be the person that I want to be.
Let me wear my own shoes
The same pair that I have been
Wearing my enire life.
Let me be me
So the clock will not go
Tickety tock
Tickety tock
Tickety tock
Tickety tock
…
BOOM
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 6:41 PM UTC
she kneels in a fire place
******* off a midnight entity
of deformed shadows
and hinged erections
rickety tickety tin
sang clutching muffin
in Neolithic fires
caressing
tinker toy femurs *** deep
a dark heaven chants
**** ghosts and gorgons
while sea witches and dwindling waves
like goat steps
edge twilight princess
Zex depraved lord
and lick my lips
crucify her spread wide
coiling vacant maidens
yielding angel hemic tides
in rituals of **********
skinned on scarlet pavement
as she is dragged
on her knees
where moaning thighs perch
on nailed sticks
like white picket fences
and invisible doors burn
she communes with oracles of lust
that incinerate rafts of solitude
windows slam shut
like shuddering robes of thunder
and a headless god
pours her glistening tears
over his arterial bludgeon
resurrection of eros
in the Golgotha
of swarming incubi
she called to hell
i am prey
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 12:28 PM UTC
Tick tock
Tick Tock
It's late
tock Tick
tock Tick
I'm wired
Tick
I'm tired
Tock
I'm wired I'm tired I'm tired I'm wired
Tick-tock tock-tick
Tick tock tickety tock
tickety tick tickety tock
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up-shut up
shut the **** up
you stupid ******* clock
I'm tired
I'm wired
If I don't get some sleep I'll get fired
Tick-tock tock-tick
Tick tock tickety tock
tickety tick tickety tock
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up-shut up
shut the **** up
you stupid ******* clock
Some sleep
Can't sleep
My mind
Just creeps
Just blind
Count sheep
Do'n't work
Each peep
Alert
Can't sleep
Create
Won't sleep
And think
Don't sleep
Excite
**** sleep
**** sleep!
**** SLEEP
Tick-tock tock-tick
Tock-tick tick-tock
Tick tock tickety tock
tickety tick tickety tock
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up-shut up
shut the **** up
you stupid ******* clock
Alarm
Goes beep
Oh well
No sleep
Need sleep
**** work
I'll sleep
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
The authorities can authorise as much as they please but they have no authority over me.
it's the rule of austerity
It's a dog eat dog and if you're down on your luck,you might as well **** on it,they don't give a **** and once you've feasted on failure it don't hurt a bit,
and a pound in your purse is as much of a curse as no money at all,you want to buy this,you want to buy that but you ain't got a bit of food in your flat.
'Live off the fat of the land',
like those buggers in Whitehall who sit on their hands and yet still have hands free, as they wave them around to try and authorise me.
And in those ivory towers the powers that be who think of roast beef and not about me,carry on, as if it's all tickety boo,
but you know,it was never like that as you sit in your flat with no food,the TV shows a riot,you should think why not try it and you're becoming unglued,
falling to bits and it's them effing ***** what's to blame.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Tick tock
Tickety-Tickety tock
My hair stands at end
Ready to fall, a superior time to walk.
Away from here
And gone from this place
That fills me with sadness
And such disgrace.
Will I ever know the reason behind
The choices made, etched in stone?
Can I be forever sorry
Or just happiness eternally postponed?
So, here I am in complete surrender of will
I give up on self-sabotage and futility
I kneel to pray for mercy and grace
And for the gift of God's love, humility and grace.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
tick tock
tock tikety
tee too
time so
tocks ticks
await you
your return
tock ticks
eye flash
hope you
o k
tock tick
await again
life so
tock tickety
long when
listening to
clicks clocks
tickety tocks
gears gnash
hourglass
sand sifts
seconds
hours
days years
tick tocks
alone
awaiting
you to
return
and still
I wait
for you
hear the
ticks tocks
anticipate
ticks tocks
cant sneak
up on me
as i sit
here awaiting
tick tock
click clock
count me
my life
as a
dream of
sand shift
ing down
the glassine
clear vision
ary dream
awaitin'
again
tic toc
to when
the beg
inning
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
Medical History
I believe it was Churchill who said
History is written by the victors
delivered, one imagines, dryly with
a dash of pith, an ounce or two of gin,
words clipped and formed in the space above
his derbied chalk hill dome from gathering
clouds of ominous blue cigar smoke,
veddy proper, tickety-boo and all
that rot. A life insurance policy
after all, read in a British accent
is boilerplate made sublime, all this
as I sit in the waiting room checking
off rows of little boxes, writing
my medical history, to be read
aloud in the event of my demise
by Englishmen; Bill Nighy on
the subject of my LDL levels,
Patrick Stewart breathing life into a
family penchant for colon cancer or
Gary Oldham giving a dignified
reading from the list of male fore-bearers
who’ve toppled headlong over the pale
clutching their chests. Perhaps Steve Coogan
or some surviving Python could coax a
chuckle at the expense of my total
hip replacement, snatching victory from
the jaws of inevitable defeat.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
Almost one o'clock,
Insomnia doesn't rock
Tickety- toc- doc
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
It's astounding,amazing
like cows we are grazing while the
world falls apart,
I hear them cry
from Kenya to Mumbai
and all points on the dial...meanwhile
we stuff ourselves with food off the shelf and we
don't give a ****
Twenty first century man can do no wrong just
as long as he lives in the West and the rest?
we try not to think about them
because we are the twenty first century men.
We are selfish,
going back to when we were just shellfish,before
we marched onto the land,before we colonised and
then realised
how big and how grand that we were,but
we'll get there in the end
until then we'll pretend that it's
all tickety boo
but who
are we
trying to kid?
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
Surprise
surprise
even the veins write lines
inside my eyes.
When I sleep
which I do,
I shoot up the ink
that makes me blink
more lines.
I need no pat on the shoulder
no cat for me because I'm older
Methuselah lives next door
and he has the ***** of Babylon
that keeps
him young and big
and strong.
Not for me,
I love the pain
I like being the bain
of my own life
and words more words
there's always more
come knocking on the bedroom door
prying into eyes and spying out the
land
some other hand writes the lines that line
the artery
but I can see it,
just as I got over Casanova
Judy punches me,
I felt it
the belt, it
hit me like
she meant it.
it's la di da as far as it can be or
all tickety boo to you.
The meds are wearing off right now
the portcullis lowers down
the castle guards are keeping watch
in this great Northern..
..did I say
they all wear gowns of heavy pink brocade?
they'll feed me lemonade laced with cyanide
must keep my eyes opened wide to
write lines with veins where all are class five choo choo trains
it's only being insane that keeps sane
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
I feel good and how are you?
well,
that's splendid that you do
in fact I'd say,
'just tickety boo'
but if at times you think you're not
and if sometimes you've got an ache or pain,remember I feel just the same,but what's the point of harping on
before you know it that feeling's gone and once again,free from pain and all's the same as it was.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
Tick Tock
The mouse ran up the clock
The fish swam up the dock
Tickety tickety tock
I don't know how to talk
The only things I say
Are thoughts that someone gave
Me, I don't speak for my thoughts
They riot
Underrepresented
They riot
They're turning on me
I'm not doing them justice
They scream on me
They shout
"Let us go"
"We want you to speak us"
But I don't know how to talk
"I can't, I can't"
I tell them
They ignore me like I ignore them
Tick tock
Back and forth I rock
Sanity is a casualty of freedom
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
The birds went missing for some days
I did not fail to see them
For I can keep tabs on their commings
By the feed level in the silo
I wonder, have they departed?
Did the entire gathered multitude
All the species and varieties
At once get summoned by a grand poobah
Ah No. They’re back
Voracious, suddenly. Perhaps an appetite
Built up from long journeys South to heat
Returned as quickly to a stable staple supply
El viejo, baggy clothes and vaguely rancid
Arrives at the tickety tockety place
The pigeons dance head first, feet next
He knows each by his dull colour
At the trough they proceed in size order
Pleasing my delicate sense of propriety
Titmouse, cardinal, blue jay, woodpecker
A grub abides among the seed
I observe
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
Time is like a snail
today
slow
slow
slowly
the hand moves around the
clock.
tock
tock
tickety tock
My thought become stagnant
primordal things
attuned to nothing
just white noise
and static
as I wait for the world to deliver me
something anything
different to the
tickety
tock
tock
tock
of the slow moving clock
white noise
and static
white noise
and static....
.Nunc Cocleam.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
On the scale of
'one to does anyone care'
we're nearly there
not long to go
and when we fail
everyone will know
because
they'll all be there
with us.
I watch the inconsistencies,
kind people taking liberties
cheapskates paying over the odds
sinners praying to gods
oh
there's lots not tickety boo
they're all in a hurry
always too much to do,
and then there are
the camera's that spy on us
the files that they keep on us
all of them watching us,
we're never alone.
May 24, 2022
May 24, 2022 at 11:45 AM UTC
the errrrrr skip of skateboard
propelled by half-drunk foot
the tickety ticking ten speeds
coasting to bikini smiling blonds
tattoooo tattoooo rollerblades
and swooshing bicycled dads
pushing strollers with style
screaming roller coaster
and surfboard Suzies
rainbow parasails over
beeping muscled jeep
Ah the sounds
and commotion
of hormonal
locomotion
10/06/2002
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
In the turning I would spin
about
begin the magic
roundabout
twist the ropes and
in the twisting
I could cope
untangled I become the greater mess
hopelessness
like
homelessness
knows many houses
and
in those houses though there mansions be
I am adrift
admitting finally
which explains it totally?
It's as if I never understood what works of art that good men are
and by men I mean mankind which includes the female of the species
are we still **** Erectus?
do you not detect the irony?
derelicts and broken men lay anywhere
I see them everywhere
colluding with protruding avaricious eyes
I am wise to those ways.
and so like Whittington I turn,
returning to the origins
Darwin grins and says,
I told you so
I know
but because I doubted much like Thomas did
I saw it for myself and
felt the blood rush to my cheeks
He who seeks needs better sight than I and I have
blurry vision
except in 20/20 dreams.
as they say
It's all tickety boo until you
understand the reasons why
and I never knew.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Sinking back to the core
blood freeze,
she's
stolen my heart,
my body reacts all within a
Sun's lifetime and
I heat up only to become
a dying giant.
Back for more
back to the core
into the fray and
burn for yearn for
turn into a giant
again
and die.
Sod's law,
everything tickety boo and then you die.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
There's a difference in his eyes I cannot see
the thought of letting loose, of setting him free
enough to churn the stomach, to gurgle, to rile
his ammonic state of mind corrosive and vile
he lives his life surrounded by taunts and mistrust
hiding deviacy beneath lies and thick dust
the remnants of normality obscured but still there
he hears their cries but no longer cares
desperation desperation where hath thou gone
skin pallid upon where the sun once shone
***** cakes the carpet, blood up the walls
bits of babies and adult men strewn through the halls -
*[Listen! Listen! Can you hear that sound?
It's the sound of your ignorance, of morality unwound]*
I sat down today and looked into the mirror
through a curtain of cigarette smoke,
I never used to indulge in such filth
a fool to sin, guess I deserve to cough, to choke
there's a jittery malevolence within I can feel
with every tickety-tick-tock of the clock something unreels -
a prisoner to the past, I revel in divine incense
of pathetic excuses and irreverent adolescence
he's inside me now, there's nothing I can do
it's the way of the world, my little flower bloom I grew
now I'll nurture it, feed it, watch him flourish
then maybe someday I'll finally be ******* noticed.
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC