"ticktock" 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
Ticktock ticktock
Says the lazy clock.
Kring-kring-kring
Hear the morning sing.
Wake up! Wake up!
No more time for dreaming.
Zzz-zzz-zzz
Bees? Snore?
You're still sleeping.
Beep-beep-beep
It's your boss calling.
Bang! Hurry! It's 8 a.m.
And the world keeps spinning.
Ting! You're late.
Prepare for screaming.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
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 pawn 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
stroke the mottled glass
"Ahhh Granda!" I smile
giving him a great big hug.
"TickTock!" says granda
**** ****
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 5:04 PM UTC
the lights are dim, the sun is setting
a glass of wine, half-empty
casts a lonely shadow on the wall
a clock is ticking
a solemn reminder
of how time keeps running
even if we think we’re running
out
Jan 26, 2010
Jan 26, 2010 at 1:42 PM UTC
Desire - the detrimental nature of men.
The untouchedness of women,
The innocence of childhood.
Burnt into ashes. Gone.
How I wish Ticktock was my greatest thief,
So innocence would not have left me so early.
Fragments of memories scar my soul,
Yet. Pain, unfelt.
I was four - I was loved.
My stolen innocence,
My untold story.
Life. Long gone.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
The day dripping
Melting
Towards its final demise
The night uncovered/discovered
A cover for all the nights’ disguise
Either way
Making way
For the ticktock busyness of the fray
Time to dress/undress
Do/undo
Whatever’s underway
Such a lonesome stay
Either way
It’s ok
The where is neither here nor there
She said
She was
A crepuscular creature
Of neither night nor day
A potpourri of either way.
Revealing simply what she wants to say.
A reconciliation of either way.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 10:37 AM UTC
ecstatic, lateral / irrational longing
ticktock time bomb waiting for your
slack to tighten, get back to me
whiskey-stung bottom lip under
white sheets and thunder
hollow hands hold out heavy-
drowned secrets from my left lung
make the nights last longer
make the air even against the thought of what you sing when I'm leaving
recount the loudest bouts from which I crumble
worship one thigh at a time, my god
why don't they come with a warning;
the morning put stones on my bowing
another good reason to kiss you
another's lost lover, ocean story
red-wave cravings
I'll pay in great shades of grey & plunder
shave my legs and go
right back under
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
Knock Knock (Yet Not TickTock)
Maybe or Mightily. Where shall we start?
Feeding up with our own ego.
Fearless knight ready for a battle
Stand on your own! Is there a path
lead to solitude? Look down
where those dropped
Stars squeezed echo.
They all reunified at valley bottom.
Fearless knight dawn your Armor
Who will be prepared to a cosplay night
Angel or Devil? Hold on tight
True heart's desires
Fearless Knight.
Stand your ground.
Due time for battle.
Maybe, Mightily No fearless.
Together, not alone.
08/03/2021
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 9:04 PM UTC
You saw Judy on the south wing
of the old folks nursing home
near to Mr Atkinson’s room
carrying towels in her arms
I need to speak to you
you said
what about?
she asked
you playfully bundled her
into Bob Atkinson’s room
(he was either
in the lounge
or out down town
hobbling along
for small items of shopping
or at the second-hand
book shop looking
for boy’s annuals
of yesteryear
which he read
from cover to cover
before cutting out
the pictures
and sticking them
in albums)
what are you doing?
she said
what if Bob comes in?
he won’t
he’s out
you said
but what if he does?
she whispered
well unless I was rogering you
to kingdom come
I don’t think he’d mind
you said
pressing her 5’5’’ body
against the door
and looking into her
grey blue eyes
she gazed
into your eyes
and said
what do you need
to talk to me about?
I think I’m in love with you
you said
she sighed
that’s the umpteen time
you’ve told me that
she said
she dropped the towels
on Bob’s bed
and put her arms
around your waist
and drew you closer
you moved your left hand
around her back
and your right hand
on her buttocks
and said
that’s because it’s
umpteen times worse
or better depending
how you look at it
she kissed you on the lips
and you sensed
her tongue touch yours
her eyes closed
and you closed yours
the room becoming
a far away place
her perfume blending
into the air about you
the ticktock of Bob’s
old clock on the bedside table
like some metronome
setting the pace
as if it was all part
of some song or some
deep aspect
of a Bruckner symphony
she pushed you away
and said
it’s nearly break time
and people will wonder
why we’re not there
and put one
and one together
ok
you said
removing your hand
from her ****
the warmth still there
her eyes still captured
in your inner self
thank you
for the Chagall postcard
I’ve put it on
my bedside table
along with that photo
you gave me of you
got to go
she said
and opened the door
and walked off
down the passage
you looked around
Bob’s room
at the ticking clock
and the blue
candlewick cover
and the picture
of some boy
cut out of some
old annual
chasing a dog
over a field
and Judy’s lips
and tongue
seemed still
to be there
in your mouth
and her hand enfolding
your waist and back
and Peter in the pants
going all slack.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
11:11
Make a wish, my love
Time binds us but it does not make us.
Consumes us.
All things
Are
Relative
To that
Tick tock
Ding
Of the clock.
Such is life
Such is us.
Allow it to shape us
Lift us
Bring us
Back
Push us
Forward
Bittersweet
Tick tock.
Traveling backwards only in memories
And dreams
Moving forward always
Never ending
You cannot choose it's course
Though
Your destination to the past is yours for tge choosing.
Allow this time
To clear
Your mind
Fill it
Only
With the
Present.
Nothing more.
What choice have we?ticktock
That time is lost.
The time
Is NOW.
WISHES
DREAMS
LUST
So much to say in such restrained time.
Man made
Ever present
Tick tock.
Loud and
Noisy
Fluid and
Graceful
Steady
Tick Tock.
Leave it
There
Be here
You
Me
Sheets and flesh.
We have
Such
Little
Time
Tick Tock
Rue the day and leave it behind.
A forgotten hole.
Gone
Forever.
We are now
Sweet Night
Tick Tock.
11:11
Wish
11:12
Sleep.
Breathe me in.
The present.
The love.
Tick Tock
Ding.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 5:13 AM UTC
“I’M THE GUILDFORD GUILDHALL CLOCK I AM!”
Oh I’ve been knocking out time now since…eh….let’s see 1683
Minutes and decades flow through me
The everlasting skies above me.
I’m iconic I am
dressed in my black and gold.
I ( if I may be so bold )
AM GUILDFORD.
The pride of Surrey.
I watch the High Street
as it runs down to that
young whippersnapper statue
THE SCHOLAR or whatever.
People congregate about the chap
eat sandwiches….listen to a busker
busk opera.
Only in Guildford!
But it’s me they look up to!
And is it time for tea?
Why so it is and. . .
citizens clatter over the cobbles.
I’m the Guildford Guildhall clock I am!
Tip! top!
Ticktock!Ticktock! Tiptop!Tip top!
TIP!!!!!!!!!!
TOP!!!!!!!!!
***
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
Teresa!?!
~Tanner!
Terribly
Tardy?
Ticktock ;)
~Time?
T-minus
10
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
2
-
12:00am!
~2020!!!
2020!!!
Tequila
Toast!
~Tequilla
Toast—
To
2020!!!
To
2020!!!
~Terviseks!
Terviseks!
~Tasty :)
Tequilla
Tesoro
~Tesoro?
Translated
"Treasure"
~Tasty
Treasure ;)
Top-notch!
~Tip-top!
(tender
touch...)
~Terrific
Timing :)
Terrific
Time...
~Totally
Thoughts?
~Tired
Terrible
Timing :(
~Terribly
Tuckered.
Together
Tonight?
~Together
Tomorrow?
Together
Today!
12:00pm :)
~That's
True!
Today,
12:00pm :)
Terrific!
~Till
Then—
Tootles!
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 12:58 PM UTC
Didn't matter at First,
Easy to put down and walk the road
That Was iN The Beginning.
Around the Time iBegan taking Small Doses.
iFell inlove As iKept Consuming
Was Set To not let it go.
iGot Hooked on this Crystal postion
My Life Began Taking Twisted Footsteps.
By Time My Happiness, Smile, laugh, Charm And big heart faded.
iNo Longer Felt Nothing.
Numbness All Around Me.
TickTock The Clock And Consumption Changed me.
Cold Hearted, hatred in The Eyes Believed The Sober Truth As Lies.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
Put your ear to the concrete, now.
It has the same rhythm as watercolor,
our souls have the same consistency as dirt.
La la la. Everything is plowed in the ground eventually –
every ticktock shows Atlantis a friend.
This balcony smells like violins, like a comet, like waifs
& has the sound of crowded prose.
A man will spit, spit, spit on you:
a girl will crawl from a bottle of effervescence –
both carry their flask
one is so red, do worry about communism.
We will all have our canteen
microwave like a thermos & aerate into
our crowded spit bubble, big finale la la la.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
Hello
Could you sit there for a bit
I want to consider you
I think I like you
Our fabrics match and the sun shines so nice
Very pleasantly on the seat across the table
Could you sit there for a bit
My songs have been sleeping
But I think
(Because I do not know)
(Really, how should I know)
They come up for you
With sweet sounds my voice will not express
I hear them from your lips instead
Are you a truth
That must be asked
(What is trust?)
This water is cut with clockwork
A ticktock gate and as its keeper
Could you sit there for a bit
And tell the truth
Because!
I’m sorry, but all gears aside
I just
I’m sorry
I just
I’m sorry
Wait
Please
I’m sorry, hold on
It’s not, I mean
Not desperation or anything
Haha, right
I mean
Oh no
When did the gate open
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
Ticktock,
Drip drop
The voices of this house
Speak to me
And yet,
More comforting
Than the silence
We lived in
Before you left
Your key
© JL Smith
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
Ticktock sings the clock and
a rhythm follows through,
Slippery slop my sad tear drop,
awaits the morning blues.
Ticktock the seconds pass,
but time for once stays still,
a moments worth wrapped in a lifetime,
a chase to chase without thrill.
Ticktock I wait for you and,
subtly ***** my self,
for a life without you sounds sad but true,
cant extend a hand for help.
Ticktock a final goodbye,
good wishes and good wills we share,
tears of sorrow, no hope for tomorrow,
one last time i bow down for a prayer.
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
[you the drug] murmurs to my lips.
the visions pound: a deep
bass [pushing and pulling]
shooting up:
the memory, passion, a high,
the feelings,
(and touches, lingering
slipping into empty
wisps of air)
uncontained, unrestrained,
ticktocktick: [we the clock] that
doesn’t sleep, doesn’t slow,
doesn’t forget.
(being itself a point of reference,
uncontrolled unrelenting time,
being a point of origin,
weighing me down in
the churning waves
in the pounding bass)
[we the clock] that loses me,
that consumes me,
that (being itself a reference)
is unreadable and blindingly
invisible
[clutching sand].
The [ticks of memory] bring
tremors:
the bass pulsing nodes
into my skin, (pushing me into
the drug,
drowning me in the frenzied,
methodical
ticktockticktickticktick of the clock.)
[me the ****** longing and desire]
I cling to [we the clock], love every second
minute, hour. The echoes of the
thrashing
movement of empty time
in the ticktock tears [me]
(kicking and screaming, locked in my head
behind a wall of miles, distance seeping
through the cracks.) from the visions
from [you the drug],
from the bass,
the addictive additive
to living:
You.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
A clock to watch the time
the seconds ticktock beat
like heart in chest
or foot on street
One handed mid-night chime
morning comes before the sun
two hands to meet again
in the post-meridian
The moon, she is sublime
my clock and her share faces
but only once a month
a matched homeostasis
And the golden summer days
turn to frigid winter nights
autumn romp in leaves
spring spent flying kites
The child in us parts ways
the ticktocking beat remains
time accelerates
the moon begins to wane
The years become a haze
the months replace the days
seconds don't exist
your memory disobeys
your life is just a tick
your death is soon to talk
years, they go by quick
while we sit
and watch
the clock...
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
The clock's got that wicked angle about it,
and I guessed it-nearing the point of no return
The kind we seek in labyrinthic nights
The numbers and hands dictate, and
I follow without a fight
-cj
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Behind the clocks
Ticktock, ticktock
An immortal
Spirit dwells
No flesh that sags
Nor slowly rots
No meat on
His bones
To tell
Temporal
Disturbance
Fatigue sets in
As we scrape
The bottom of mind
Post it on your page
And now you're all in
Cursed to be
One of his kind
....
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
There is garbage in and garbage out,
more of it stays in, leaves doubt,
what to think of life and there about,
the cost of msinformation
when you lay down your head for bed,
and your stomach is full, there is no dull lull
in the energy, inside see, oh there is a problem
the cost of winding down, the clock that
goes tick tock, ticktock, all night
as you glow in the dark, from metabolic sparks,
fitness hits every attribute of your life,
physical,
emotional,
spiritual,
social,
intellectual,
mental,
vocation, in no particular order,
adapt or become fossiled grizzle,
life will go on while you fizzle
out
of
existence,
It really is about knowing when you are full, and of what,
It really is about knowing when you are empty and need a refill,
of what won't make you ill kept, ill tempered, ill so others do not
keep, their distance... by the way
how are things in NYC to night? One week to go...till that Big Game
What about Australia and all points between,
and how is that other side of the Atlantic doing,
I won't go further than that because I have to riot,
and I am having one writing this.
©DWE012014
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
i just looked at friedrich hölderlin's
life and thought: fair enough, Hegel might
get his bagel... but i'll have this madcap's
treaty of honour... the rest can have
the woman who will assuredly spend, and spend,
and keep the economical side of
things in tip-top ticktock... i don't mind death,
having embraced it once, my only fear of death is
a death that i should not wish to exercise against
the educational demonology of the Catholic church,
i.e. not exercising my rights to admit euthanasia...
as one poet said: the sane are too numerous,
too moralised, too cocksure and ***********
you can hear them talking but it just ends
up being a chance to hear them gagging
with a fur-ball... your thoughts on suicide are one,
but your thoughts on medical suicide are another...
that a: the joke wishes to die, what will the people
ever do next? cry? i believe in the Sinai Sun...
i believe in Taiyō as i believe in the Ensō -
Thai-yo-yo... if i am not allowed this luxury
i believe there's no need for a sofa, or a television...
or a care for your opinion being matched
to consider the way to live equal to mine...
your own the path sown and sewed...
each to our own straitjackets and the signature alive,
and epitaph dead.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
It's amazing out there so
take one day at a time
and enjoy every minute
and love, laugh and enjoy
today because today is all
you have as the clock goes
ticktock and takes all
you've got.
Don't even try to
understand but be sure
to find a place to make
your stand and hold on
to what is dear in the
short time you are here.
As you hide from all of
the madness realize that
the beauty of it is that as
we live we die and life is
what it is and we are what
we are and it will be made
into what we make it.
The art of being wise is
the art of knowing what
to overlook and the
journey is as enlightening
as the destination and
know that it is unwise to
be too sure of one's own
wisdom because if you
think your wise your
probably not but know
that wisdom is founded
upon knowledge and
shaped by uncertainty.
Jon York 2015
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
The clock is ticking,
The room is cold and rusted radio is playing old good song helpful for my unorganized mind,
The lost old dog by Charles Bukowski is kept open as the wind is being so hyped,
The walls ain’t talking once they used to now they just stares at me blankly,
Ticktock on wall, saxophone sound from radio and hyped wind makes my bones move ,
Radio ain’t going to stop nor the wind is slowing down and my body is super exhausted that I finally couldn’t hear the tick tock but The walls are still starting blankly and sat on the couch, smiled hardly, there was rushing of sweat from my body and That was one good method to clam down the unorganized mind.
W.E
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC