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.

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

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.

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

They wait for the bell with baited breath
The voice at the front of the room buzzes about their heads
The nightmare swells as they stare out the windows
Wanting to break the wishbone that will free them again
Ticktock
Ticktock
Ticktock

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

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
"**** ****!"

“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!!!!!!!!!

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.

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.

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

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.

Moving ever forward
Forever looking back

It only costs
A piece of me

Each time
Each moment
Turns to black

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.

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.

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.

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

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

[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.

“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!!!!!!!!!

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...

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

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.

time continues
ready or not
continuous clock
non- stop, tick tock

frozen in place
minds race
crave change
sadness remains

swallow me whole
eat me up
twist and turn
and ring me out

slap my face
wake me up
dance in the rain
thunderstruck

murdered hopes
decontrol
numbing pain
distant gain

tears steadily flow
anguish grows
I miss her so
take me home

slowly dying
faithfully trying
life not living
stubbornly willing

jokes on me
puppet on a string
sense of humor
punchline rumor

energy electric
inimitably connected
meant to be pull that string
devastating

dangle that carrot
love and cherish
another lie
all hope dies

hurt still aches
sleep or wake
alongside time
frozen in place

ace up my sleeve
spirit in me

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

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

the fiery ember-glow of the appointed hour
beckons the hour-hand closer

starchy, stiffened footsteps
of the structured ticktock routine
fracture first then crumble into powder
swept away by stampede winds

forget it then
the charred and brittle caress
of the silver-for-chains bargain

instead there will be
lemon and lilac-flower music
sand dune and landslide gestures
and heavy maple-syrup glances
deep into a crude-oil quicksand night.

My timing is always off
He knows this much is true.

I crept behind you and shoved you off
Ignored the feelings inside you.

Let’s go back a little while.
And remember our kindness too.

We always find the rope snaking back.
I’ve treated you so cruel.

9 to Five

No sleep, real talk, my years behind me daily on the hunt they stalk me into today throughout each passing tommorrow its left me bound by sorrow so be honest with yourself as you read these words as if they were bound by fate in a book of broken memories soul restrained sanity entertained by necessity for survival but my nights release facts, my hand guided by pen dispensing sound through words of lost years lived in fear as I write blind-sidingly haunted by my own sentiments living bound safe in lies to avoid my demise I see this in our eyes gotta get wise and reverse the clock its ticking counter-clockwise but still pressing foward dressing my soul for a journey toward Who, What, When, and Where so thanks for the thoughts but I've been Here and I been There the fabric of my life has suffered its share of tears as surely as any other smiling by day crying by night I wanna give up n' just whiteflag this fight but this fight is life so despite being sick fearful of strife..

I turn my eyes to the light. Blind me, bind me, find me, remind me..

That I too once could love..
But it fell apart..
Heart unbound I wanna scream but can make no sound..

Gotta face the light..

I gotta stop this fight..

I will live and do my best to give but on the last day whenever it may be..

I wonder..

Would I relive this life again as myself..?

...Or perish the thought?

Alarm clock, ticktock, guess living this way is considered "alive"..

Off I go..

To work my 9 to Five..

NISI...become. . . ABSOLUTE

early summer falls across
the lawn...the trees
the bars of a cage

sunlight and shadow
our jailers
our own good selves

and we
the prisoners
of this summer's day

"Shall I compare thee to.."
I laugh to myself
no...I guess not

we forever imprisoned
in sunlight and shadow
an image made real

memory holds us here
trapped in this conceit
sentenced to be who we could never be

and so we sat until
sunlight relinquished
its hold over the world

and so we sat until
darkness swallowed us whole
only our voices visible

only our vices invisible
as always
each the murderer of the other

now no longer
man & wife
I glimpse my face in a fish knife

the decree nisi
still tucked behind
the ormolu clock

the divorce
still eats at my soul
this piece of paper mocking me

and now
the decree absolute
we sit down to our last supper

the cat devours
( I don't tell you that )
the fresh trout

the fresh trout
all dressed up in its dish
like a sacrifice

I shoo the cat away
it snarls at me
"Ticktock!" laughs the clock ormoluly

the cat looks at me
with disdain...scorn
licks lovingly its *****

I cut the cat-chewed bit away
serve up with a too rich sauce
the unseen incident not noticeable

and so after all
I still serve you
before me

you smile your smile
say we should have
"...maybe stayed together after all..?"

too late now I think
to recall
the people we used to be

we different people now
"Time doesn't heal..!" I think
"...Time's a heel!" I secretly smile

I pass the port
a crumb of Stilton still stuck
charmingly upon her chin

"The sunlight on the garden
hardens and grows cold."
I quote MacNeice to the parrot

"We can not catch its minutes..."
the parrot continues and I finish
"...within its nets of gold."

memory still holds me
prisoner in that garden
I watch her taxi pull away

the taxi turns the corner
blinks a right turn
and is gone

back in the kitchen
I let the cat finish
my untouched trout

I flambé the decrees
both nisi and absolute
watch us go up in smoke

IT'S TIME

Time pinned down
in a tiny clock
trapped behind its numbers

Time taps out
an S.O.S.
"Tick tock!" it pleads "Tick tock!"

Time the genie
trapped inside
the clock's ticktock

Time torn apart
made available to us humans
in parcels of hrs.,  mins.  & secs

Time held prisoner
in a clock
force fed tick tocks

fob watch
Time tied
to a chain

Death lets Time
out of the clock
the humans stop what they're doing