"timer" poems
Look at all these wannabe gangsters
Terrorising our streets
That one's wearing camouflage trousers
Just wait till you hear him speak
'Dems bear skills mate'
'Can you lend me fifty bar?'
He sounds like he's from Los Angeles
Doing time in the yard
But he's not
He still lives at home with his mum
And his pregnant girlfriend
And he's under the thumb
You see them outside Tesco
But they're not shopping for pesto
Let's go
They've seen the old bill
He's known around this town
For selling dodgy pills
Guns, knives and slang
That's what you need
If you wanna be in their gang
No education
Just a stolen Playstation
And don't forget the ****
Even on a school night
They're out doing speed
You'll see 'em in the park
With a bottle of cider
Then they'll start
On a poor old-timer
Tracky bottoms
And a Burberry hat
Chav fashion
Cause they think they're all that
But the funny thing is
They don't have a clue
They don't think like
Me or you
They think that they're rap stars
Dreaming of fast cars
But they're just wankers
More like 'wannabe gangsters'
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
The sun set at its appointed time, 438pm - setting a race towards the end.
Drinks were drunk,
Emotions were triumphed, kisses were exchanged and the moon was flying high.
A swap of fluid and hands were held - the countdown began and the ball it fell.
A kiss goodnight, a sad goodbye, then relief and empty bed, a welcomed sight.
A slow progression towards the rising and at 721am it happened without a warning.
A reset of the timer - from 12/31 to 01/01.
Time to start again and try to enjoy the time that will come.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
I wouldn’t dare to guess
The whole extent of
The adolescent mess
Left upon the first broken heart..
Certainly you are one of those
Who have overcome
Those common blows
That tears a first timer's world apart...
Or even luckier yet
Perhaps your soulmate
This time around
Is who you met
Reflected in the passion of your art....
Being a poet
Can be quite telling
Aesthetically rebelling
Sharing all the secrets
Of one's unique solitary heart.....
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new;
And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none.
Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains;
And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away.
Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs;
And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke.
Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd;
And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a *****
Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance;
And I'm a pot-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death.
Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one;
And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce.
Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines;
And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell.
Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt;
And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick.
Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop;
And I'm a plastic party cup melting away.
Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery;
And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop.
Love is a huge pink eraser;
And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight.
Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk;
And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner.
Love is meant for fish;
And I'm a bird.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
Found myself at a dental clinic...
He was the best there was.
Unorthodox and eccentric,
But to the specialised craft, he was boss.
Ran through the bits and bobs
Like any normally would.
The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays.
Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood.
Strange was what happened next...
Specialist and I then stood facing each other.
He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage.
Held them there over a few breaths before it was over.
Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man.
Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature.
Talks of politics and odd human behaviours...
What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter.
I then realised that along with his decorated credentials,
Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant.
Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide,
But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant.
Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness!
I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought.
I wanted him to just stop talking!
I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!"
He was stunned momentarily...
I suppose he hadn't seen that coming.
Then his features softened to a blank
I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring.
With an exasperated sigh of resignation,
He uttered his next words swollen with regret
"There's no need...for you only have four years left."
It dawned upon me that my timer has been set.
And then I woke up...
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
But I am relieved.
Not being confined in bright velvets
of the West, or shimmering silks of
the East. Each hand-stitched with
animals and flowers, crystals and
furs, with gold and silver to
parade around in Court.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I find far more splendour in a simple
iris-purple kimono-robe, lightweight,
silk-satin and printed with lilies with
a pink silk trim. It strokes my ankles,
and the sleeves, they billow; the sash
firmly fastened around my waist.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My handmaid, Ilazi, presents a gilded
bowl with the purest form of fruits -
the ones that were rain-washed. I have
a variety to choose from - strawberries,
blueberries, peaches, green, red and
black grapes which I pick and nibble
on. Hmm, a succulent balance of
sweetness and ****
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then my senior handmaid, Anihana,
arrives with a tray in hand, clearly made
from stainless steel with rose-gold accents.
'Sweet Queen,' says she. At the wave of my
hand, the music stops. 'Forgive me for
keeping you waiting. I know how particular
you are with your pearls so I narrowed
them to your favourite three choices.'
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Thank you,' I say and as I lean up, she
presents three cream-hued scrolls.
'Lists,' says she, 'of all the ship's
inventory. Would you like to
inspect them, my lady?'
'I will after some tea, Ainhana,
thank you.'
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Anihana nods and moves by my side
as my eyes fall on the tray's contents.
A small silver five-minute sand-timer,
a glass teapot with bamboo handle,
an infuser and steel lid half filled
with hot water; steam dancing
out of the spout. Then, a lovely
glass teacup, one of the most
beautiful I've seen yet.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
Crawl to me on all fours, and fix me with those eyes.
Gleaming ivory in the pale darkness.
Suitored to alien mires, foreign environments of crawling dust and spires of simplistic grace.
That we move into.
That we move into as finger pads touch skin and lips and wet tongue tips that grace the very edge of taste itself.
The sonata of flesh has begun as we begin this symbiotic ballet that signifies the end, the start, but not the middle of our burning tryst.
which burns brightly in summer night heat, washing down the walls separating me from you and you from yourself.
Fix me with those eyes once more,
tilt the timer; make the moments slow
And the gas lit beam dance and grow
to our scaly sonata of flesh.
Played without violin
or cello
or trumpet noise
or flute.
But with arms,
and lips
and hair
and bust
and drums.
There are always drums; beating on through the night,
beating their primal rhythm as you crawl towards me,
on all fours, in that oroborus of lust;
symbiotic with itself,
reflecting off itself;
encased in itself.
Crawl to me on all fours
Crawl to me -
And taste of my being.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 10:46 PM UTC
I left the water boiling sanity into the pores of my skin as my face hovered over the ***
My eyes close to the beat of Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd.
The countdown.
5
4
3
2
I stopped the timer before 1,
Let the water scorch the tea leaves until their screams fuse to a whisper at the bottom of the mug.
I needed my sanity back,
So I lifted the mug and let the flavor of peppermint wash between the chapped cracks of my lips,
Steaming the melody of sanity onto my tongue,
my tea was cold.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
It's hard to imagine the sand
at the bottom of the glass hourglass quite yet
It's painful to look at myself as a timer, like I am just being used by the world.
But darling,
every time your chapped thin lips kiss mine,
it seems that my hourglass is shaken up rather brutally,
and i get another chance, just to run out
again
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Aging is confusing
How old would you be
if you didn't know how old you are
Microwave ovens
Kitchen range timers
Updates too
Timers all around ticking down
ticking down our time
You might think of this
as you make your rounds
Sunrises
Sunsets
Good morning
Goodnight
5 minutes to go
Forty seconds
I know
Ding goes the timer
Another day is done
I guess in the end
it's
five four three two one.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
the cake I made this morning
was a disaster
the ingredient to get it to rise
I left out of the cake batter
when the timer rang
to say the cake was cooked
I looked in the oven
and the cake was as flat as the cook
it is vital to have baking powder
in this cake recipe
and to omit it from the ingredients list
has made a fool out of me
this afternoon I'll be without a fine cake
for afternoon tea
and I'll have to settle
for some bread and honey
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
It was a Friday night,
I was on the phone with my grandmother when I looked at the clock suddenly remembered,
it was time for the ritual.
I immediately hung up on my grandmother,
and stripped of my clothing.
The ritual required I be naked.
I then took some goat cheese out of my refrigerator,
and put it in the microwave.
I waited.
The goat cheese seemed like it took forever to melt,
but it only took a few minutes.
In those few minutes,
I just sat there,
and played with my left ******
Finally, the timer went off,
and it was done.
I took the melted goat cheese,
and poured it onto my body.
It burned,
but I suffered through it.
I would do anything for the Goat Gods.
Anything.
Once the melted goat cheese was poured onto my body,
I began to lather myself in it.
Soon, I was covered in melted goat cheese.
The smell,
was horrendous,
but in a way,
I enjoyed it.
Then, I removed the goat blood from my refrigerator,
and poured it into a ***
which had been on the oven all day,
waiting.
I began to boil the goat blood.
I took a sip of it.
"No" I said as a shook my head in disappointment.
I had been ripped off again by my goat blood dealer.
There was no flavoring in it.
It tasted like goat blood.
So I threw in some carrots,
and a dollop of horse radish.
While it was boiling,
I went to my bedroom,
to my closet,
where I found my goat mask.
A real goats head I had carved out and made into a mask.
I put it on.
When I had it on,
I felt like one with the Goat Gods.
When I returned,
the goat blood was done.
I poured it into a Tupperware container,
sealed it,
and put on my shoes.
By now,
the once hot and slimy goat cheese,
was dried,
and stuck to my body.
It was crusty,
like the crusties you get in your eyes,
just all over your body.
I walked out the front door,
across the street,
to my neighbors house.
I tried to open the front door.
Locked.
They knew I was coming this time.
Last week,
they forgot.
So I left the goat blood on their front steps,
and left.
When I got home,
I immediately went to the TV,
sat down,
and turned on "Antique Roadshow".
I looked out my window,
and saw my nervous neighbor grab the goat blood,
and bring it inside.
"Soon they will join the Goat Side" I said as I repeated it to myself, "Soon they will join the Goat Side".
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
Creating
that fallacious intimacy
wrapped
arm around arm
with a nameless
body.
It's easy to get
temporary satisfaction
from it.
Even though
you're chilled
and hollow inside.
The want
of not being lonely
can be too strong.
Keeping up
the exhausting task
of costant contact.
Never really
developing
a bond deeper
than physical sedation
can tire out.
It will ash away
as soon as you move
an inch
in that position
which is holding
unstably present.
Distance
would be the ruiner
of that
shallow fantasy.
But...
to be hundreds
of miles and moments
away from someone.
To be
alone and removed
from the one
who you have
a real, unrelenting
connection with.
To know
you are singular
in that very moment
but not unsupported.
Having them
somewhere you're not,
holding onto your
spiritual thread.
To achieve real
intimate foundation
in knowing the body
doesn't have to tie you
together.
That's an ember that,
when set to breathe,
engulfs you both.
Understanding
and feeling comfort
that when surrounded
by faces
and being unknown to them
is alright.
Since
that person
who lingers in your mind
Is a whisper
off your lips
and is there
in that place you
left them.
They've penetrated inside
that fortress of caution
and self-preservation and
they get you.
They are there,
hidden
and carried with you.
With their hands
cradling and cherishing
your heart
like the treasure
it is.
The enormous responsibility.
To be
the keeper of
warmth and familiarity
and home.
Even though
being separated
from one another
you are reminded of what
exists between you.
By
concentrating and honing
in on the weight
which lives
there.
That love
and loyalty
and equal respected commitment
to take care of what
the other is given.
The total
vulnerable
surrender of
yourself.
That is something
worth wanting.
That is something
to daydream for.
That...
is what we all
crave.
© NDHK
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
is it fair
that i dont know
that im not sure
that i simply have no clue
is it fair
that its a long wait
that theres no end to be seen
that the timer seems endless
i know its not fair
that is why
i am sorry
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 8:08 PM UTC
he emerges from the driver’s side of his stalled minivan as if you’ve been given too much information. he holds a hammer in the looseness of his stung left hand. for a moment it seems he’ll attack windows. instead, he cries. his shoulders give him away. not a car horn sounds. this is a kindness. someone has an egg timer. I locate the itch thrown off course by my lover’s legs and imagine her happy. across town a silent alarm is pressed by the anonymous smoker of wedding cigarettes. the bomb squad arrives before the bomb squad knows it and you join
this bomb squad.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
Hourglass cage holding me like a love,
Hold me closer, tell me of forever.
Sing to me of time, not my lack thereof,
Just lie to me with soft lips so clever.
The sands sub sole sink as the skies expand,
Stretching higher and higher as I shrink.
People are slipping through my open hands.
My tears are now sands that run when I blink --
They replenish but cannot save the past
Slipping away like my grip on the glass.
Each grain like a timer I can't outlast,
I place all my faith in falling morass.
Grasping memories, hands, hourglass walls,
I hang above the darkness like a doll...
'til I simply fall.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Aluminum
Have you memorized your storybooks
How does it feel to catch on fire
You go where bugs go in the winter
Surface waves
How does it feel to be momentary
An oven timer
Or a sparkler
Sidewalk
How does it feel to be cracked open
To bleed to death
Blunt force trauma for 200
Rooftop
How's the autumn
The air's quite nice
But the ending is blurry
Oh winter
How does it feel to melt
To simply
Stop existing
Open ocean
How does it feel to drown
I thought there were bandaids
And you never even saw me
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
or
EGGSISTENTIALISM
I put eggs in a ***
with some water to cook
turned the heat up to hot
then the egg-timer took
and I gave it a spin
so the sand was on top
and an aperture, thin,
let the grains start to drop
like a little landslide
that just in a short while
had begun spreading wide
from a conical pile
then I saw myself there
in the egg timer's glass
and returned my own glare
just to fill the impasse
but my face looked obscure
seeming bulbous and stout
with my chin on the floor
and my brow at the spout
as the sand tumbled south
to the hour-glass base
down my nose to my mouth
just like tears on my face
then I had this strange thought
as I took an egg cup
of how time can run short
while it's filling right up
now a thousand yard stare
in those eyes, I could see
existential despair
facing infinity
they left no room to doubt
that we'd both been misled
that time doesn't run out
- it falls right on your head
'til you're buried alive
with a mouthful of grit
you might think you'll survive
but it's not prone to quit
then your eggs are all done
time's caught up and been spent
by the end of the run
your not sure where it went
but time waits for no man
that much can't be denied
so boiled eggs? change of plan -
in the end had them fried.
Dec 3, 2022
Dec 3, 2022 at 5:02 AM UTC
I'd been trying to write a poem
Just one ******* poem
But he said
*Just **** around*
Swallow down a bowl full of squares
Let’s play games with each other’s minds
Spend a night lost in a house of cards
Where the joker cackles despite your begging
A reminder of what I could do without
Shouting at the world from the white pavilion
You suckers!
With your skirts hitched up and tongues hanging out
Gagging on a lover’s loneliness
All I see is your undergarments crying for attention
With a liquor solace barely down your throat
Eighteen silver blades
Smile at me with their perfect teeth
One to mark each year that past
A nineteenth will not be necessary
Ready to drag
Like the man trailing his head on a string
Across the surgeon’s winking knife
Tapping their toes on the bathroom counter
Anxious to mingle with my flesh
I’ve already scrubbed in
The survival rate looks dismal
The cotton reel loosens and my halo slips
Down - the noose around my neck
He sat across the room in plaid
Remarked upon the crosshatch of red
That drew the crooked red grin on the white of my thigh
Like loops of raspberry liquorice
Seeping out sticky tears
He misses handling the vegetables
Who ordered cocktails in lurid colours
Well, I’ve a mélange of my own
A collection of prescriptions from the doctor’s office
Stored in a heart shaped box
To swallow down like jelly beans
I’m waiting for that deadly sugar rush
Death’s been dancing on my doorstep
Absent minded as I sit at the dinner table
Head in hand, foot in grave
There’ll be no morning migraine
Perhaps a little mourning in the peripheral vision
Swept up from beneath the climbing frame
Under a soil blanket with a tomb stone mattress
Coughing up the sand in my throat
That I emptied from the egg-timer
Those darling quadrilateral crystals
Blissful in their ignorance
Disturbing my quiet complacency
Drowned in a glass of tomato juice
That I poured from my skull
Death holds my hand in the dark
And I whisper to pass on the message
Bury me with pyjama’s and a pillow
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
Taking a sip from his mug.
Sugar, the vanilla and the cream
romancing.
I asked forgiveness,
this animated disposition,
a weak voice to comfort,
he never forgets the white chocolate,
the looking back.
Everything went still,
the conversation,
hot metal, pull the plug.
The tender puffiness,
the greatest,
the best seats.
It was time to
the timer of the oven
slowly
overcooked.
Dream of him, a phone call,
ashes.
His heart beating
wanting to be alone.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Ice cream dreams
come to fruition
in a post adolescent summer timer
the pretty girls
walking up and down the block
where white short shorts
and tight band T shirts
show me you can smile baby,
just for me
like the old times
the before times
the times when life was just
a little bit simpler
I'm an ice cream man
nothing more
than a hell of a way
to cool off
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
So much to say, so few words find my lips
It’s like I kissed a girl
And gave her all my words
At first I thought it was my breath
She took away
She spoke and I listened
In awe,
Of the way her sentences glided from
The back of her throat, tongue, teeth, lips-
Lips.
I once kissed a girl
And left all my words on her lips
Like some weird- ****** up- **********
Little Mermaid
She was Ursula and Prince Eric
Stealing my freedom
My voice but still
My captain, knight in shining armor
She was the prince
The sea witch
Everything I was warned of
Everything I still dreamed about
When Ursula took Ariel’s voice
She used it for another
But she used it for me
On me-
But the good words got used up
They were on a countdown timer
Without restart or pause
Then there were only bad words
Then none
I once kissed a girl and gave her all my words
Now I have none left.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
Moving again.
Packing and suffocating
just to hoard awhile.
Unleash and prop in the next chapter.
How many more times
will I have to revolve around the clock timer?
Displace my comfort.
Stir up and riffle my stability
just to watch for the final sunset.
Until the explanations to my pebble have to dust
out of my mouth again.
A gypsy life not for three.
So hard to handle for anyone but me.
Practice, practice, reset and stay.
It's a cycle I'm tired of.
Grown accustomed to delay and anxiety.
Longing for roots and more tomorrows.
Fly me away with wings of fire.
To disintegrate left behind memory
that's tying up my feet.
To ignite a blazed landing...
To grow from,
to be content on.
A place to be when my pebble wants to fly.
© NDHK
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 3:59 AM UTC
Med stigende uvidenhed skaber jeg mig gennem de sene timer som en teaterdronning
Taber min dyre cocktail i en rist, men køber bare lige en ny
for alle de penge jeg ikke ved jeg ikke har.
Danser som en kluntet prinsesse eller en elegant søko.
Skaber balance mellem komplet umulighed og overdreven lykke.
Hælene vokser med flydende magi og jeg nærmer mig jorden.
Med de aller vildeste hiphop skills som jeg aldrig fik lært,
bevæger jeg mig over dansegulvet.
Strutter med munden
kniber øjnene sammen
prøver at se sejere ud end muligt
kaster ikkeeksisterende håndtegn.
Snart må alle kongerne da kaste sig på rockknæ og bejle som svinedrenge til det vidunderligt dansende ego.
Med svindende tilstedeværelse
kaster jeg mig i ærmerne
på en ukronet fremmed,
mine døve ører dræber musikken.
Bliver ved med at vaccinere
mig selv
mod alt det jeg gerne vil glemme.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC