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Day Nov 2015
don't look me in the eyes
it's pretty scary in there,
it's where i keep everything
that's not considered
''acceptable''
all the hate
and all the love

and everything
i'm too scared to say
out loud

so beware
you might find things
that you
don't wanna see
i'm scared of so many things
King Panda Mar 2016
it takes guts
to run red into
the sun
it takes guts
to mollify
me
I write you
poems
to watch myself
divide
I write you
poems
to watch my
purple go

run red into
the sun
run red
cowgirl
queenie
it takes guts
to march into
the sun
It takes guts
to mollify
me

I wonder what
you’re thinking
I wonder if you
want to watch
my purple go
I write you
poems to
watch myself
divide
I write you
poems
to run red
red cowgirl
queenie

I love you
more
I love you
red run
into the sun
I write you
poems to
watch myself
divide
I write you
poems to
watch my
purple go
Robert C Howard Aug 2017
When the arc of his watch hands  
reached the top of the hour
Sam pushed the throttle forward.

Engine 138 thundered
out of Blossburg station
like an iron dragon
breathing smoke and steam -
whistle shrilling over the Tioga valley.

Powered by coal
the train carried coal
to the waiting city of Elmira
where Sam would press his mother's hand -
perhaps for the final time.

The wheels churning iron on iron
across Pennsylvania farmlands,
turned like other wheels before
moving settlers west
to break its ready earth -
wheels beneath his grandfather's oxcart
turning toward Lycoming's verdant hills.

New wheels now carried America
to urban landscapes
drawing us like electro-magnets
to streetlamps - factories - dry good stores -
new crops for a modern age.

Elmira’s silhouette expanded on the horizon.
and Sam pulled the train in on time -
brakes screeching through billowing steam.

His wife, Jenny and his sister's Sam
came in a horseless carriage
with Zoe, Marie and Edward,
children now grown at their sides.

They all gathered by Hannah's bed
now approaching her final hours
soft voices and fragile smiles
cradled the truth beyond all telling:

Time, ever advancing
like the hands of a fine old watch,
holds us all in its circling sway

© 2006 by Robert Charles Howard
Ken Jun 18
its been a month now,
since we met.

and with each day i can feel you,
losing interest.
forgetting me.

i know i am fading from your life,
and there's nothing i can do except watch.
for m
Zeeb Apr 19
Oh fine jewelry worn by men
Wesley's watch is lost again
"Wesley where's your silver Tissot?"
"Sorry Dad, I do not know"
The little ticker is out of its case
Wesley's watch is lost in space
"Oh now where did my keys go?"
"They were right here a minute ago"
"You lost your keys, now, did you Son?"
"Can I use your's Mom?  Got to run"
"I found my watch, Dad, mixed in with clothes"
"All the time right under my nose"
But lo in five days, maybe ten
Wesley's watch is lost again
"One day boy, it's going to get snatched"
"And it's a **** good thing your ****'s attached"
Well today the watch is on my arm
Safe from Wesley , safe from harm
It feels warm
Umi Feb 13
By my dearest angel Zadkiel as he moves in a clear path, round,
rhytmically, step by step his gears lead him through the passing time.
A golden sight, sparkling, twinkling from the reflection of light.
Locking me, tugging me, embracing me into the deepness of my
own thoughts, which unfold, bloom and become happy memories.
As reality and illusion become one, on the peak of their pleasure,
By time ticking on, now they share the same heart.
This golden coloured pocket watch, cuts through the darkness
within me, with my very own wishes as I yet sink deeper into
deeper thoughts, hypnotic, pleasant, I watch how the minute passes.
The memories created by these thoughts are becoming love,
So that the world I inhabit in is filled with even more light
Tick, tock, making delicate sounds, as he moves unconditionally,
Round and round again until the time has come and he is put to rest.
As then with newfound strengh, he repeats his daily duties as
an source of energy, an ember of determination enters him.
And so, another smile has been cast on me by his gentle movements.


~ Umi
Khoi-San Oct 31
All them tiny white lies
Got all them big surprises
Hanging on to those tiny
Tick tocking arms
Graff1980 Jun 2017
The city sounds of ordered chaos, the constant wave of people crossing back and forth like a human tide. Strangers cut in and out of their tiny groups and barely miss colliding. Honks and bleats hasten the crowds pace as they race to cross the road. Some people stare at their phones, others watch the road but no one looks directly at another human being. Somewhere, near here and in-between there just off to the side a stranger sits mumbling, barely coherent.

“Watch me.”

The age lines run so deep into his skin that they might as well be built in. White stubble paints a drawn slightly sunburnt face. Deep dark blue eyes scan the city life for some unknown relief.
A red line catches his eyes, followed by a childlike voice singing playfully. “Watch me mommy.”

Tiny matchbox cars race around a shallow hole. The little cars cross dips and dirt ramps increasing the young boy’s excitement, as he mimics his favorite show. They crash into a partially exposed root. “Brrckkkeeech bccccch.”A fake explosion sounds. Dusk begins to fall as the cars settle into their makeshift cereal box garage. Smiling and dusty the boy crosses the small road, then the tiny parking lot, and comes home.

Long ***** white hair falls messily across the man’s worn face. All but a few awkwardly placed teeth are gone. Some are yellow while others are darker and rotting. His breath reeks. The emaciated figure feels the cramps of hunger pains. A brown speckled haze clouds his vision, followed by a slight coldness and dizziness creeping over his body.

“Watch me.”

Cardboard swords clash in a titanic battle of good versus evil.  Until the young victor jumps upon his sawhorse stead. A yowl of pain sounds as his tiny sac is smashed. The pain jolts upwards and inwards causing temporary paralysis. Thin legs scrape the wooden brace dragging chips of paint down with him as he falls off his fake saddle. The victor is defeated by pain. A few seconds later the internal pain passes and he is up and at it again, running straight for a large tree. At the last second he swerves barely avoiding a painful collision. In his mind a red cape swooshes behind him as he flies off to save metropolis.

The summer heat draws pit stains on the old man ***** orange tee. The neckline is stretched and has an almost circular pattern of moisture. Barely able to move, his sick stench draws the attention of flies. Bugs buzz by almost as frequently as strangers walking by.

“Watch me.”

Tears fall from the tiny child eyes, as he stumbles in pain. A deep **** runs red with lines of falling blood. His mother picks him up and carries him to the neighbor’s car. She whispers soft word of reassurance. The tears eventually stop.

The man clenches his chest. Pain permeates his being. His breath is lost. He stumbles falling harshly against the cold grey cement sidewalk. Tears fall. He reaches for strangers pleading weakly for their assistance. A foot smashes against his left side, causing more pain to flame up; while forcing him to edge of the sidewalk. The crowd keeps moving.
A stranger snarls “get out of the way you ***.”

“Watch me.” The old man whispers as he recalls his mother’s warmth. Soft kisses planted on his forehead. Sitting in the dark living room safely snuggled next to his mother as a scary storm rages violently against a small house.

“Watch me.” He cries. His voice, obscured by the city, fades and is forgotten.
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