"watchmaker" poems
title: not god, but his clock, will gnaw at us: that we are mortal, and agitated by a libido to continue, as to why the immortals find us so cosmic, for the worth of not exacting a better joke prescribed to other genus archetypes... whether the atheists believe in a blind-watchmaker is beside the point... the actual conjuring of the ultimate engineered thing will undo us... only the gods could have engineered time... space? they can't fathom space, the gods could only engineer time, but they couldn't engineer space: the cliche, think outside the box? even the gods know nought concerning this; and if there is only one god... he has been lodged into a letter: θ - a 1 inside a 0; the being already confined... even gods have limits beyond the stressor of supposed immortality... they can't engineer space... all they can engineer, is a transcendence of time... only mortals, men, can engineer the concept of space... hence nations, hence borders, hence differences, hence the concept of magnetism and repulsion... if gods engineered time, then men engineered space... as now, and forever, will remain so, the quest for a cosmic joke / clue.
it won't be the blind-watchmaker
who eats us up,
the the clock itself -
it will devour us,
it will gnaw our flesh toward
the bone,
and then with out bones
play an instrument
to glorify its procession down
the aisles of our endeavours
to express civility...
was there any to begin with?
our temporal anxiety, being mortals,
equates itself
with the spatial anxiety of the immortals
(gods).
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
frantic antics rewire my brain,
almost as if it were never a brain at all—
circuits and switches and copper thread,
my computerized cerebellum, my inorganic head,
as biology becomes machine.
what powers my body,
this metallic monstrosity?
there is no plug, no battery—
only the cogs and gears of a watchmaker's fever dream
and sheer, dumb luck.
because, while they stood around
and waited idly for my parts to rust,
i was killing time in a vacuum,
ignoring the earnest embraces of air and rain.
and thus, here i rest,
with the sound of my own meek ticking
thrumming against these pink asylum walls
but because i stayed awake to tell the tale,
and to rub their sordid noses in the dirt,
i suppose my isolation was worth it.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Watchmaker, Watchmaker, make me a watch.
Make time go slower but never let it stop
And speed up the ticking when the going gets rough,
‘Cause to me all this trying it’ll never be enough.
A smothered cry
The sands of time
Leaking through a crack in the hourglass.
Just my luck,
The sands of time
Will only last as long as they last.
Watchmaker, Watchmaker, make me a watch.
Make me a new one ‘cause I don’t like my clock.
The minutes seem to crawl by, but only when there’s pain,
So all this relativity is driving me insane.
With shocking speed,
The sands of time
Pressing down and putting out the flame.
Don’t let me lose
The sands of time
Flowing ‘tween my fingers like the rain.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
God Almighty. It puts the fear in you.
Jesus Christ. Again?
Yes, again. Don’t be a ***
Oh please.
Jesus.
A hanging silence.
You know William Paley?
No. Go on.
Oh. Paley’s Watch?
******* go, James.*
Uh, Paley’s Watch is a theory that the universe is too complex to exist by chance, and therefore there must be a creator. I mean, just like the existence of a watch presupposes a watchmaker ‘cause it’s too complex to be there by chance.
And you eat that?
Yes, or something similar. What offends you so ******* much anyway? So I believe-
*It’s defeatist. Jesus Christ, the only reason you and anyone else believes this dogshit is ‘cause you’re ******* terrified of dying, and the reason a ******* graveyard puts the fear into your thick skull is ‘cause you want to join them when you croak. That’s what it is, it’s ******* insurance.*
Another silence.
Okay. Alright, fine, it’s insurance. But I am playing this insurance, see, into my benefit. I believe in the creator, and if it turns out he’s watching me he’ll put in the good word and I spend my afterlife in eternal sunshine, and if he’s a scam like you say it is I join you in blackness or hellfire. I win either way.
Oh, very faithful, doggy. Arf arf.
Oh, for the love-
*What’s life worth if you’re so sure where you’re going? I reckon I’d rather drink and steal **** and burn in hellfire than **** away my life in the service of some shitbird in the sky who may or may not exist.
Jesus, mother-*
Stop ******* blaspheming.
**** you, James.*
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Standing on the intersection of
a Monet, a van Gogh, and a Picasso
Nice piece of real estate!
Water lilies ~ Charrette de boeuf ~ Tete d'homme
Let's start with the lilies:
I'm impressionable and I gaze lovingly into the pool
I see my reflection slowly unfurl in the shimmer of the pink petals
As in a dream ... I float on
The watchmaker sends an instruction: rotate clockwise
Now an ox cart:
I seem to be walking in Poe's imagination
Crows flitting about as the ox champions
His burden on a drafty day
Another instruction from the watchmaker: continue clockwise
And now Tete d'homme ~ cubism:
My world deconstructs
Line by line, shapes and forms
Fracture into the subterranean unconsciousness of my mind
Leading to another instruction: close your eyes
Shift
Your
Perspective
Watchmaker says: open your eyes
Uncentre
Misalign
Unhitch
Watchmaker says: ens causa sui: 'a being that causes itself'
Now I've got Dali giving me niggling doubts about the nature of time
Sartre with a side of Darwin and I'm being and nothingness
Ground yourself Mullin!
Open your eyes ... this is reality
There's Rodin in a battle of good versus evil
Munch and no screams! This is good
Gaugin sharing his garden view
I'm in my happy place again ...
That's better
And here's Cezanne, Degas, Renoir, and Pissarro
Bringing me back into a recognizable reality
My eyes and my mind are in alignment here
But I can feel that watchmaker winding me back up
My iris constricts and my pineal widen
Third eye ain't blind
Hope someone is around to catch me
No worries, I'm sailing with Renoir and
I've found A Muse (Constantin Brancusi)
Ain't life a musing?
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
I have found a watch
Keeping time perfectly,
Beautiful gears and cogs click, shift, wound tight,
And the Theist beside me says:
"Such a thing could not come into being by chance!
Surely there is an Intelligent Designer."
I could shrug or nod but instead I look closer
At the watch
And the way it grinds its gears.
I see a bigger cog pinch a smaller cog;
I see something with teeth bite something--I can hear it now--
That is screaming.
And suddenly each second reveals
Another tooth, another claw,
The weaker parts are torn to pieces or swallowed whole.
The strongest survive for a while
Until time kills them too.
Death by life by death by life by death,
Pain impressed upon them all,
The only purpose to be heard: the passage of tick tock tick tock tooth claw; of time.
Unless (until?)
The clock wears down
And time ceases to exist.
I turn to the Theist beside me and say:
"Intelligent Design? No friend, it is Ethical Design
That demands an investigation."
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 7:00 PM UTC
Watch the watchmaker make and watch
my slow, clumsy feet.
They, the feet of another, it seems,
are trying too hard. Slow down.
Screams not heard by deaf ears made
in vain. Try again later.
See the seemaker make and see
or don’t. It’s not time for
that says my slow, clumsy heart.
Blink once.
And see.
Make and see.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 11:54 AM UTC
Acknowledge my smile, return it,
Yet love is still deferred by the glass planes
Of your ribs, guarding your heart from my greedy hands.
Like a serpent’s tongue my own seeks its home,
Behind my lips that belong against yours,
That taste of fruit from the garden of Eden.
I cannot help that glutton plagues me
Of the lust and love of your throbbing pulse,
Satiate my wanton needs and my aching veins.
Desperately, I cried, like the watchmaker,
Whose palpitations become erratic when he hath no business,
And when he cannot fix something so simple as the cadence of his own heart.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 8:57 PM UTC
It seems to me that even the most artfully
sculpted facsimile of that designed by nature
could never compare to the beauty of the
recognizably finite and fragile.
It would be the most grave of all crimes
to correct the brush strokes of the most
grand artist, that ancient blind
watchmaker whose work is all around us.
Who is the watch to say he isn't designed
as he should be? Those with cogs misplaced
are just as beautiful and unique as those whose
finish shines with the most brilliant luster.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
take rain from sky
take the way tall men straighten your stance
take the students of dance
see the little ballerina stretch her toes
see her mother warm with the floodlight
take your plea to the judiciary
take your eye to the statue of David
smear on the dust of Somalia
rub raw the frost of Croatia
refresh your aim in the heights of Angola
but do not stop only at this
breathe every impediment
trust every promise of clemency
stumble if you will
fall under cease-fire
take it all
take the watchmaker
bent over time
with fine tools
clasp each second
take the sculptor who
chisels and scalpels for the grandiose
later in your armchair
fold creases in your newspaper with care
be with every nourishment
be with the cloth of your nakedness
make sail for your harbour of origin
remember the milk of your mother
warm or cold or sweet if it is so
appease hunger
with the ambidextrous mouth
of a soldier
fed with death in his jungle
be the bystander, be the bi-partisan,
the ******* the timeless,
the dancer
be it all
breathe each increment
do it now
measure the infinite
the possible
MChallis © 2015
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
the cold had caused much restlessness
within our people's heart
the vengeful hand guiding their hate
would tear our lives apart.
the sun was setting on our reign
and night was closing in
worried visions peirced our sleep
and burrowed deep within.
the verdent hues of spring were near
but just beyond our reach
for on the ides they took us too
a land of snowy beasts
so there we stayed until the sun
rose dizzyingly high
and when the ****** snows did melt,
they brought us back to die
Imprisoned in a gilded cage
with summer drawing near
the revolutionists appraoched
injecting us with fear
we had our frozen dew drops royal
stitched around our waists
a final effort to release
our family from this fate
then when the moon was high at night
when evil things do crawl
they took us down below the house
lined up against a wall
their bullets pierced our fathers heart
murdered our brother too
and diamond corsets failed to stop
royal blood from running blue
it poured out over all the ground
the watchmaker had won
the royal lineage was dead
our priviledged lives undone
the vessels we had once possessed
endured the desecration
of acid baths and deep mine shafts
and burning mutilation
and so about two weeks inside
the seventh month, july
the last of russia's royalty
would bid their lives goodbye.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:19 AM UTC
Grandfather's whistle
Blew down the chipped clock,
Face in shock, broken glass.
Glasses. He was blind to its sound,
Faintly tinged, his arm and red,
Cheeks sallow like a hound's.
He stood there frozen:
Shoulders taut and brazen
But eyelids twitching,
Fingers quivering
As he balled his hand into a fist.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
Stone me on your Altar of Lies.
I am not scattered light upon the stair!
You're all stuffed mouths and hollow eyes,
Spun from whole cloth but left bare.
The ****** never stirred, but only watched me leave.
Where's the Watchmaker for his Meek?
Tell me, where's the freedom in your Mustard Seed?
How can this be the Love we're meant to seek?
*I am no Lamb!
I won't have your Love!
I couldn't give a ****
and you, sir, are no Dove!*
All seen equal, except those You exclude.
Let's not tout the best of us?!
I can see the cunning, you are shrewd.
But that still just leaves the rest of us.
'Cause what're we but broken people?
Empty lives and Original Sin!
Gird your ***** Guard your Steeple!
This is a club I won't belong in.
*Don't you preach to me
with ***** ******* hands
Holy love and His truancy.
You issue His commands.*
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
I wonder, sometimes, what it's like,
Life, beyond this pale, grey sky,
Damaged, torn from horror and spite,
Is this world insane, or am I?
.
Once a meadow green, lays now this land barren,
This silence sickly, was once broken by the music of the raven,
Sunlight once flooded bright, the bleak blemish behind which I now cower,
The landscape of mind, was once where had bloomed the flowers.
.
And as these walls close in, and fades away the place,
Weak, trembling, writhing, I give in,
As I look at the white cloaked mans' face,
And his nod of approval, as I fall into the void within.
.
A sea of white.
The raven from childhood.
.
Sing to me raven, I beg, take me there,
To the place where I was alone and happy,
I begin to wonder, as he silently stares,
Was a curse of time, this, or am I the watchmaker?
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
Is this now the time alone we dwell upon our past
Mull over with the precision of a watchmaker the mistakes we made
The back and forth of thoughts of what might have been
If only we took the leap of faith
If we followed our heart not our head
If we gave ourselves a chance
If we trusted that other
It is that time
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~
My first love, so soft and steady
When did you become so frail
Since the veil I lifted from your morning face?
When did that constant heart of yours
Wane and flicker in the dale
Your cheek pale as a brush of garter lace
That pocket watch I forged with love
To last a lifetime give it here
Though I fear to play at God, I need more time
Marilyn, drink your tea and sleep
Worry not what I do with fire, with brass
This will pass pumping cogs in motion all a-chime
Now
Let me rest my head upon your chest
Listen intent to the rhythm
Of you still here with me
I cannot hold fate off forever but
Hold me dear, at least a little longer
Before you go.
tick. tock.
.•*•♪ღ♪••.¸¸¸.•¨(¯'’•.¸(♥)¸.• ’´¯)¨•.¸¸¸.••♪ღ♪•*•.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Lover and lover,
Going to sleep.
Both dreamed of peace,
One dream achieved it.
One counted time,
The other drowned in lemon juice.
One dream found war,
The other built castles.
Both woke up,
Neither knew.
Lover and lover,
Going to travel,
Both went to Antioch,
Neither were happy.
One dreamed of Spain,
The other of lilacs.
One dreamed of ******
The other of balloons.
One traveled lightly,
The other was untended.
One saw paradise,
The other lost their eyes.
But still neither saw.
Lover and lover,
daydreaming,
One longed for poetry,
The other for seduction.
One desired reverie,
The other was solely cavalier.
One dreamed of excusing themselves from the booth,
The other welcomed the operating table.
The surgery never happened.
Lover and lover,
Laying down for rest.
One thinks of killing Stalin,
The other calls from a phone booth to warn him.
One takes a trip through the minds of the gods,
The other hikes the Appalachian.
One desires to **** all evil,
The other wishes to turn it into goodness.
One saw carnivals,
The other saw forests.
One saw dirt,
The other greeted a Frenchman.
One made tea for the poor,
The other recorded a folk album.
One planted a flower in a shoe,
The other visited Greece.
One visited a watchmaker,
The other cast lots for clothes.
One put out a cigarette on the ground,
The other buys sunglasses on the street.
One sailed into Norway,
The other read from the bible.
Lover and lover: Alone in a cage.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Something's broken and I can't quite put my finger on it
It was running fine for such a long time
I didn't drop it, I swear!
A flywheel must have jammed somewhere
One of the cogs out of place
The gears that meshed now just grind
And the **** thing won't wind
Or rewind
I didn't drop it I swear...
But the Watchmaker knows what He's doing
Something's broken and I can't put my fingers to it
But His hands know their work
We were made for more than to tick the hours of the day
Something's cracked and I can't hold the piece in place
Every time I try another one falls off in its stead
All packed in the same cardboard box
Heading off to the same place
It's dark and we *****
We feel around long enough to see not a single one undamaged
We all know where we're headed
And the pieces held perfect by Hands we cannot see give us hope.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
The Secret That THEY Don’t Want You to Know
The secret that your banker, car dealer
Doctor, insurance agent, mechanic
Dentist, electrician, wireless service
Neighborhood Russian spy, travel agent
Hairdresser, ophthalmologist, plumber
Lawyer, barber, grocer, parole officer
Pharmacist, barista, pedicurist
Watchmaker, stockbroker, cable installer
Or county agricultural agent
Doesn’t want you to know:
wait…what was it…?
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 4:20 PM UTC
the song remains the same
short
frantic
fast
thirty seconds of
aggression and
distortion and
******** punk
radio pop follows a formula
where experiment is anathema
and the flavor is bland vanilla
even lines of simple rhymes
gently fragrant cadences
for inane entertainment
unlike crooning ballads that
meander through soundscapes
pondering existential enigmas
in time with rhythm and blues
the banjo strings accompanying a
shadow on horseback riding on towards
a sunset setting the world asunder
we are all concertos
symphonies of solemn symmetry
a myriad of harmonies acquiescing
to the meaningless tunes of the universe
whipped hither and yon by the whims of
chance and happenstance in this
tumultuous hurricane of existence
some songs have not yet reached their conclusion
one began the moment the galaxies were painted
in broad-strokes across a tapestry of vacant space
still more have lost a beat they can't repeat and remain
forever frozen in anthologies kept in some ancient
library in an extra-dimensional plane
presided over by Father Time
a blind watchmaker created by the words that
sprung forth from cracked and withered pages
containing endless evanescent anthems
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
The line between technology and fashion is blurring. Brands and designers are now using electronics to make cutting-edge wearables and experiences, while companies like Amazon are trying to break into a space that hasn't until now been very welcoming of outsiders. Intel is another tech company that's set its sights on the fashion world, with various smart garments and accessories, including dresses, glasses and bracelets. In an interview at SXSW, Intel Vice President of Wearables Sandra Lopez said her team's mission is to be an enabler first and foremost rather than trying to become a fashion brand unto itself.
Lopez pointed to last year's New York Fashion Week, when Intel teamed up with 13 designers to livestream a runway show in virtual reality -- a medium that's being embraced by many fashion houses. Another example, she said, is Tag Heuer's Connected Modular 45 smartwatch, which Intel helped build with Google and the Swiss watchmaker. "Our strategy is focused on collaboration and empowering leaders in the fashion industry to push the boundaries of fashion with technology," Lopez said. "We are constantly working to make our technology smaller, faster, more energy efficient and more capable than ever before to help our partners succeed."
One of the challenges for brands is figuring out how to make the most out of technology, she said, especially in terms of the data they're collecting through connected garments, other types of wearables and at their retail stores. "There is a real opportunity to help the fashion industry harness the power of data," Lopez said. "How can you analyze what consumers are doing in store, online and through every interaction you have in real time to maximize sales and open up new revenue streams?" That's something designers like Rebecca Minkoff are already trying to do with in-store features like smart mirrors, self-checkout and RFID tags that let the brand know more about customers' buying habits.
"Personalization and customization is only beginning to be tapped into," Lopez said about the potential of both industries working together on wearable products. "Technology has the ability to transform industries, and fashion is no different."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
be careful my friend
the clockwork inside is yet to be complete
cogs remain still
but they will soon beat
and then you'll see
why i believe
this to be
my masterpiece
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
Name falls from the ancient Greeks.
The Sound of Thunder,
Is what they preach.
I like to think of you as a classical human being.
Your mother and father welcomed you here on earth February the 4th 1998,
A water bearer,
Ruler of Uranus and Saturn.
You’re unique,
Built in Texas and fell right in the Chi.
You know what people like about you?
The communication you bring.
You communicate with your eyes,
Ears,
And mouth.
You know what else?
Your humor.
All the unsynchronized clocks in a watchmaker’s shop stops.
Your smile.
It relinquishes the fear in people.
Makes us feel safe.
You idolize the melodies of Mr. Kendrick and Cole,
You’re picky in your own nature.
Can’t have chocolate Oreos without milk,
Doesn’t dare touch greens.
You’re the element of air,
A handsome Phrygian youth.
Nobody is as witty as you,
Clever and rebellious.
Like spicy chili Doritos your mind is as far as the eyes can see.
You’re beyond on what you know,
Ahead of the game.
Filled with paradoxes.
You’re interested in the opposite ends of the spectrum.
If you were to leave town the next morning
Save me your lucky Krispy Kream sweater.
It smells like…you.
I want to hold your hand as you voyage all over the world.
You’ve been to Egypt before,
Go again… with me this time.
To my panda,
You will go out of your way to help another.
Live with no strings attached.
Like Po,
Very unconventional and always full of excitement.
You truly do have you and your beautiful soul.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC
Light.
Shining Light..
Where Light Shines...
Eyes, Face, Features
Morph the form
Centred where?
Matter can't tell.
A Blind Watchmaker
Can't write
With unguided hand
Light; Maker
Ancient problems
Exist still.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
No longer the measure mechanic,
the setting lever and loosening coil.
The need for fingers, precise,
laying thin metals, tweezed gears
and spring engineered
in the knowledge of frictions, is gone
and towered hands are still.
What once was built entropic,
cuffed about the wrists of us,
this clutch wheel of grace and holding
ring, this yoke and winding stem -
mere baubles to the collector.
For now the hours are true decay,
half-lived and radiant,
taut with the drip of what is
and what must be known.
And that bent clockman,
hunched and relic,
stern in his craft, compelling
WIND WIND WIND,
fashions jewelry for peddlers,
but not I.
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 6:36 AM UTC