Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.



You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!
Get Your Premium Membership


Time Management and the Art of Throwing Alarm Clocks

Lemuel Griffiths Avatar  Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled Time Management and the Art of Throwing Alarm Clocks which was written by poet Lemuel Griffiths. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

Read Poems by Lemuel Griffiths

Best Lemuel Griffiths Poems

+ Follow Poet

The poem is below.


Time Management and the Art of Throwing Alarm Clocks

b>Time Management and the Art of Throwing Alarm Clocks
by
Lemuel Griffiths
March, 2,017

Apparently, there's a God damned dog out there - according to my neighbour,
And his wife, Thelma, needs to understand this and know about the mess and understand it's consistency and have this information and keep it and hide it and all five minutes before my alarm goes off.

The trees sway in the distance as I run the water into the kettle - wiping my eyes with a knuckle.
The gulls saw past., thrilled at the the new morn.

In 200 hundred years, they'll all be gone.., and these trees.., and that neighbour and his nemesis and Thelma and the alarm clock and me.

The kettle clicks and the steam rises -
Up and onto the large mirror.., made of sand and heat that the former tenants put on the ceiling. 
I look up..., and down.. we're both amused for a second.., The phone rings.

It flips onto record mode
A voice , a man.., an angry man.
There's an authority in his voice.., like a.., 
Damn it.., my boss.

It's not the weekend anymore.
His weekend, mine.., Thelmas, the dogs
The weekend is unowned now.., by anyone.
Gone, never to return.
The first one of March, never to return.., 
This March, the dead end job.
And all the things come.., right along to pass.

Once in a while.., 
I wish back,
With all my beating heart.., 
For those glorious and golden five minutes of dream and non existence - I lost.., 
Before that Dog damned God. 
                

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Post Comments

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.