Best Alarm Poems
For some reason, this morning her alarm clock failed to sound. With eyes half closed,
she glanced at the clock. It was around 8 AM. She got dressed as quickly as
she could, hurried to the train station. When the train arrived; she managed
to get a seat . She put on her glasses and took out her crossword puzzle.
She became lost in the clues. She had finished one puzzle, was on to the next,
when the voice of the conductor interrupted her thoughts. A delay was announced.
As it turned out, the train ahead had derailed. Many were seriously injured.
It was then, she appreciated the silence of her alarm clock.
-----
a peal of thunder
shatters the peace of the day
rain comes crashing down
I set my morning muse alarm for 2am.
But instead, it went off at three.
"Wake up!" he said, "It's me."
I reached for pen and paper. "Stop
fumbling, and turn on the light," he said.
"Or, you'll never be able to read
what I'm putting in your head."
"Why are you being so bossy?" I asked.
"Sorry," he said. "But I'm in a hurry
to get to the next poet's bed."
breaking the silence
chickadee-dee-dee-dee-dee
natures wake up call
You Fall ...
the ground of your reality dissolves in this
stream of distraction, this inconvenient passion
the mawkish pop music you mock
is now singing your story, as
your thoughts, your breath, your blood
all consumed by his eyes, his voice, his words
all the moments of his notice of you
painting your gray paper with extrinsic purple
and lavish green, filling your thirsty cup
with intoxicating attention, until time
is measured only by your meetings
You Stall...
hitting the invisible, inimical wall
penalized and ostracized
for presuming the right to ask why
for waking from complicit worship
for retaking your will and your mind
for staining his golden idol
with faith of the atheist
You Call...
for all his proud proclamations
he is a needy, greedy child
your adoration is his sun
your life force he feasts on
disenchantment is your release
from the prison of submission
his hollow heart, his churlish charm
all merely a false alarm-
9/10/18
cars sound the alarm
autumn delivers it's storm
night time is shattered
window faces watch
our world of broken branches
wheelie-bins gone rogue
when tomorrow comes
boys will collect their conkers
grown men their shovels
What do you romanticize when there is no beauty left?
There are no ponds to sit beside
There are no trees for me to write beneath
I haven't heard a bird sing to me in what feels like a decade
The light pollution has clouded my eyes and I'm afraid that if it ever clears I'll see this place for what it is and become so
Waking with a smile, eyes bouncing green, dear husband
makes me hold back my scream, desire to pull over sheets.
Later, I find you sitting like Buddha, gazing at the land,
shifting as each birds lifts and soars and tweet tweets.
I watch you in silence, pick up slippers, my piles of papers
find my own breakfast to leave you undisturbed in dream,
you thank me so many ways, your face relaxed, finger tapers
held on belly, sometimes I wonder if you see past the gleam
Of heavenly contentment, lap of pool, sun blazing warm
the face so bruised by clenched jaw now so smooth
I never dare to battle you, drive you against walls or alarm.
Retirement is a silence of weighty falling before well oiled groove.
Picture it.
3:00 AM
Niagara Falls, Canada
We are rudely awakened
by an intermittent buzzing
very loud
irritating, nerve grating.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Fire alarm,” he answers.
We get up, wide awake now.
“Maybe it’s just a drill,”
he says, hopefully.
A disembodied voice
“Please remain calm, please stay
in your room while we investigate.”
The message is repeated at intervals.
He goes back to bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s probably a false alarm,”
he answers. I wonder.
I’m thinking that if it’s real
we’re wasting precious time.
We’re on the ninth floor.
I’m thinking of the arthritis
in my knees, knowing we would
not be allowed to use the elevators.
I get dressed, make coffee,
immediately apply my makeup,
check my hair.
The word is passed along the halls
“Evacuate, evacuate the hotel!”
I grab my purse, jewelry,
camera and poetry notebook.
He puts shoes on bare feet,
exits the room wearing only
a tee-shirt and sweat pants.
The stairs are crowded with people
in various stages of undress:
Fuzzy slippers, long sleep shirts,
flip-flops, nylon jogging shorts
flimsy gowns, satin boxers.
A moving mass, silently descending.
Outside, hundreds milled around,
quietly watching the fire trucks
parked at the curb, motors running,
red lights flashing.
I un-sheath my camera, begin
capturing the moment.
When the all-clear sounds,
he starts back upstairs.
“I’m going back to bed,”
he announces, and begins
the climb back upstairs.
“Not me,” I say, “I’ll see you later.”
I find a chair in the lobby,
sit down to watch drama unfold.
A couple from Toronto had
walked down from the 22nd
floor, she with a cane
(hip replacement surgery).
A young woman from Louisiana
with Aloette Cosmetics,
roses in arms,
waiting for the shuttle bus.
Families with small children.
A bride, whose new husband
had walked off without her
gives him an angry message,
a rude gesture, a divorce threat.
Free Starbucks coffee supplied
by the hotel, followed by a bill,
shoved under the door,
seven hundred sixty-three dollars.
“For three nights!” he rages.
“It was worth it,” I say,
“I wouldn’t have missed it!”
Keep up with the latest news
Smart watches do more than just tell you the time
From ancient times we had clocks that were more environmentally friendly
Roosters were natural alarm clocks
It's the rooster that crows, but it's the chickens that lay the eggs
Personally I think it is time for a women's liberation
Up before the rooster crows ?
Thank you for long and faithful service ... the smell of fresh coffee
24.01.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
matty meows with
a rooster at 6 a.m.
but, no snooze button
My grandpa is a real character; he really is a pip,
He likes the TV commercial where the girls all skinny dip.
You can never see them swimming or on the beach just sunning,
You only see them wrapped in towels but it starts his motor running.
“You know what I’d do if I were where they filmed this silly thing?
I’d pull the handle on the wall and make the fire alarm ring.
They would drop their towels when they ran around trying to get free,
Then I’d come in, the fire chief, and they’d all run to me.
I’d protect them from the flames, give them the shelter that they seek,
And while I helped them into my truck I think I’d take a peek.
In my fire truck full of women wearing nothing but their smiles,
I’d take them to the firehouse but only after a hundred miles.
Then I’d let them out so they could show their grateful gratitude,
And I’d greet each one personally ‘cause they’re still in the nude.”
Then gramps falls off to sleep and on his face we see his grinning,
And if thoughts are as bad as acts then he is happily sinning.
What life offers
A sweet confectionery
Decide the glazing
Broken clocks with wooden blocks
And the power is out again.
Cold burning hands lifted up with a little
sacrificial parenthetical nonsense
"Yuletide noreaster winding down"
Of course it will be cold - it always is.
And there will be red numerals flashing
in the morning.
Isaac is having his nightmares again,
Feeling like a tied down goatskin.
maybe it is just that Old Testament slang.
Some say single syllable saliva.
Some say killing time on Mount Moriah.
Now a fifth of gin in the pillowtop linen,
May be worse a sin than to kill kin.
And the blankets are tangled thickets,
The alarm clock is tuned to AM radio.
One
day I
thought I would
boil some eggs so
I put them on the
stove on high heat, being
the impatient lass I am.
I got distracted in the yard.
The eggs blew up and the pan almost
melted. That’s why my husband is the cook!
For Susan Burch's Contest "Ridiculous Self Exaggerations"
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. <>