Best Clocking Poems
I am frustrated and annoyed by his ticking,
or perhaps it should be labeled the 'tocking'
By the never-ending tongue wagging clicking
in the language better known as 'clocking'
Must Grandfather Time command my life?
He so rudely continues without a thought
that his hammer yammering rhythm of strife
mocks the beating pulse of my human heart
What a wonderful fantasy my life would be
if for one day I'd not hear his unrelenting beat
I'd be stress free if time would stand still for me
for without his gonging life would be so sweet
In solace of night, I seek sleep and close my eyes
in need of escape and retreat from earthly chore
but I cannot find a moment of tranquil paradise
for his insistent knelling peals out once more
Each quarter hour his mallet chimes out to me
but his clappers sing off key in monotonous song
Not a lyrical lullaby, but a torturous rhapsody
whose tireless verses antagonize me far too long
I'm tenacious to put an end to his wagging tongue
and shackle the swinging motion of his pendulum
Each hour of the day and night would go by unsung
Being silenced is the price paid by the meddlesome
Categories:
clocking, time,
Form:
Rhyme
Quote: Some of the best speakers in the world
are those who were listeners first....
The rain gently whispers to my window I am here
as the trees chuchot to each other with terms of endearment
The endless sky has an auditory hum as if to say
you might be drenched today
The dawn is singing acapella as she readies for a dance
while the daylight waltzes softly on the steps of day
The hour of seven has just begun for me
I can hear the handles clocking free
The silence is louder than the noise of mid afternoon
yet softer still then the silent stars of heaven
The day has just begun and I can already hear
the first tweet of a birdling musketeer
Sponsor Mark Toney
Contest Name Poetry Marathon Mile 14 |
Sept 15 2022
Categories:
clocking, appreciation, sound,
Form:
Rhyme
A chill wind stung my cheeks
The sky was sullen gray,
I pulled my collar to my chin
And made my weary way.
Nothing too exciting then,
Just the daily grind.
Eight long hours of tedium
To stultify the mind.
Push a button, pack a box
There's targets to be hit,
Team leaders, motivators,
It's all a load of s##t.
Clocking in, clocking out
Until the weekend's here,
Then I'm off down to the pub,
To meet my good friend, beer.
Entry for
CONTEST NO 495,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,
UP TO A MAX OF 20 LINES Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
17/9/18. Placed 1st.
Categories:
clocking, drink, humorous, work,
Form:
Rhyme
The universe is immeasurable,
we are merely infinitesimal
machinery keeping pace,
as churning cogs tick wildly
transmitting within allotted time,
attempting heartbeats' cohesion
clocking our own honed destinations,
accumulating illusions 'tween masses
waiting to return as a speck of dust
in the never-ending saga of
inexhaustible collectives amidst
systematically creative contrivances
Categories:
clocking, destiny, identity, life, people,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Suppose the sun stop shining
And the clouds get dark
When there will be not of the courage to face life head-on
Who will be there to give me a shelter?
Shield me from the thunder
Make me a bed of roses
Melt my fears
My safety guaranteed
Where I find no greed.
Maybe things will happen
Those we term the unexpected
We handle them as unexpected
Hoping lies not perfected
And love Remain Respected
And ours never regretted
See some rejected
Communication neglected
Their presence disconnected
Their memories permanently deleted
But their hearts Pulse the same bits
Always in a REMEMBER STATE
They cannot RESET.
When you hear me knocking
The same heart pulse clocking
“Just smile open wide your arms
Let me connect again to the throbs
Allow me to state "I always loved you"
And always true to you
And that I am sorry, I am sorry
The best I can afford
For I’d rather die a perfect past with you
Than hope for a new future without you”
I am a man, be the woman to man me.
Categories:
clocking, friendship, love, soulmate,
Form:
Free verse
Stuck in traffic, what will he do,
she just called, and said I need you.
Pains have started, five minutes apart,
would carry myself, but the car won't start.
He told her calmly, I'm leaving now,
clocking out, I'm headed down.
Rush hour roulette, stuck in the rear,
is that a siren he hears.
Finally two hours slowly crept by,
he stepped on the gas, that car did fly.
Already left, she was ready to birth,
neighbor said, that woman is tough.
Back in the traffic, headed South,
to the hospital, horn blaring loud.
Running inside, as fast as he could,
trying to make it, he hoped he would.
Where is maternity, I'm needed there,
tiny little woman, with long blonde hair.
Follow me, the nurses said, put this on,
and stand over there.
Then he saw her, holding a blanket so close,
smiling all over, tears rolling off her nose.
Look, she said, we have two,
didn't expect this, did you?
Speechless, and stunned, and a little wore out,
he is just learning, what being parents is all about.
Categories:
clocking, life, love, people, time,
Form:
Free verse
The rosy sun has gone to bed
leaving me awake and all alone
upon this mountain where I sit staring
at the twilight sky yawning to stars,
pricking at the sky’s deep purple canopy.
Give me longer arms to grasp time’s
swift hands slowing his perpetual clocking rounds . . .
somewhere weary hearts must find such space;
the rosy sun has gone to bed.
Copyright, October 24, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
clocking, time,
Form:
Verse
It was just a day, and
I felt, I was snowing
In the great lagoon of fear and fantasy,
I publish my words...
Hoping that,
They would represent
Me, beyond the measure of life;
And, into the cavity of truth --
Where my pulse ticks clocking.
Categories:
clocking, birth,
Form:
Elegy
LEAVING BOYHOOD BEHIND
White shirt 'n' school tie to blue-collar, dress-code is changing with age
From schooldays to pay-days, from homework to hard work
School bells and game playing to work's whistle and wage earning
With new mates, dirty jokes and smoking, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Seven-thirty start time to five-thirty finish, playtime is shortening with age
From footy-boots to work-boots, from school cap to flat-cap
Five hour days and school clock to nine hour days and time-clock
With clocking on, punch cards and overtime, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Sitting with the lads and a big mug of tea, some things taste different with age
From cream soda to warm beer, from tu'penny mix to filter-tips
Learning piecework rates and new skills, paying union subs and betting slips
***-packet backs, sledge-hammers and betting, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Working with Paddy in the oven's fiery heat, this is much too hot at any age
From cold iron bar to white hot, from straight angle-bar to boiler-flange
From the furnace to the big rolls and bend it, working fast before
Lift it out, knock it flat and weld it, oh where has my boyhood gone
In the Boiler-shop to learn fabrication, things mustn't drop apart with age
From marking out to Oxy-gas cutting from riveting to electric arc welding
Not much in the way of protection with no heath 'n' safety laws here
With air-hammers, no ear-plugs or goggles, oh where has my hearing gone?
Moving big metal sheets down the plate-shop, I must be getting stronger with age
From plate stack to marking out table from load stable to not very safe
Two tons of metal on the pulley, the chain slips and it's down with a bang
Metal crashing, men jumping and cursing, oh where has my life nearly gone
Day-release Thursday at college, lessons still needed with age
From going to Derby and back again, from going by bus to car driving
The Lacarno dance-hall at lunch-time, try chatting up girls for some fun
A quick jive, some posing and a coffee, oh where has my boyhood gone
Dating girls at the week-end and hoping, urges get stronger with age
From meeting up early to dancing, from front seat to back seat for fun
Babysitting her niece on a Tuesdays this gives us some time on our own
Snogging, heavy petting and much further... boyhood gone
Categories:
clocking, work, boy,
Form:
I am quite annoyed by the ticking,
or perhaps it's called 'tocking,'
by the ever-present clicking
in a language known as 'clocking.'
Must Grandfather Time command my life?
He so rudely continues without a thought
that his hammering rhythm of strife
mocks the pulse of my human heart.
What a wild fantasy my life would be
to exist without his relentless beat.
If time could but stand still for me,
the silence would be so sweet.
In solace of night I close my eyes
and seek escape from earthly chore.
I cannot find a tranquil paradise
for his gong peals out once more.
Each quarter hour he calls to me
as if singing a monotonous song.
But his tune is never a rhapsody.
Incessant verses are much too long.
I am eager to stop his wagging tongue
and shackle the swing of his pendulum.
Each hour would then go by unsung.
At last he'd know his time had come.
Categories:
clocking, humorous, imagination, stress,
Form:
Rhyme
The bleeding of my eyes cannot
be over emphasis as the a weakness of my heart.
i have been brave thousand times to stop the
black sky from darken my heart, yet my
braveness was sold in penny days ago in public.
Your father has sold his soul to the bar
where his father refused to accept defeat thousand times.
My son, mother is weeping as my pen is bleeding.
the Debts has accumulated in a very high rate
And your sisters have returned from school with their back
on the back of the house weeping like weepers
Yet, all the burdens and the cross of this home
are rested upon my shoulder to bear in pains.
Things has fallen apart and mother aren't happy.
the tuberculosis has began his romance on your father
After the last taste of palm wine he had last time
And i don't relish the prospect of getting him treated
All the time he would go back again with drinking.
I am not writing to ask you of money as you may think
But for you to come home to murder the madness
Created by his mad attitude in the midst of madness of the day.
Son, remembering where we started before the dark cloud
Where mankind eyes divided our dreams of perfections.
I saw the show and reflection of our difference in you
Knowing in your presence my hunger for love would
Be banished and my murdered tomorrow received love
in the eyes of those who laughed at me.
Mbajiakuwas here yesterday with a clapping lips.
Clocking the tress in the compound with his words
But i told him of your fathers madness and he hurt me .
Son, they made me a monster of loneliness
The day i and your father became strangers.
Your father is no longer receiving treatment because all
That i have saved is gone.
My life, a divided of two by two
without a resounding adjective to qualify the nouns.
Son, i am broken in pieces !
Mother is dying in silence as if she has no one
to console her in this dark side .
come home son before your sisters are sold to get
Your father treated as planned by your uncles.
I will be waiting under the tree where you grew up to welcome you.
YOur mother.
Categories:
clocking, abuse, anger, art,
Form:
ABC
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
Nine small words have leaped right through the decades.
Jumping through my brain
Thumping through my memory
like a drum that still complains.
Dedicating dancing sounds
on keyboards of old Remingtons
and Underwoods, that understood
young fingers tapping, zigging- zagging
rhythms beating , small bells ringing
to and fro, a carriage swinging
to orchestrated yesterdays
While papers flew, and fingers numbed
with sly old fox tricks, lazy dogs, mixed
with mindless sounds of drumming bits of
gibberish verses, hands rehearsing
the fox, a hound, a cadance clicking
tick-tick-tocking back to classrooms
clocking words now locked in time
Sitting straight, with neck erect
a sticky "J" key...a whiz kid sat
next chair over, such a brat,
she'd try to race me, set the pace
that I could never match, no trace of
satisfaction on her face, and
I would lose my concentration
my head would wander into clouds
where foxes should be chased by hounds
instead I type the same old rounds
of foxes jumping over dogs,
that clogged my mind with silly sounds
which hummed inside my inner child
Old clacking sounds, are still around
they pound today, inside my head
and still I ponder all the while
how that old fox could leap a dog
unless that dog was dead!
..............................................................
Inspired by Craig's Contest: Typewriter
4/20/13
Categories:
clocking, education, high school, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
you make me better
i see a new image of myself
i feel like i am somebody
i actually wanna live now
i feel cleaner to the touch
the height of my depth has grown even more
my smile actually hurts my face....and it feels good
each sunrise feels new everyday
the feel of my every emotion is not so bad
my pride is now put in the proper perspective
my vibe is a perfectly creased three piece suit
warm happy faces have overtaken the stone cold facial expressions
i clock in each morning looking forward to clocking out
no longer do i drive in circles
no longer do i search for the strength to reenter the driveway of my life
the key to my heart is placed in a hook in the center of your heart
thank you....for helping to notice my dusty flaws
you are such a blessing to my maturation of my mind, body, heart, and soul
you continue to make me a Better Man....
Categories:
clocking, appreciation, beautiful, best friend,
Form:
Free verse
Shock horror, my alarm clock failed,
twas six AM on a Monday morning
this summers day was just dawning,
my shift started at six, going to be late
on probation now wondering my fate,
quickly washed and dressed, in car
only half hour drive so not too far,
luckily traffic was sparse quite desolate
scenarios running through my mind so late,
arrived to find car park deserted just empty
It’s usually half full of cars, at least about twenty,
ran across the foot bridge as fast as I could
boss will have my guts for garters, my blood,
reached machine for clocking in, total shock
thought I was seeing things looking at the clock,
unbelievable twas only quarter past one A M
never used that darn clock again, I did condemn,
will never forget that Monday for as long as I live
certainly a day I never want to ever relive.
8/2/2018
Monday’s poetry contest.
Categories:
clocking, anxiety, funny, time, work,
Form:
Rhyme
As the sun continues to set and rise,
As the moon continues to wane and wax,
Here I am, continuing like a roaring wave
On the wrinkling sea of life, streaming to
Its shores, to froth and seep deep into the
Waiting sands of time—here to canvassing
Clanging conch-like echoing footprints;
As the sun continues to seat and rise, as
The waters of the sea of life continue
To evaporate to freshly freely fall again,
I continue to fall asleep and rise again
In the circadian rhythms of time’s clocking
Of the ebb and flow of the mission purpose:
The spreading of divine wisdom, peace, and love:-
Once thought deserts of oasis have had their day
And are now known valleys of the shadows of death;
Yet, I now know that where love is, fear cannot ever be.
Both parallel and vertical, I have footprinted them free.
And though I’ve had to sail that sea, I did it in the Paul way
I am now on and in the sands of time breathing sweet breath.
As the sun continues to set and rise,
As the moon continues to wane and wax,
Here I am—continuing like a roaring wave.
My tired eyes are resting upon the skies
As I stand here wised and vertically relax
That I’ve lived here free and not as a slave
Clanging conch-like echoing footprints:
Saved by Him of Whom there can be, no pretense!
Categories:
clocking, allegory, extended metaphor, inspirational,
Form:
Prose Poetry