Best Clockwork Poems
Time: Out
A ripple in the fabric of the universe.
Forward and backward in time,
It's only been a couple of weeks.
Cycles.
Clock’s ticking.
Breathless, the cold entrance of space.
Two hands without any hint of motion,
a blue star no longer scattering sunlight.
Time: In
Closing the curtains over stained glass.
Lillies and lotuses blackened with acrylics,
a plaid dress with white and red paint.
Nocturnal notes fill the air with uncertainty.
Forward, back, continuous unconscious motions.
Cracks exposed on sidewalks, walls, and my skin.
The things I could’ve done,
we’re gonna scorch the planet in fire.
Time's up.
Grim is the threat of extinction...
Now unveiled in Trafalgar Square
a sculpture to draw attention;
it contains a message to share.
There’s on show a clockwork statue.
Grim is the threat of extinction
prompting another hot issue
making pleas for a solution.
There’s the need of urgent action
to save the lions in decline.
Grim is the threat of extinction;
now is the time to draw the line.
Let us not be caught in slumber.
May we act with true conviction.
The big cats are down in number.
Grim is the threat of extinction.
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Red ribbed tank top and panties.
Drawing and writing’s to earn commissary.
Rugged colored jumpsuits delivered daily through the bars.
A few women foaming at the mouth from drug withdrawals.
Smells of jailed prostitutes.
Some for murder or Robbing for loot.
Three toilet seats lined up, One shower curtain hung by one Rod.
Boxed alone ,dropped by family and friends,No squad
Kites passed by the male inmates through the line
Like clockwork,Under my tray Every-time
A few fights, Kept my body tight.
One eye stayed on guard all night.
Didn’t get any sleep absolutely no rest.
Until the night I earned each inmates respect
No outside letters.
No Love or a sight of light that life ahead is gonna get any better.
Held on to my dignity.
Versatility Adaptability.
When I was a child and my dreams were of gold
I always believed everything I was told,
my faith was implicit, my innocence pure
and magic existed, of that I was sure.
My old uncle Arthur was always in bed
his twinkling eyes sunken into his head,
he told me his stories of dragons and elves
that lived in the books on his library shelves.
On the table that stood at the foot of his bed
was an old leather box coloured purple and red,
and the lid was embroidered in threads of maroon
with the soft shining face of the man in the moon.
I asked him to show me what rested inside
and he said " Press the button, and open it wide!",
then up from the box with a deep whirring sigh
rose a magic mechanical gold butterfly.
It fluttered its wings as it gently spun round
Its beauty serene in the absence of sound,
and I was entranced by its magical flight
as it bathed in the flame of the candle's soft light.
As I lay in my bed with my head in a dream
I still could imagine the butterfly's gleam,
so I made up my mind to go back the next day
to watch the gold butterfly flutter and play.
But when I got there, the old house was in gloom
my old uncle Arthur was gone from his room,
and even though mother had tried to explain
I never did see uncle Arthur again.
That night I slept soundly, in dreams of delight
at the dawn I awoke to the morning's first light,
and there on the desk, by the side of my bed
was an old leather box coloured purple and red...
Some say that clouds can curve into a dream,
While resting restless roaming in the air.
'Twas I that walked into this cloudy theme,
That myst of mind and matter moved to share.
For breath breathed in my death life new to wear.
From death to life, a clockwork of the past,
A gift of beauty backwards moving fast,
Changing the colors that the clouds consume.
But nothing mortal never seems to last,
And life ended inside my mother's womb.
A little after twelve o’clock,
She slumbered at the window pane
And only I, the kitten, heard,
Then, saw the phantom clockwork train.
The driver smiled and waved his hand;
He had a tubby stripey cat.
The purring cat was fast asleep,
Inside the driver’s upturned hat.
As petals floated on the air,
I longed to join that happy band,
But couldn’t leave the little girl,
And snuggled closer to her hand.
I’m glad I stayed with little Jean,
But sometimes dream what could have been.
For Vie’s Trains & Fantasy contest
Cleaning out the attic I found an old clockwork car sitting in my toy box
It was old and rusty the wheels still went round and it had plenty of knocks,
There was a small hole in the side that was rusted around its green tin sides,
A little square for a key and had two seats to take my toy soldiers for rides,
So that was it, I was hooked searching high and low looking for the right key,
But then I saw it hiding under an old chair it was dark and it was hard to see,
Now the excitement kicked in happily and I fitted the metal key into the slot,
And wound it up round and round it went it was a bit stiff my thumb hurt a lot,
It finally stopped winding it was ready so then I put the car down on the floor,
But it just stayed where it was, not rushing off like a bullet, not like before,
So I got thin winder and forced it to give another half turn and gave it a bash,
The useless car still did not move it just sat where it was and it did not dash,
Desperate measures were needed, decisions there was only one thing I could do,
I would have to take the car apart, carefully and fiddle about with the screw,
So I levered the the side and scratched some paint with my trusted Swiss blade,
The rotten old bottom bottom pinged off and flew to a corner it was poorly made,
I finally got to the main spring it was a bit rusted and it had been over wound,
So losing my temper the car got shouted at and I bashed the car upon the ground.
Something gave it rattled so I shook it and made all the little windows fall out,
Again deeper in frustration I tapped it with a hammer then I gave it a real clout,
To my surprise the hammer blow worked but a little red man flew across the floor,
With just a torch I searched the attic but he was lost and I will see him no more,
There was still no movement from the clockworks so this time it was a softer tap,
Then pain shot through my foot with only socks on I just stood on the poor chap,
It came to that time when it was do or die so I gave the car a great hard whack,
I had hit it too hard and the top caved in now the bloody thing will not go back,
After my assault on the tin racing car there is just a pile of tin on the floor,
Grabbing the bits throwing them in the box now bored I will play with it no more.
The seasons come and go
Like our lives
We are bound by time
And as our end draws near
Just like clockwork
We will draw our last breath
And fade away with time
Clockwork
Tic, Toc,
Tic, Toc,
Around the clock,
What’s time
but a constraint,
In all the bushel
it is all yet quite faint,
You go through life
doing something you love,
Transforming It
into a beautiful dove,
It is what
you do with It,
Do It in spite
just to be merely bull—****
So can you
tell me your timeline
Well I don’t
even know mine . . . . .
Tic, Toc,
Tic, Toc,
Around the clock.
Travis “Ceijaeh” Klein
Living in a clockwork Universe
Before we knew the truth of random acts
Circles ignored squares , was that perverse?
Clockwork, logic Aristotle, terse
This what we thought to be the facts
Living in a clockwork Universe
Yet could ellipses, circles us desert
If all seems square then something has been blocked
Circles married squares , was that perverse?
Could time itself ,this dagger, be reversed
In stochastic nature, particles might flirt
There never was a clockwork Universe
Scientists have imaginations rash
Revolutions happen with a smirk
Circles marry squares , are you averse?
Alas no-one can read their latest tracts
The language is absurd like poets’ works
Living in a clockwork Universe~
Circles ignored squares , we thought that crass
Clock work spiders are climbing up my wall ‘sticking in their nasty pins so none of them will fall,
As one of them lifts her leg and begins to spin her steel ,
another scurries closer and strums it with its heel .
wide eyed and terror struck i remembered going to bed ,
then the clever thought occurs to me
‘just test it and bang your head .
Nope I’m none the wiser ‘now definitely wide awake the mechanical spiders play too me as none of this is fake .
Dozens of them are present now ‘all shine with a metallic grace
‘ but why my room I ask myself
‘why now and why in this place ?
Segmented shining carapace’s ‘move slowly in the gloom ‘
their steel strung out of different lengths
‘lends melodics to the tune .
Tiny keys are turning that adds motion to their gears
‘the thought of what the hell’s going on ‘l
‘nearly bringing me too tears .
Should I Trust theses clockwork spiders ‘
when will their playing End ?
‘who sent them too late night serenade me
‘was it enemy or a trusted friend?
This picking arachnid blue grass
‘ was really something to see
‘terror was starting to subside ,
I was tapping gleefully.
Please don’t climb down from the wall’s
‘keep playing this wicked tune
‘if could just reach my trusted harmonica
‘I’ll join you really soon.
So there I was sat up in bed
‘the spiders kept their beat ‘
it was now time for my solo ‘ I’d better make this sweet.
scratching approval from these arachnid bots
‘was what my piece had gained
’this was becoming awesome ,this could lead to fame.
Then one by one they began to fall,
‘softly on on my bed
‘ the lack inertia for their key winding
’had ended the music dead .
No ‘I called out in grief there’s a lot more we can play ,
‘please reinstate your innerspring’s and carry on that old country way .
But the lifeless eight legged metals ‘lay still and didn’t move ‘
the time had come ‘we’d had our fun ‘
that was the conclusion of our groove .
Where had these spiders come from and how did they know too play
‘I’ll never forget their music ‘
I’ll never forget this day .
The clockwork gears inside my mind keep turning,
And my stomach seems to be churning,
With all these thoughts of you,
I honestly don’t know what to do.
I’m down in the dumps,
And I feel so stuck,
Here in the middle again.
I guess I wish I were dead.
I know that’s not the answer,
But I don’t think I can handle myself,
Here on my own in this sea of crowded lives.
My eyes wanna cry,
But I just wanna sleep,
And dream of nothing but you.
Clockwork Cat
Pats my sleepy cheek.
Hits my eyelids, boops my nose.
Yelling please get up!
-by Edlynn Nau
©April 13, 2019
Tomorrow is here,
the reckoning of another day gone.
Rushing at the open door of now,
spent before I can wrap myself around it.
A wave of time that crashes with surprise,
slips away without looking back.
Hands that cannot hold it,
point at the door through which it has gone.
Tall yet scrawny,
Contrition attempts to
Force its way through.
In this small window
Breed opportunity but of
An unknown flavor.
Goog-a-lee eyes always
Scrupulous and indeed
Tempting perhaps for
Once ignorable?
Unsheltered of course
Two wills in opposite
Directions cannot
Demand wholeness.
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