Best Grandfather Clock Poems
The grandfather clock
A grandfather clock sat in pride of place in my childhood home
I would sit at its base and watch the magical movements of the pendulum
I would talk to the clock as if were a close friend
As I grew older our friendship continued
One evening I tossed and turned in bed, sleep eluded tonight
laying there wondering where my dreams will take me tonight
The grandfather clock tic tocks louder tonight
I toss and turn once more is this a dream.
The sound continues, I decide to visit my old friend
Bedclothes tossed aside, stand at the side of my bed
Eyes accustomed to the darkness, the sound continues
I leave my bedroom and stand on a darkened landing
The tick tock invites me to visit
Down the stairs and sit before the grandfather clock
The face looks down at me, I imagine a smile as it recognizes me
It speaks as it has many time before, hello young man
Silence from myself as I struggle to comprehend
Say it as it is I will understand speaks the clock
The clock understands my silent words
It seems to nod and smile I understand
I sit for hours as the clock marks time
My life, my worries my love all pour out
I wake from my dream and realise where I am
Curled in a ball at the feet of the clock
I hear the sounds as the clock chimes the hour
I stand and bow at the wise one before me
A chuckle I hear as I walk back up the stairs
My bedroom, my kingdom, fell into bed and slept for hours
Is there a message in this maybe a poem.
Yes, there is, the thoughts are yours.
Its sonorous tone has struck the hours for well over a hundred years,
But time hath surely taken its toll on its weary wheels and gears.
'Tis built of sturdy oak by craftsmen who took pride in their guild.
My old friend stands nigh seven feet tall and leaves my life fulfilled.
To keep fit he needs a tune-up now and then as all we old guys do,
And with a generous squirt of oil here and there, he runs just like new!
His beaming face shines and his rhythmic tick-tock tells me all is well.
He's a dear and treasured companion for all who in this home do dwell.
Oh, if only he could talk of the many things he's witnessed during his life;
Birth, death, sad and happy times, the struggles of foolish man in strife.
Old Grandpap has been quite the world traveler since his birth in Bavaria.
He's been to Japan and all over America - he's covered a lot of area!
How comforting it is to hear his soothing chimes in the still of the night,
Knowing that he is keeping time for me and that everything is alright.
With each pendulum swing he reminds me that my time on earth is measured.
Time I dare not squander and time with friends and family must be treasured!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
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.
Tick tock tick tock goes your clock
time passes and passes my time
tick tock, tick tock goes my life time
Quarter hour you sing a song
Every quarter you sing away the time
Chimes and ding dong on the hour
My power is fading with the sun set
Sing me a lullaby all the night long
Nightmares of phantoms stealing my life
Singing a lullaby while tightening my noose.
Like a venerable old sage the grandfather clock
Stands in the far corner of the room,
And day after day the clock would tic
Like the beating of the heart.
No matter what went on in the house
It continued to keep perfect time,
And through the years it turned out to be
A faithful old friend of mine.
There were times the clock would stop
Or need some professional care,
But I would soon have it running again,
I just couldn't be without my old friend.
Twelve years have passed since I bought that old clock,
And it still continues to chime,
It has seen me go through some awful times in my life,
It's been a real comfort to me my old friend.
(The Clock and The Reaper)
Time, the adamant adversary
of all that breathes
and all that can be personified
but meets perish
at the end of an arduous linger,
The crowns of eminent royalty,
the sweat of the blue collared,
and the blood of the encumbered poor,
are made equal, and remain
as docile as a sigh within a tornado,
by the unvarnished will of
destiny's most capricious assassin...
Thus all are abated by the face of a clock,
a man made object that mildly frightens
its creator, for it is not the apparition known
as Death, but rather the pretentious beacon
which deftly admonishes his existence, to all
who wish to prelude his inevitable convocation,
Yet none triumph in eluding the bullet of his
touch or the chill of his paralyzing presence,
for he is a being untainted by remiss
Together, the clock and the reaper,
are bound by nature, a mother who
bore them within the same breath,
and binds them without ramification,
for once one is piqued by a name,
the other is given purpose, thus the verve
of the artist, and the scientific mind become
nothing again, and the sanctimonious platitudes
of the churches, are silenced,
along with the indiscretions of the sinners,
Therefore, as time and death are capacious
beyond infinity, neither will rest until starved
by an impasse, thus the parable remains pertinent
to all, cherish each minor moment of life,
live with the dreams of adolescent imagination,
and love with a degree of unforgettable compassion,
which can never be made mortal, and by definition,
shall forever remain impervious to death's hand,
and always pass the test of time.
An Antique Clock, a familiar place
Gathers dust -
and rust
But three gold chimes which hang lo' face
As Its hands go 'round
Familiar sound repeats
The pendulum, "to -fro, to - fro"
of-time, out-of-rhyme
Honestly - slo'!
ten minutes?
A top o'clock, a world of stars
Continues tickin', like an old pro
Ne'er been moved, of fear, to break
Age- two hundred years?
Many Times, might've sold
Yes priceless, to behold
Any replicate, fake
Singin' - ringin' steady tune makes
Tick-Ding - Tick-Ding
Agnize it's noon
A few minutes, give or take
Envision the hours spent
As Time-keeper - Grandpa King
The years pass -
minutes, sent, spent -
from high
Overlooking
generations -
relations
Happily observe, some with disdain
Hundreds passed, a handsome piece
Nephews, a niece
children-Grand, great ones, too
Sons, daughters, lovers, and well
A place to dwell
If only we knew -
what this "Granddad" would tell
Memories, millions are they
As seconds continue to play
and Centuries travel...
Endless, where has it been, where...
Swish thud goes the pendulum,
Giving every second significance,
With each moment as important.
Taking me into myself, for myself,
Able to access my abstraction,
Feeling my own presence positively.
The beats remind me of my heartbeat,
There, but not visible: just by intelligence;
Only these clocks emphasise the seconds.
Tradition can stink, but here it settles:
The invention suffices to help me think,
And ponder on my whereabouts.
The anchor escapement mechanism transcends,
Slowness for me to grasp various possibilities,
Ramifies that there are ways of leaving.
Of leaving the said, the ornate and the strict:
The old can often aid departure even from them,
As given, never to be claimed by anyone.
GRANDFATHER CLOCK
christmas eve
old hall clock chimes twelve
this silent rush
A grandfather clock sure is grand
Chime the time, on an antique stand
But if late you get
There's one sure bet
That old clock won't give you a hand!
Grandfather Clock
(A Variation on a Triolet)
When I was young, not four foot tall,
My Grandpa’s clock I remember well
Stood and chimed, alone in the hall,
When I was young, not four foot tall.
Taller than I, standing by the wall.
Older than he? I could not tell.
My Grandpa’s clock - I remember well!
When I was young, not four foot tall.
My Grandma polishing the fine grained wood,
I remember the hands, time’s steady measure.
Day and night the clock in the hall-way stood,
My Grandma polishing the fine grained wood.
Pacing the hours across my passing childhood
The pendulum swung in timeless leisure.
I remember the hands - time’s steady measure,
My Grandma polishing the fine grained wood.
ABaAabBA
06/13/2021
Dusty elegance
the grandfather clock has failed
hypnotic and slow
Where did the time go?
memory which brought your voice
Last tick and last tock ?
Gold-plated numbers
the sound as cradle to rock
shaves minutes and hours
In your life's long book
blessings in bliss and wonder
... his treasure and pride
In the last chapter
you broke your solemn promise
... maelstrom of despair
Immortality -
regularly beating heart
a clock with a soul
The days comes fluttering back
Thrown on a heap
Of rubbish
Beyond the reach
Of a little child
The old grandfather clock
Lying on its side,
And how he longed
To look once more
At the strange mechanism
Of time,
The curious little cogs and wheels
That moved in precise alignment
Measuring out the brief moments of life,
Even now at the eleventh hour
Before the match was struck
And the fire consumed it all.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2020
Best wishes to all on poetrysoup for 2021.
An old pal of mine standing nigh seven feet tall,
Basks in regal splendor against the wall.
He's well over one hundred and fifty years old.
Could he speak, Oh! The tales to be told!
That old friend that in my home doth dwell,
Is a stately grandfather clock with open well.
Made when craftsmen took pride in their guild,
'Twas crafted from sturdy German oak to build.
The hours are tolled with sonorous tone.
He's seen so many events now bygone.
Holidays, births, deaths, family mirth,
And even several wars upon this earth!
Every so often I oil his wheels and gears.
After all, he's getting along in years!
I need my old friend for succor and ease.
For that reason him I shall ever appease!
He's seen the birth of a new millennium,
And with each arc of his ponderous pendulum,
Is a reminder never to squander time away,
But to live a productive life each passing day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Tick, Tock, Tick..
The pendulum swings back
And drains away
Another drop
Of my sanity
Tock, Tick, Tock..
The pendulum swings forth
And drains away
Another drop
Of my mind
Tick, Tock, Tick..
How long must I stare?
Until it all stops?
Until I am freed?
Until next time I’ll stand?
Tock, Tick, Tock..
My mind is a prison
Yet still, I can’t move
Not until it stops
Until I’m released
Tick, Tock, Tick..
Maybe if I died
The clock would stop ticking
I’ll finally be free
From this way I’ve been living
Tock, Tick, Tock..
But how can I die
If I can’t even move?
I can do nothing but stare
In the eyes of my captor
Tick, Tock, Tick..
I’m still so young
Why am I here?
Fixed on a grandfather clock
What’s happened to me?
Why must I keep hearing
Tock, Tick, Tock..
My mind is a prison
My clock is a prison
I long to break free.
Tick, Tock, Tick..