Long Clocks Poems
Long Clocks Poems. Below are the most popular long Clocks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clocks poems by poem length and keyword.
i heard he was a lamb disguised as beast but
some say it's the other way around
he awakened in the east from a night's rest before
heading west to settle down
a metaphysical riddle on sandy shores overlooking
the sea on a dark night
metaphors sift through his mind like an hourglass
as his flipped time on its head at midnight
he slipped into a dream from a flow state traveling
through time & birth canal
his birth shrouded in mystery like a game of clue but
the stars knew he'd come around
dark clouds formed on an autumn day setting the stage
for storms & hard rain
on this day it poured like never before as the clouds
tried to shroud the sun in vain
weathervanes spun crazy as every hand on all clocks
spun counter clockwise
the globe had been reset by this anomaly who'd come
into this world thrice wise
born both of the day & night time he was clearly a
new aged paradox
the countdown began with his first breath while above
& below placed bets while the world watched
TAKING STOCK
“STOCK” – the bits and pieces of accumulated this and that – with tags!
Strings of memories, and far off debt, and a sea of medicinal prescriptions rustling
In a cobweb bound table draw which needs as I do, a repair, “STOCK” then glancing across
Boxed books and movable immovable objects piano, Dresser, TVs, and three different pale green
painted splashes of a future make over or fast fix.
Toffee -less tins stacked and not open, and only thoughts of toffees in them, and photos taken long
ago, I think! Dog eared edges caught under the lid, - then impatience digging out the bank
Statements, lots of cash for a rainy day, there have been many floods, and the cash is still here.
Cars and sheds and kids, and dogs, and clocks unwound, AND laptops, alone in sealed boxes.
And all this Stock for a bonfire down at the crem! And - relatives.
When all is but
dark and dreary,
and coldness wraps the
silhouette of
my wooden surface,
I listen to the
wafer thin whispers
echoing in whimsy tones-
when the moon
wind-chimes sway
to the balmy breeze;
hung on the side
of a weathered balcony,
where the sun sometimes
unfurls her feathery fingers,
to rest upon timber
corners of my psyche,
I search for compassionate
caresses to comprehend
unsung serenades.
But tonight I feel the
burden I carry in
somber stillness,
as my voice is unheard,
amidst pen and paper
wrapped around
my chestnut skin,
with scribbled poems
of ancient tales.
For I’ve long been
sitting like a
silenced marionette,
letting my bones
serve beyond I can give.
Somedays I am your listener,
whilst you grieve in seclusion,
as obsidian tears stain the
edges of my tanned shoulders,
when fears sink into
the depths of carved linings
within my hollow heart.
Yet, sometimes,
I hear your laughter,
sharing the redolent rainbows
within your soul,
when storms steer away,
to paint your crystalline
canvas with mauve
memories entwined
with mulberry musings.
But I still stand frozen;
a three legged table,
with nowhere to hide,
whilst the world
remains oblivious,
to the aching heartbeats-
imprinted between
cinnamon glazed bruises.
Perhaps, there will be a time,
when clocks shall halt and
tick to the rhythm of my thoughts,
and you’ll feel the heat
of my unshed truth,
and I will no longer be just a mere
ornament designed to
perform as you please.
-Inspired by my temporary English instructor, Mr. Phinizy
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evening had diminished to night; how very quickly did She fly
It is funny how quickly time passes, as if our brains tweak the clocks of life
The night was of moderate warmth, and my house suffered terribly still
And with the stifling heat inside, many hot questions filtered through my mind
I asked myself, Where did the summer go? Why must our suns die?
Why is it sweltering in September? Why has sudden anger blown her aside?
I really need some sleep, thought I, looking at my face through the murky glass
Tracing dark circles under my eyes, I was reminded of sagging Death longing to ensnare me
Yes, Death followed me that night, dwelling upon me, boiling away the autumn breeze
As I looked into my sleep-deprived eyes, I knew Death waited for my ultimate slumber,
When all commemoration of time, that flew so rapidly before, suddenly just…stops.
With many a sigh, I turned on the faucet, soaking my hands in the cool, flowing water
I needed some relief from the heat…I needed a refreshing new idea, I needed cleansing
Anything to clear my mind of the negativity daring to break me every day of my life
For such depressing thoughts spewed forth like a wild river, the rapids racking my brain
But these waters were not living; they were dead and hot like blue blazes of hell
I turned off the faucet, for there was no Balm on this earth to sooth this soul
There was no clock on this earth tweaked enough to return me to earth
The warm breezes, the sickly pale cast of many thoughts had driven Her away
And though the everlasting sleep of Death sounded soothing, the Balm does not assuage me…
It only burns forever, in obstinate constancy; angered to the core,
That night stuck in this fractured rhyme of time, I was up late…too late
A boy walks slow through halls of glass,
His shadow flickers, thin as grass.
Each step a secret, each breath a theft,
Of hunger’s war and weightless heft.
They whisper when they think he’s gone,
“Is he okay? He looks withdrawn.”
But laughter fades when backs are turned,
And eyes like his are never learned.
His plate remains a battlefield—
Each bite a blade, each meal unsealed.
He counts the crumbs like ticking clocks,
His ribs a cage, his soul in locks.
Inside, a storm no one can see,
A gut that groans in mutiny.
IBS, a cruel refrain,
Twisting joy into quiet pain.
His friends? Just echoes in disguise,
With hollow jokes and plastic eyes.
They smile sharp, then look away—
He’s present, but he’s not okay.
They call him “buddy,” slap his back,
Then laugh the moment that he cracks.
Lonely, yet he's never alone,
A ghost among his flesh and bone.
He’s drained—of hope, of strength, of care,
A paper boy in poisoned air.
Yet no one sees what’s underneath,
The brittle scream behind his teeth.
And so he walks, a whispered name,
Fading into his hollow frame.
Each day a mask, each night a sea,
Of pain no soul will ever see.
Farewell Summer Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
9 September 2019
Ahhh my favorite subject
But sadly for me you can not miss
what you never had
When exactly was it Summer
Those 3 decent day's in June
Summer is now officially over
Autumn is here the month September
And the Clocks are due to go back
next month end of October
And all there is to look forward to
Is another desolate Winter
In the hope next year will be better
secretly you know it probably won't
Just another sorrowful Farewell
Much like loosing a loved 1
But less fair
Nothing positive or nice about
Autumn or Winter
It's hard to Picnic after Summer
It takes far 2 many layers of clothing
And it's hard to keep the food warm
Only upside i can possibly think of
Is deciding what to put in the hip flask
To warm the cockles of your heart
When the wind the leaves are a blowing
Your hands and feet are both cold through
And you long to be sat in front of a log fire
Wishing you were saying
Farewell Winter
Not
Farewell Summer
Machines With Madmen Groaning
Machines with madmen groaning above me at 10 thousand feet,
Grumbling and growling like maniac sky monsters slurping on bloody prey,
Those steel dragons of yore spewing fire and corpses into the excesses,
Like Rodan and Godzilla maiming each other in the frozen spasming countrysides,
Giant crazed beasts reciprocating the deafening overtures of contrived violences,
Contrived annihilations, a few math equations, and we have the Beast rising from the sea.
Here, pour me a glass of your backwashed spittle as it internalizes with basically nothing.
It’s time to find the time to describe a time when clocks will rage on like crazed moon dancers,
When the girls on the boulevard were cool and accessible in their cruising flirtations.
When tanned nomads inside their cool cars found gliding nirvanas, and a bra strap,
Amidst the midnight milkshakes and the incredible nude conversations in the backseats of time.
Machines with motorized redundancies tap into the central eye where speed finds inertness.
Life can be found below the stage on the Thames, river of history, by the Black Friars on Coffee Street.
Incense-filled rooms lie mysteriously down a long gloomy walkway around the opaque tree line.
Ghosts of codgers and spillmen greet the toothless ladies with bloody knees and rotting finery,.
A young bard shakes the hands of broggers and yeomen with dripping quills and pig’s blood.
Grind on young thespians! Read your antique lines, not forgetting your monologues dedicated to fear.
Grant that the music of the spheres above captures the relative major, with silent egresses to be heard.
Melancholy symphony
Last night presented to me
Look to the future is what was said
Leave the past behind as it is dead
Enjoy the elements the earth gives us
Even the rain and sun that we got in August
September is the month of the equinox
The past firmly shut in a box
It may creep out and side swipe you
Remain strong push hard is what you must do
Don't let those ghouls take control
Your the one atop the grassy nowl
Positivity and share the wealth
Begin your life you have good health
I find writing stanzas does me good
Taking a walk in the wood
See the trees leaves changing colors
The woods giving you different odours
Won't be long till the clocks fall back
Getting up in the dark feeling all black
See the geese flying south
Military precision opens your mouth
As they cackle on their flypast
What a sight shame it won't last
Get balance in your life
Be decisive involve husband or wife
This will bring your family harmony
Hence listen to melancholy symphony
And if I wouldn’t see you there
I wouldn’t know the sense
Here comes the meaningless nowhere
Presenting its offence
Aren’t we just names imprinted by
A memory that fades
But then it suddenly revives
And I can see your face
There was a time for us to share
Our garden was in bloom
Then came that letter from nowhere
It flew into your room
It didn’t say the time has come
Though, on the other hand,
I felt that something must be done
But failed to understand
The clocks were chiming rather loud
The wind was blowing high
Last time we talked there was no sound
You sang no lullaby..
We are the darkened sky I keep
I never let us go
The coastal waters become deep
The seagulls fly too low..
It’s funny the different people you meet in life who follow a similar routine…walk with me a moment and I’ll tell you what I mean.
Besides the first birds of the morning and the rabbits and other animals I greet along the way…there’s Bob who walks his dog at the same time every day.
There’s the old people sitting on the deck of their assisted living home…I usually count three…old people who are also up early…old people just like me.
There’s Stella, the homeless lady..who, I imagine, has lost her way…there’s the old man in a blue car who waves as he passes me each day.
And then there’s Oscar and Olivia another older couple who always pass me by…who love to do their walking under the moon…or a starlit sky.
I hadn’t seen Oscar and Olivia in a while…until just the other day when I noticed up ahead of me…Oscar walking my way.
“Hey, Oscar!” I asked innocently, “Where is Olivia this fine day?”
Oscar’s head bowed ever so slightly as he told me Olivia had passed away.
“I’m so sorry, Oscar.” I said as my own emotions I couldn’t hide.
“Let me tell you what I told Olivia,” Oscar said, “as I held her hand…the day she died.”
“I told her I’d loved her all my life…II told her never ever to forget…how my love for her was waiting in my heart long before the day we met.”
I told her I hope my love for her has matched all the love for me she’s shown…
I told her how I loved our walks together…and because I have our memories…I will never walk alone…
And I told her not to worry about me…though I’m not sure where…or when…
I have so much love for her that will be waiting…until we meet again…
I still follow my same routine each morning…I say hi to the animals, to Bob and his dog, to Stella, to the old folks…and before I’ve traveled vary far…as if our clocks are synchronized…I wave to the the man in the blue car
And when I see Oscar coming toward me…as always…out of his way I politely slide…
giving him all the room he needs to pass…with Olivia by his side.