Short Clock Time Poems

Clock
Ancient, voiceless
Ticking, sounding, moving
Keeper of order, never in full supply
Racing, flying, winging
Quite, invisible,
Time....

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A single tree in the middle of my desert

An image that has faded in memories
I wake up at broken clock time
Looking for a reflection of your image, on the sands...

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I just started it
When they said it's over
I was on my way
When it was night again

Twenty four feels like Two
You will never know why the day ended so soon
You'll be just walking for five minutes
And the sun will get replaced by the moon...

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Time passes tick tock tick tock,
Second by second,
Hour by hour,
Watching the hands go round,
A white face with numerals,
It's what tells you the time,
Pendulum swinging back and forth,
It could put you in a trance,
Ornate or plain they all tell the time,
Large or small, freestanding or wall,
Time just carrys on,
Tick tock tick tock...

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clock
                                   reminds
                                   hurry up
                              she's insistent
                           tick-a-tock-a-tick
                               encourager
                               a constant
                                    pushy
                                     clock...

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AS THE WHEEL TURNED

As the wheel turned and the minutes ticked by,
I knew that I would soon have to die.
So, I watched the clock and its hands going round,
Then I fainted and fell and died on the ground.

And when I woke up, I only saw red,
But when I stood up, I saw Satan’s head.
And all around, fire burning,
But still going strong that wheel was turning....

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Listen to poem:

Assumptions
David J Walker

The days of emptiness 
Were words I could not speak
Dreams that had no depth 
Death that could not wind 
Nor bind the time
Around the mantel clock  
Lost restless sleep

While
 
The pendulum has peaked
And reached its furthest view
Tomorrow's paradigm was seen
In twilights past the in-between 
Exposing what is new
Assuming it is true...

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Not a single thought within my head,
My finger tips are full of lead.
I must write a poem for you to see,
The clock time is five thirty three.

I've written other poems today.
But only when I had something to say.
But I'm willing now to take a chance
And hope you'll give it a second glance

And decide that though my poem won't last,
At least I wrote it very fast.
I must admit this has been fun
And at 5:36 I find I'm done....

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