Whenever I return to my family home
The clock on the wall
Stands alone
Looking down on us all.
I have composed rhyme
To women and wine
And the clock on the wall
Watches us all.
We laugh
And time slips away.
As the clock on the wall
Looks down on us all.
One day
Someone will be gone
And the clock on the wall
Will tick on
Just the same.
For Time is blind
And the clock knows not
Who has gone
And who remains.
Who has
My unbalanced clock
Will still tick tock.
The pendulum swings.
But no Cuckoo sings
And the clock’s
Music has stopped.
On a cold December day
I stop
And suddenly become
Aware of the ticking clock.
The sun
Hides it’s face.
It will rain again today.
I will embrace
Old Father Time in rhyme.
I grow older
And sense his great hand
Waiting to land
On my bowing shoulders.
I must try
Not to waste time.
For the clock
Will, one day, … stop
When my busy thoughts
For a moment, stop,
I become aware
Of the clock
Ticking away my day.
I may turn away
And write.
But old Time
Will not delay
The night
To accommodate my rhyme.
The clock on the wall
Watches us all
As we eat and sleep.
Sometimes the clock’s
Steady tick tock
Is heard over words.
Or, when alone
Sometimes I see
Time’s great scythe
Moving closer to me.
I always return
To the tick tock
Of the clock,
From which I learn
To accept and respect
That I
Will die.
My clock’s old chime
Is out of time
With this modern age.
But I must engage
For I know
That the clock
Will not stop
Though I wish
It would do so.
On hearing the same clock
On the same kitchen wall,
I recall, another blackbird’s call,
And that old Time Knocks,
1 day, for us all.
I thought I had lost
The key to my clock.
When I found it again
It’s old tick tock
Continued on. but time
He pauses not.
(The above poem first appeared in my June Author Newsletter, which can be accessed here https://mailchi.mp/37a9976abe1c/kevins-june-author-newsletter).
A confession
About my obsession
With clocks.
Their ticks
And tocks.
But all obsessions,
Eventually, stop.
K Morris - Poet 