I prefer
My comfortable old armchair;
And the tick tock
Of my clock
With it’s traditional chime;
And poetry that rhymes.
To a world where
My old armchair
Is replaced
By minimalist furniture;
Clocks have a digital face
(And do not chime);
And I am told, that rhyme
Is out with the present time.
In “10 of the Best Poems About Time”, the blog, Interesting Literature, provides links to (and a brief analysis of) 10 poems dealing with time and (naturally enough) clocks, https://interestingliterature.com/2019/12/01/10-of-the-best-poems-about-time/.
I have long been fascinated by time and well remember listening to the ticking of a wall mounted pendulum clock, as a young boy whilst attending Wavertree School for the Blind in Liverpool.
In my home I have several clocks, including a tingtang clock, which lives on the bookcase in my living room. It is this clock, which was manufactured in 1910, from which inspiration for the below poem is drawn:
“My old clock I wind
And much philosophy therein find.
I can bring
The pendulum’s swing
To a stop with my hand;
Yet I cannot command
Time to default
On his duty and halt
The passing of the years.
He has no ears
For our laughter and tears
And his sickle will swing on
Long after we are gone”.
(“My Old Clock I Wind”, first appeared in “My Old Clock I Wind” and Other Poems”, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0735JBVBG/. It can also be found in my “Selected Poems”, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/
Poet Kevin Morris reading a further selection of his work.
I have heard
The tick tock
Of the clock
And thought
That I ought
To become
A better man,
Ere the clock’s word
Is no longer heard
And the sun
Does, forever set
On my regret.
Marvell was right,
For, oft, at night
I fancy I hear
“Time’s Winged chariot hurrying near”.
The year
Will soon close.
No man knows
How many more he has got,
Therefore heed the tick tock
Of the clock
For it’s word
Will, one day
Pass away.
—
The reference to “Time’s Winged chariot”, can be found in Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress”, http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/his-coy-mistress/.
Time is a human concept
Not always shown due respect
By we who put off until tomorrow
That which we should do today.
Then, when tomorrow
Comes we say
“I shall do that on another day”,
While old Father Time
Smiles his enigmatic smile
And whispers, “you borrow
Tomorrow and today”.
And we, heeding not the clock
Continue to play
Our lives away.
The hands trace
The clock’s face
Then
, Go round again.
Progress. Yes?
Or no?
The hands go
round, and round
A Transhumanist heard a clock tick
And said “time I shall lick”.
And the clock said, “progress,
Regress, progress, regress”,
As the hands did trace
The clock’s round face
From beginning to beginning,
Forever spinning:
“Progress, regress, progress, regress . . .”.
And the Transhumanist said,
Nought, for he was long since dead.
The temperature has dropped.
The pendulum chops
Second upon second away.
As I write.
I think
On how we did drink
And at lovers play
That night
In the warm pub.
Oh how I would,,
That ’twere yesterday.
Excited sighs,
Slowly dies.
Tick tock
Of clock.
Lovers they
Can not stay.
I keep
The key
For a time
In a tray.
Will people seek
For the key
When I go away
And, perchance, finding this rhyme
Think on old Father Time
And me?
K Morris - Poet 