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Time, Ticking Away

Time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head, time, time, time, time after time, tick, tick, ticking in my head

Slowly shows the daylight slows, a light that bends yet not defend the inversion of the balance spent, hours spending speed

The speed and dearth or times rehearsed, echo the clock’s hand freshly stopped as the fingers pushes down, issuing the rate upon the watch. Upon the wrath’s watch…go…

There are sixty in an hour; thirty in a half, sixty in a minute and so it goes… empties the hourglass

Sand shifts like dunes dismay, subtly drifting because of winds displayed…blowing about like paper on a freeway during rush hour land… scenes, news to windshield, rain to screen, dampening the ink yet dry, undoing a portion of its pen unto the glassy countenance your wipers deny, scrawling the side, transference across one’s lens until time depend upon it once again

Time, Time, Got the time ticking…time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head.

Chronos led the titans unto tartarus, trapped without a sundial, locked away in what we trust, without a shadow to span past the numerals at which time, personified, was but a fractal of the all-knowing, eye to spy, sight to see, time to tell, the wicked and the cruel, and each its spell, to the spot where time could begin or end, where time could play, defend, to which the hours grow quite dim, to the lengths the fool will squarely follow him, time to feel, time to flee, end or pretend, tenor or alto sax, a six-string to which we crash….WAKE UP…TIME TO DIE….

Sideways, forwards back and down…twisting, turning, right side up and upside down

Strings of strings that time forgot, in a landlocked ledger found at the edge of a stadium parking lot, where times, tomorrow’s headlines are alive today, commingling with the past’s history refereed to as yesterday

Conviction of distinction, draught to drag the lock, procuring silt and sand from the bottom of the clock, where the sides and tips react, contract, push and stride, each hand’s a budging the hour closer to the inscription staved, sordid like a camera there, stealing image to polaroid’s frame, dividing a future frozen by a tomorrow’s moment ne’er to crave

Time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head…. time after time, time and money, money and time, turn the dial, make it chime, ring the bell, ring it slow, twist the transistor and make it go, make a smile show, change, change, got the change, tick, tick, tickling in the pocket as the sense of directions smoothens low, paving the way to one’s red painted drawing the charcoal made, forever altering the art in which we may behave, in which we believe

Tick, tick, tick…. time on a wire…tick, tock, tick, tock, turning around the arms of the grandfather, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo and family’s turn on kin, society finds one’s sins, shun and deny, it’s in the odds we cry, never choosing to made as fools, all because of the discomfort caused by the curse of the scare of the eyes of time…blind justice calendars the page, alleviating nothing, no, time it cannot save

Tick…tock…. tick…. tock…. tick…ticking…Time, ticking, Time, time
Stands still, leaving the future
Forever in a shroud of doubt…time itself cannot command the affection we swallow here in this land…time stand still, as it would, there were a rush, if telling time was never understood

And the good times are killing me…the good times are killing me and love’s got me doing, love’s got me doing time and you, had, the time of your life…ageism in a stand on biography, bigotry and bigamy in a land of confusion set still against time standing still, time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head…if
Of course, we understood, the meanings of the words instead where this time, this time, will be the last time, the last time and all time, every time, is nothing, but a good time. How can we resist…ain’t looking for nothing…and it don’t get better than

The first time’s working, slaving, everyday, moving to the next time, to the last time, to the closing of the bell, ringing, tolling, away we spell, the hours numb, the hours sink, into a clock up on the brink, of a fully flooded sinking ship…where time…don’t mean a thing…don’t mean a thing…but it’s that thing, precisely that separates the slicker from the skin…. porridge on a rainy day…inflated to the womb It may…forever returning to the moment we had the time, the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head…tick, tick, ticking in my head

Well, after watching my football team suffer a horrendous loss this afternoon, I had to write of course. But, you know, when my moods get stirred up like this, I find I either go in one of two directions with my writing, typically I wind up writing violent, disjointed and abstractly, but then, like today, I take an idea and I pervert it to the point of farce. While on the surface this may read coherently, if you listen to my rambling wreck of a reading here, you’ll see what I mean. I mean nothing by farce, farce is great, there’s a style to it, well, for the really good ones anyhow, which I have no preconceptions to such claims, certainly not when simply stream of consciousness writing and not plotting things out. But, for those that do listen to the reading, if you think you’re hearing a bunch of 80’s-90’s bits of songs in here, you would be correct. To give proper credit, well, credit I can remember anyhow, and all apologies to those bands that I forget who wrote the song, but Got The Time by Anthrax is the main verse sung in here, Rush- Time Stands Still, Some INXS song, Time after Time from Cindi Lauper and I think there’s a Smith’s or Cure piece in here, but not quite sure.

Anyhow, Mary over at D’Verse, ran the Poetics Prompt last night and offered up a really nice write up about stages of time in one’s life, and lots of excellent poets linked up their work as they always do. I wrote a piece and linked it up, on my other site, but the theme stuck with me, not sure if there’s any tie in with watching a poorly executed football game or not, but needless to say, I went with it again and thought I’d post it up here for anyone who wanted to read/listen to it. And, as is the case with most times, while the disappointment is certainly still there, I find myself grounded and let the poetry soothe me as it typically has that tendency to do. Thanks

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About hobgoblin2011

I'm a poet and aspiring screenwriter/songwriter with a passion for film, art, photography, philosophy and heavy metal. I love reading, mainly non-fiction, comic books, graphic novels, myth and reference. Family always comes first for me. I'm a proud father to two wonderful pups and two curious cats. I'm also a glutton for punishment aka the life of being a diehard Buffalo Bills and Sabres fan.

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