the first poem I ever wrote "The Clock"

Tis was a hideous New England day in late march- the clouds were raining wet grey, petals were on the brink of blossom and I was being driven crazy by the tick and the tock that rang from my clock.

I've always loved writing, I've known that it was what I was meant to spend the rest of my life doing since I was 8 years old, but for some reason... I just never could write poetry. That is, until I read "Come In" by Robert Frost and could not escape the tormenting echoes those words thrust upon the walls of my mind. Angst charged at my lungs, uncertainty pumped in my veins and my inescapable fear of time needed to find a means of release....

and so birthed the start of what I am now most passionate about- poetry and it came in the form of...

The Clock

 

The soles of my shoes

Have faded away

From pacing this pavement

Day after day.

The cracks in the road

Are beginning to grow

Like raging tides

Subject to what Neptune decides.

The tick of my watch

Beats with my pulse

As my eyes watch it,

Fearful and lost.

I hear the tick ring

The tock measures a second

It pounds in my ears,

The day comes to an end,

And it echoes the beat

Deep in my head.

I regret with no doubt

The time I spend wasted about

Feeling indifferent,

Strained,

From this growing pain

That is subject to the clock.

 

I’m afraid

Of the sound of the rain

As it drips on my window

And falls drop by drop

Like the watch on my wrist

Calling tick- tock.

There are mornings when I wake

Wanting to make

The day as beautiful as the changing

Color of trees

As they blow in the breeze,

Humming so sweetly,

Despite their falling leafs.

But as my feet crush

These fallen flowers,

I listen to the crunch

And see them turning to dust.

All around,

Their colors once beautiful

Are turning to brown.

Then the boat of my clock

Ticks from its dock

And the sails howl with the wind crying- tock tock.

 

I see a rose

Whose beauty is enclosed

In petals to blossom.

As the day strolls

It begins to unfold

To the suns shining rays

As they reign and parade

All spaces around

From mountain to cave

From sea- side to town.

But as the night comes

It withers away,

Its petals undone,

Right when life had begun.

And I turn and I run

Trying to find silence.

I rock back and forth

To the tick and the tock

That scream from my clock.

When I think all is not lost

The ticking gets louder

And the tocking

Will not stop.

Like a brute of a man

Buried by the hands of his own flaws

As he tragically falls

And is caved by the walls

Of his watch

As it ticks

And it tocks.

Until his heart stops. 

Reviews

[Linear]

Have you perhaps got a little time on your hands?
Is time passing you by?
Does the face of your clock, say "HEY MY NAME IS TICK TOCK"
Or are you just simply running out of time, for time brings all things to an end time with all it's seasons, time with all it's joy, until it finally stops, Tick Tock.

I once threw a clock that did that at the wall, and it still went Tick bloody Tock

enjoyed your poem

[CompellingComposer]

THIS is your first poem? This sounds like work done by an expert! It's simply amazing! Your words flow together beautifully, which is something I look for when reading a poem. Great job, writing poetry is no easy task!

[bluessadmood]

How i agree..its very hard to write poetry..i came here and i only wrote short stories
then i began to review lots of poetry here,i found it very hard to sink it deep down
then gradually i specialized in it ha ha,not writing but writing critics
,even the reviews for they are so hearty indeed they drain me out
so i could imagine how it is to write real ,and i mean real poetry
it must be real exhausting..i had a few,i wrote,after each
its like i ve done a months work ,mind really tired
its like extracting your whole soul and copying on paper
its like copying your soul on paper for all to see
extracting all yourself ,all of it and displaying it for all
there is a first try at writing and a second and a third
till there is a feeling that you reach the point where its near complete
something inside tells you ,it could never be done better
only then you are proud and reminded that its your poetry indeed
lovely write..

[Wondering Mind]

Time beats beating us all in the end, regardless of what watch we watch. Wonderful first write

[Kelly M.]

Tragic, but everything complimented each other in a beautiful harmony!

[Misty Blue Eyes]

very nice work

[youngwriter222]

I loved how you used a symbol (clock) to describe the feelings and emotions in this poem. Oh, the clock just keeps ticking and ticking slowly until it stops. You are very insightful in this poem.
I must say that your first poem is quite amazing and you are a natural!

[Robin]

what I love about poetry is the personalization of the words , how when written 'openly' it takes on special meaning to the reader. wonderful images and thoughts expressed here.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I really enjoyed this...in art...the clock is symbolic like bones or an hourglass of the entropy of decay...it's called "vanitas"....sort of like vanity...the idea incorporated into Shelley's Ozymandias...that EVERYTHING passes away. That same feeling is alive and well in this piece. I did find the repetition of the tick and tock a bit annoying...but then I find the passing of actual time far more so. (laughing) I'm turning fifty in a few weeks so that should explain that...overall this was an excellent write and I give it high marks. Well done!

[oursong2]

holy crap this is one of my all time favorite poems now wow! thank you for writing this :)