the storm-water gutters on the house next door
are ticking contractions
like a timepiece with a stutter
………………………………………………..tick tick tick
tick
…………tick tick tick tick
the early night is cold
the old man resident in his workshop
a place that is never silent
the closing door raises a soft clang
as the clocks lining the walls
acknowledge his presence
…………………………………………….on the hour
………………………….on the half hour
……………………………………………………on every fifteenth minute
chimes are sonorously struck
the cuckoo calls clear and raucous
above the serene harmonics
of mantle pieces
…………………………………………….carriage clocks
…………four-hundred-day twirlers
…………………………aged grandfathers
and the whir
of naked mechanisms
exposed for test and confirmation
that no moment has been lost
fifty distinct ticks in this room
individually discernible
if time is taken
…………………………to separate
……….the rhythm of each
…………………………………………….as it passes
order is drawn from an initial aural chaos
a comfort found
in the sedate movement of time
within the workshop of the clock-man
and the staccato punctuation
of metal guttering on a neighbors house
……………………………stuttering
…………in the chill
……………………………………..of early night
© Frank Prem 2001
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I like your use of word placing and paragraphs, it does give the poem a rhythm
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Thanks Char. Glad you enjoyed.
Cheers,
Frank
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Interesting…….
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Thanks for visiting Syedah.
Cheers,
Frank
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Welcome 🙂 Your writing will make me visit again….
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Pingback: Sun Kissed Harmony in Nature – TyroCharm
I miss the ticks and rocks of my Dads clocks in his house, we’ve all got phones here, clocks comfort us in the silence.
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Yes – a different universe that was once inhabited. Glad you enjoyed. Thank you.
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That universe still exists in a shambling house in a tiny corner of pastoral Leicestershire!
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LOvely.
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