Here's a poem I wrote for Poetry Friday:
Clock
The clock ticks
like an old friend,
marking off minutes and hours,
making the earth turn
like a mobile
hanging in the dark.
The clock ticks
like a bomb waiting
to go off, the bomb
of morning that will blast
its radios and TVs,
its car engines,
its roar, rumble, talk.
The clock ticks,
singing of days gone by
and days to come,
humming with maybes,
buzzing like a hive
of probablies and
possiblies.
The clock ticks,
but I can't always hear it.
My mind ticks, too,
with checklists and worries,
with nouns and verbs
and even a few adjectives.
The clock ticks.
—Kate Coombs, 2012
all rights reserved
Today Poetry Friday is at Katya Czaja's site, Read. Write. Repeat.
5 comments:
Nice, Kate! You've taken something with which everyone can identify and made it seem new...well done!
That's beautiful, Kate. To borrow from Laura Salas, it's a sort of "A Clock Can Be..."
loved this!
I resonated a lot with that last line "My mind ticks, ... ". Great poem! :)
Thanks, you guys!
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