Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Periodic Poetry Contest - Theme: Touch of Truth (Page 390, due Jan. 28)

Not sure if I'll make this round, unless I get it in tonight or after I get back from my trip, in two weeks.

An out of fashioned grandfather's clock,
Sits forlornly and perversely mocks,
My sudden bout of writers block,
Whilst humming a drone-like tick tock.


I hate having writer's block for intern articles. Anyway Jeol, we'll see, the round might not be over by then.

I'm sure hope there's enough room in here for one more.



Time is of the essence,
Tick Tock as I go.
The Hands Of Time watches,
While these feet of mine flow.

Arms stretched for the knob,
The touch, cold to the core.
Inhale, exhale,
As the clock strikes four.
____________________________________________________________

I guess I'll add on to this later on; maybe change it up a bit. I have to say - I didn't do to bad for my first poem. ;D

Neocortical Slaves

Though vague and surprised, the R-complex perceives
the passing of cycles of cold and of heat.
The languishing days go swimmingly by
while each does its best to pass on and survive.
'Til finally at once they leave piles of meat
having never considered the coming defeat.

But oh, not for us, neocortical slaves!
We parse out the night and we labor by day.
We wait for the chill to creep into our bones
always hoping at best that we won't pass alone.
We struggle and toil full knowing futility,
though sometimes the best of us has the facility
to recognize patterns in things and reations,
eventually finding the Lorentz contractions,
the method by which we can slow down decay
and swing past the average that we tend to stay.
But nevertheless it still cannot change
the perception of passage or the end of our range.
So forward we look, never knowing how far,
having once been, and perhaps will again, matter in stars.

to recognize patterns in things and reations,

It's alright, you can submit as many times as you want before the deadline elapses!

When does the deadline elapse?
I'm just realising the ending of my poem sucks.

When enough poems come in or when the time is ridiculously long. Flexibility is there since I've had enough of judging just 3 or 4 pieces. So just resubmit if you want to.

Wasted

I lay here on my deathbed
As the fog of Death creeps over me,
My life flashes before my eyes
As the squandered time goes by.

I had the world in my hand,
All the time in the world
Was not enough for what I wanted to do.
So I did none of it.

The petty arguments
Over the happenings of nonsense.
So many apologies to former friends,
Needed but words never came to mouth.

I look back upon my years
And I see much good.
My marriage, my children, my work,
And I appreciated none of it.

There was always more of this,
Too much to spare.
How can we enjoy
That which we have a hundred of?

The petty arguments
Over the happenings of nonsense.
So many apologies to former friends,
Needed but words never came to mouth.

My wife died,
Her time had run out.
I knew that it was too be my turn next,
But it wasn't the case.

My sons went off to fight
In a senseless war.
The both returned to me safe,
Under a lid of oak.

What father buries their son?
The roles were reversed
By the cruel carousel of time,
That always turns circles.

The petty arguments
Over the happenings of nonsense.
So many apologies to former friends,
Needed but words never came to mouth.

The sun has set
On this glorious day.
Another day will come,
Just without my presence.

My grandchild sits at my side
As the breath slips away from me.
My heart slows and slows,
Coming to a stop.

The petty arguments
Over the happenings of nonsense.
So many apologies to former friends,
Needed but words never came to mouth.

My clock has wound down
Like the cruel ending of a sports match.
The last seconds go off,
Amid a great fanfare.

I wasted it
I spent it
I used it
I killed it.

All we have is Time.

Dreaming

I'm laying in bed,
The clock reads 10:52
It's nearing 11:00 I think to myself before I drift off to sleep

The dream felt so real
As if it was real, as if you were real
I thought I had a second chance

Because,
The first, I wasted my time

I had days,
But I got caught up in you

And I lost control
Of everything I had created

It all slipped from my fingers,
I had pushed too fast

I had the time,
I could've held back

But I scared you off,
I lost it all

I still had some days,
To think, "Is there anything I can do"

No, I kept telling myself
It's lost, you can't fix it

It's just been a few days since Valentine's day
And there I was,
Thinking of what I did wrong

Thinking, "You don't have the time to bring her back"
But,
I did

I wake up screaming,
The clock reads 10:52
It's nearing 11:00 I think to myself as I think of you

It's now March 21
It's been over a month

And I still have time,
A few more chances

But here I sit,
Idly by and watch
As you slip further away

I'm wasting all my time

Back with a little triangular form. Ah, to think of the old days of the poetry contest!

Alas,
The glory days.
I knew them well enough.
When pens clashed, spilling ink on page,
When forms and rhyme would flow like precious blood,
When hearts of poetry engraved.
The prosody they loved
Will always
Last.

If anyone is interested to take over as judge after this round, tell me, because I'm getting busier, so I won't be able to indulge in such a responsibility, and because I would like to take part once again.

Here's the improved version:

Coma
Watching the clock tick,
realizing I am sick.
I have no idea who I've become,
this new mind of mine is a slum.

Time has been cruel, time has been sly,
but I can't keep up with everyone walking by.
All of these years, what did I miss?
The last few years, I was in silent bliss.

What must I do to regain all that have been,
to undo the values of my sin.
I canât hide the taste of iron in my mouth,
I fear my time may almost be out.

Sorry bout last post, it just did it, hit wrong key

time
Wisdom and age becomes true,
but the future is still clouded.
What should happen to you,
as the crystal ball remains shrouded.

Do not dwell on the past.
You may hold a grudge,
but you must not let it last,
or karma will be your judge.

Time remains a mystery,
It is the future and now,
or it can be history.
But I do not know how.

It can be an epic quest,
with fear, strength, and dread.
Or maybe a simple jest,
maybe even making bread.

Always keep this in mind,
That no matter what race,
no matter what kind,
Time moves at an amazing pace.

Characters

Abscess makes the heart grow fainter
Am I here to sit and wait or
Will this mindless, heartless grater
Find a way to fill the crater?

What else to do but lie upon
The insufferable metallic hum?
It grows incredibly the same, along
The emptiness around my lung

A vital sign shakes the sheet
The tablet laying at my feet
Springs into life as if a fleet
Of lovers hands make cautious greet

Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Give it time and it will wander
To another heart along the
Flitting, fleeting never longer.