Sunday, March 31, 2013

seasoning the time

the pendulum sways
inside its house of seasoned wood
it waits at the top of the stairs
ticking off the seconds
between breath and breath,

exhale, complete, below
the clock-face that stays
full and bloated, above the landing
like a perfectly circular
seed, above the noise

that is the pendulum
the pendulum that
waits and so do i
(at the bottom of the stairs)
as the seconds slide, stretch by

and the clock face
does not rise
(like the moon)
but stays fixed there
(in the sky)



5 comments:

  1. A beautifully expressed ode to a grandfather clock - Wow!

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  2. Pendulum clocks are almost alive and are so easy to come alive in our minds and be part of the family. The moon on the other hand is less so and rushes to hide in the clouds less we question it. I really enjoyed your post.

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  3. Perhaps it is safe at the bottom of the stairs..where the sound is comforting - reliably..softly..ticking away..your words are measured..like a pendulum..and underneath..perhaps..there is a little sadness that it marks time moving..even perhaps being lost..but beautifully and hopefully written..as always..

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  4. Pendulum clocks kind of creep me out, but I like this poem.

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  5. I love love those last lines, beautiful poem!

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