Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

At Gran’s house, there was
A grandfather clock
That chimed each quarter

And frightened the fuck
Out of you. That’s what
Time does, boy, it chips

Pieces off your life
Without you knowing,
Granddad said, sitting

By the coal fire,
Rolling his self made
Cigarette between

His aged fingers.
You stared at the clock,
The big hands seeming

Not to move, the tick
Tock ticking softly
On behind the scenes.

Granddad licked the white
Paper, put the thin
Cigarette between

His lips and lit up.
Gran pulled a face like
She’d sucked lemons: don’t

Come moaning to me
When you’re coughing up
Your lungs at three in

The morning, she said.
You looked from Gran to
Granddad watching the

Smoke rise in upward
Expanding rings, like
Small planets in a

Fragile universe.
Listen out for the
Chimes, boy, don’t let them

Catch you out again.
Gran walked away with
Her soft tut-tutting.

Outside the falling
Of black heavy rain.

It's been a busy week...so to come back for a bit and enjoy this is a blessing...even if it reminds me of the chimes (Grandfather's grandfather clock comes to mind). Thank you.

Thank you, Joel.

dadio -- Another fine effort. Think about the line "without you knowing it." I don't think it fits with chimes that frighten the fuck out of you. Obviously your call.

the strongest mentol
black tobacco in threads, little white papers
-totally concentrated-
leather skin in incendiary spirit
sometimes, just oblivion

Thank you, hollweg & Arcadia.

there reaches a time for many old-timers when smoking is the least of their problems, as they reflect on the harshness life can bring, when time is measured in fifteen minute segments that are a constant reminder that the hourglass is running out.....nicely imaged from the child's point of view....

thank you, Saw.