Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I like dreams when everything is constant,
even tools: peen hammer, wood chisel, level,
or grandmother’s teak wood mantel clock
I had retooled for my parent’s anniversary—
all new springs and coils; it was precision
wound every five days, a tick-tock sound
as steady as the hands it took to wind it

it was precision
wound every five days,

my folks got on an old clock kick when I was growing up - those old hand-wound clocks were all over the shack, short to tall - the sound of them all at night when there were no other sounds except maybe the wind would peckerhead my brain. The old man wound them all, didn't want anybody else to do it because nobody but him had "the right touch"

Oh, I just heard Chicago's song this morning (poem title) and I've always liked that song and I was doodling at work and this poem came out. My parents' clock was from the 1890's and now I have it and I am the time keeper and it's a hell of a responsibility sometimes.

But I gotta' tell ya'…I love the sound of that clock tick-tocking and bonging every half hour and on the hour.

68degrees

I think it's about twenty-five or six to four...

Yeah, the clock . . . my parents had one too, a "pint-sized grandfather," the ornate oak pendulum cabinet. When I was eleven, one day I was home alone and the rhythm of this clock hit me, its never-resting tick tock tick . . . my god, the passing of time! Each tick never to be repeated. My own timeless childhood ended at that point, but the continuum never ends . . .

time is man made. life are moments of present; living; be.ing and experiencing...? taking care of that experience, influences future "nows".

without death; there would be no life, and death is inexorably ever patient, awaiting us all.

just a personal opine. perhaps entirely uncalled for, but I thought, well no actually I did not as I am want too often; act on reflex impulse, somewhat was uncontrollably, in repost.
No intent to denigrate your piece In any shape or form.

but, for sure, I thoroughly enjoyed your beautifully expressive writ into the art of measuring "time".

riteon.

dune: thanks. The clock is a link, for me, for sure. Both my parents now dead. When we cleaned out my dad's stuff and we're splitting it up between my siblings, I didn't want anything but the clock. I had it re-geared for their 25th anniversary (they were married 47 years) so it carried for me something different than my siblings.

wylde:

"time" is man-made"

I hear that a lot. The word is man made, for sure. Not sure about the concept, though. I am approaching retirement...I'd like to think what I've had for all these years is more than just the present. An historical debate in life, art, and funeral sermons, for sure

As far as being denigrate toward my poem, anything that generates a fellow writer's "opine" is okay with me.Thank you for your response, for sure. Enjoyed your response.

68degrees

Terrific song.. "Does anybody really care?" (the following line)

As a dream book keeper (i keep a dream journal and have done so for several years), this poem resonates with me. Thanks for sharing it.

68degrees wrote:dune: thanks. The clock is a link, for me, for sure. Both my parents now dead. When we cleaned out my dad's stuff and we're splitting it up between my siblings, I didn't want anything but the clock. I had it re-geared for their 25th anniversary (they were married 47 years) so it carried for me something different than my siblings.

wylde:

"time" is man-made"

I hear that a lot. The word is man made, for sure. Not sure about the concept, though. I am approaching retirement...I'd like to think what I've had for all these years is more than just the present. An historical debate in life, art, and funeral sermons, for sure

As far as being denigrate toward my poem, anything that generates a fellow writer's "opine" is okay with me.Thank you for your response, for sure. Enjoyed your response.

68degrees

salute brother; salute.

riteon.

ya know i cant imagine why....its on our side, yes it is....all about time....do-waka-do

I've seen Chicago twice about ten years apart. They seemed "louder" for some reason the second time, but the music, percussion, lyrics, everything holds true. All music is time, but does anybody really care, and if so, I can't imagine why

do waka-do / do waka-do

68degrees

all this common experience flicked me over to He Ain't Heavy, He's my Brother

somewhere inside, time is irrelevant, this is the time

Tookme back to my grandparents' house and the big grandfather clock that would tick time off so loudly you could hear time going out of your life. Neat poem.