Sunday, February 11, 2018

The Grandfather Clock

the sound amid silence
the forlorn grandfather clock
its pendulum a metronome for life
chiming it away with each hour

the dead of night
time seemingly stands still
memories over spill
like a boiling pot
persistent as the ticking clock

The mind darkens
thoughts swinging to and fro
like the pendulum, tick-tock
mimicking the beating heart:
lub-dub, lub-dub

each sound marking the passage
of a life passing by;
lub-dub, lub-dub
mimicking the pendulum;
tick-tock, tick-tock

the grandfather signals mortality
is the stark reality
each tick and haunting tock
is a chink of life ebbing away:
tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock

Poetry in Motion

galloping horses along the shore
breaking waves crashing galore
splashes, droplets, falling
absorbed without sound

a surfer catching the last wave
riding, gliding through the tube
crouching, twistin' and turnin'
later enveloped by the sea

a lone runner warmed by a low sun
engaged in a dance through sand dunes
at one with the trail
much like the surfer in the wave

a sensory sonnet of the sea
felt by an audience of me

Photo by Karen Bayley-Ewell, Wilderness, South Africa