Tag Archives: Time

My Grandfather’s Clock

My grandfather’s clock

is two inches too tall

to fit in my house

up against the wall.


I raised the ceiling

and lowered the floor,

took the hinges off

the dining-room door;


puffed and panted

to get it in

and then decided,

it made such a din


that I never wound the key,

so there it stands now stranded

at a quarter to three.

“It’s About Time!”

SD They meet

“Well, it’s about time.”

“What is?”

“This book on the subject of ‘Time’. “

“Oh!” Is it any good?”

“I got it second-hand.”


“I swapped it for my watch.”


“It helps to pass the…”


“Yes. And, it’s also about time-travel.”

“Sounds interesting – can I borrow it after you’ve read it?”

“Yes. I’ll pop it round to you last Thursday.”

“Okay. Can you write next week’s lottery numbers inside the back cover for me?”

“All of them?”

“Probably. 1 through to 47 should about cover it.”

“Will do.”

“Great! Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”



“Until last Thursday!”

“Yup! See you then!”

SD They part.

Sunday Haiku

“Is it Sunday? Yes?

How? Where has the weekend gone?

Is it Monday, yet?”

When Monday Follows Sunday

When the days do that,

all is just as it should be,

and time is at peace.

Midnight passes

Midnight passes

Midnight passes

with barely a nod,

and the girl who wears glasses

thinks that that’s odd;

Midnight has always acknowledged

her presence before,

but Midnight has gone,

he left through the door.

Time and a Word

Time and a Word

Time is a concept

with which we measure our age;

words are the tools

that we use on the page;

when times they are changing

and words are in short supply

how do we fuel the written need?

The Rainbow on the Edge of Time

The Rainbow on the Edge of Time

The Rainbow on the edge of time

existed for barely a minute;

then, it left with out a thought to my rhyme,

and the words that I should put in it.

A Poem AboutTime.

A Poem AboutTime.

It’s about time

that I wrote

this poem.

Not that this poem

is aboutTime;

or about Tim,even.

In fact, is at is about

very little indeed –

and, so, I am just

wasting your Tim

and mine.

“Is it still morning?”

“Is it still morning?”

“Is it still morning?”

I ask myself;

I look at the shelf

to see the clock;

but, the clock’s not there,

and neither’s the shelf!

“Oh,no!” I cry;

then I cry

tears of sorrow

no clock today

it was there yesterday

will it be back tomorrow?

Then I cry

tears of joy;

I remember,

that a friend did borrow

that clock of mine

to tell the time

and help this rhyme

be particularly fine.

But, as to the whereabouts of the shelf…?