36a. Grandfather Clock
© Bruce Goodman 15 August 2017
(The poetic form selected for this month is the standard habbie. However, this is a ghazal!)
Once wound I am ignored, the old clock chimes.
Once loved and once adored, the old clock chimes.
Too weak and frail to spring from bed at dawn,
Men wait in old age ward. The old clock chimes.
Three! Three! Three at last! Thank God Almighty!
School is out! Praise the Lord! the old clock chimes!
Four times she runs late for work, just this week;
It’s what she can’t afford, the old clock chimes.
In which one is time stored? the old clock chimes.
Six steps on toes the ballerina goes,
Major lift, minor chord, the old clock chimes.
Severn is the river through Shrewsbury.
So? Just for the record, the old clock chimes.
Ate eight big eggs for breakfast, fried in fat,
And greasy bacon gnawed. The old clock chimes.
Nein, the Germans say. No! Trains leave on time!
Delay is much abhorred! The old clock chimes!
Tender are most maternal hearts, and kind;
Kids leave to go abroad, the old clock chimes.
Eleven days make way for dozens more.
In none is bliss forestalled. The old clock chimes.
Twelve heralds in the darkest midnight hour.
I’m timeworn… slow… and bored… The old clock chimes.