Clock of dials,


Short-sleeved on a bike

The first signs of spring

It’s been a while for the clock of dials,

and the king of stones

Been alone some time on the path

We all enter the clearing in the end

Hard to take, hard to fake, crocodiles chewing scenery, the monster is anxiety

Or is it a friend?

It’s been a while

as the panic had risen, unbidden from a dark familiar prison


Stop the hands before they rot

Clock of dials,

has been a while, in the den of dim uncertainty

Cracked a smile on a window ledge,

felt like walking off the edge

Pain in Spain is rarely sane, the sun in the sky infinite

Smell of cut grass,

mind time-travels to the age of the wheelbarrow, circa 1998,

a vintage year for games and sorrows

The clock of dials,

always smiles

and feels like coming back,

through the gate,

up the path,

open the door


Clock of dials been here before

Time is ticking, mind is clicking

Pen in hand once more

©John de Gruyther 2015

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