A nupe ohm

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31 October - All Hallows' Eve

Call it a poem, rhythmic prose, prose-poem, it saw the light of day - kicking and mewling - on Sunday afternoon, at an event whose report is to follow...




Stopped watch


I am a stop-watch
But I have stopped,
Stopped at a quarter to twelve –
As we used,
When I was made,
To say –
But which is always
Now (when is now?)
Eleven forty-five


In my day,
No one thought
That forty
Contained a double vowel,
And knew where the place
Newgate, boldly declared
Above the pivot (‘London’ below),
Was, and what it meant


I’m old, but not that old,
Though big and what they call chunky,
As my numbered dial proclaims –
Whoever says ‘dial’, in
An age of ‘displays’? –
With its florid seven,
Even eight,
Nine with the grace
Of the six’s curl


As I’m stopped,
I don’t work,
And I have a loose hand,
The brass one that gave me life,
Now – whenever that is –
Forever upside down,
Severed from the shiny
Enamelledness of hour-
And minute-hands
(And even a small, red
Strip, more a marker
Than a hand,
Whose purpose I forget)
And was it just before mid-day,
Nearly to noon,
As they insist on wondering –
Or approaching the witching hour?


As if I care,
As if I remember :
I just hear
The faint click
In my ratchet-domed
Top-piece,
And doze back
To slumber



© Copyright Belston Night Works 2012



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