Grandfather Clock

Tick tock
old clock
stood, back when,
in my grandparent’s den.
An extra grandfather in their house,
no mouse.

Kept time
just fine.
Each sunday night
grandpa wound it tight-
key turning coil spring for pendulum
to swing.

That day
gone away.
Grandpa’s key
passes down to me.
My hand winds for clicks and chimes,
old times.

Clock sound
big, round.
Resonant DONG!
Vibration resounding long.
Every hour grandfather awakes
to speak.

You Can’t Punch The Clock

You can’t punch the clock.
Clicking keys for poetry
throws time to the floor.

Punch the dashboard for
this chance car radio news
alliteration,

“Sources in Sadr
city say certain sectors
of the city seem. . .”

Happenstance hardly
hurries handy hints or helps.
Haiku hesitates.