17 April 2012
I am the Not-A-Clock. I do not pass the time. I do not live by increments, Nor mark them with a chime.
I have no hands with which to point, No face to read my thoughts. I offer no more service, Than my existence; to-wit my cause.
May I sit upon your mantle? I ask nothing more than this. To gather dust, so peacefully, No appointment will I miss.
I am not to be relied on, For, of time's chatter, I know not. Your days and years can pass me by, Will I care? Not a jot!
Time's hiss, and spit, and whir of cogs, Shall forever pass me by. I shall not, cannot, will not note, The way in which time flies.
A stitch in time may save nine, And a watched pot may never boil. But I'll sit here, silent, happy that, I know not of this toil.
A life of ease is all I know, And your ways I'll not mock. Mine is but a simple life, For I, the Not-A-Clock.
About This "Poem":
This poem written around 2001 and was just a bit of fun like anything I do. I've been surprised at the positive feedback it has warranted but trust no one assumes that I take this or myself too seriously.
It was written for a collector of clocks who feigned annoyance at receiving additions to her collection as gifts. This was presented in a bespoke frame which completed the joke; shaped like an upright clock where a stone on a base sat in place of the face (implying it could be the Not-a-Clock) and the poem in place of the cabinet.
Sadly this was all lost on the recipient. I'd have been better off getting her a clock!
The Not-a-Clock • Opuss № I