Growing up
a tall, stately grandfather clock
stood in our front hall.
Mahogany finish,
glass-fronted case
housing cylindrical weights and a pendulum.
Atop the column stood a round golden face,
two filigreed arms recording the time.
A separate disk showed the phases of the moon.
Upon the hour,
the clock tolled —
gentle, resonant bongs
echoing throughout the house.
At my grandparents,
I gravitated to
an elegant mantle clock,
low slung with a gentle curve,
a timekeeper
steady, reliable.
Time is not as permanent
these days.
Phone alarms and digital boxes
promise us time moves on.
But,
I no longer see the movement of the hour
or hear the regular reassurances,
except occasionally in my dreams.
How I miss those stalwart keepers.
A Reading Life 
That last line of missing the stalwart keepers hangs heavy in my heart – – I think of all the old movies where when someone died long ago, the housekeeper gently opened the case and stopped the pendulum, marking the time of death for the grieving family who would not think to do such a thing. The ceremonial way of treasuring such valued pieces is gone, but our memories are not, and you share a touching one in your poem today. The stalwart keepers – – what a line!
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My grandparents had a clock on the dining room wall that really did coo-coo on every half hour and ring on the hour. I found it captivating and scary at the same time! A little monkey came out of the door as part of marking the time. Every morning, before she brushed her teeth in the kitchen sink, my grandmother pulled the chains to make sure the clock would mark correct time all day long. I am glad it is not in my house…but I too miss the marking of time in a physical manner,
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I love a good Grandfather clock. In fact, your piece today gives me an idea for my own! Thank you for sharing!
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You describe the intricacies of these analog clocks with such precise and compelling language. I am drawn into your longing for the distinct pleasure and sturdiness of these “stalwart keepers.”
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Who would have thought that your poem would be the second post about a grandfather clock on day #16. You bring back fond childhood memories of the clock striking the hour — “resonant bongs echoing throughout the house.” I tracking time through sound.
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Love thinking of those old clocks. I also miss that marking of time – it made the world feel a bit slower I think.
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