The wait

[Doreen Peri]

1.

I waited for morning
in a dream haze, praised
the coming of dawn with
a sigh in the middle of my
nightmare, no resolution of
puzzles solved, only heartbeats
keeping rhythm to answer delays,
then today,
I awaken having lost an hour,
the power of a morn already gone.
Afternoon soon comes,
numbness to the circular clock
sets in. You cannot win this fight
with time. Gone is its fate.
So much for the wait.

2.

some wait for fame.
some wait for honor.
some wait to have the
weight of a bolder removed
from their shoulder when
they are the ones who
lowered the rock to crush.

Is it not enough
that we wait for death?

That is such a lie.
Nobody waits to die!
But I'd rather wait for love
than any other event.

Problem is, when it arrives,
we think it's heaven sent
but it may not be.

Such is the fate
of humanity.
Pass the chablis.

3.

I am an open dor.
I walk in and out of myself.
Some days I lock me but still the fill
of life seeps through underneath.

Please help!
This is a dor jam!
It hinges on your
openness.

Jam me, keep me ajar!
Slam me if you must...
(but that won't get you far.)

We are on the threshold of wonder!
(bet you wonder what i mean by that.)
Jam on, you'll see... cool jamcats.

4.

I was waiting for the murder mystery
to end while trying to figure out
whether I identified more with the
unknown murderer or the victim.

Then I stopped waiting and killed time
by imagining murder eradicated from
the planet.

I am a lady in waiting.
KABOOM!
And we're all blown up.

[judih]

explore the paths of waiting
before we know it
it's too late

[revolutionrabbit]

she waits
and the war drags on
she made a pie and said oh my
the sky is the limit
but i bang my head on the clouds
the far mad crowds the winding shrouds
of eternity seem so sodden with rainbows
why does the rainbow seem so somewhere
over there

when it could be here with the ruby shoes
when we could be languishing in each others
dreams, and plucking grapes from each others
bellybutton, could be reciting Silvia Plath
together, and cutting a rug, but no instead
we read something depressing, like Rod
Mckuen

but no, this pie in the sky, i shall fling at the wall
and then i will get down on my hands and knees
and crawl across the floor, ah what is it all for
waiting for the world to end
and my nails need a new coat
oh poo, whats a Titanic lover to do

the morning never comes
and i wait in vain for the sun
the night is drunk and to think
i once wanted to become a nun
a singing one

and now this poem is done
but tomorrow, oh shit, is
another

day, oh die