We’re already one week deep into this challenge. I hope everyone’s having a great time. Just in case you’re new to this challenge, here are the rules/guidelines.
For today’s prompt, write a “what won’t wait” poem. Only you know what won’t wait. Maybe it’s falling in love or work–or death (one of my favorite Emily Dickinson poems is about this topic). Something else that won’t wait is today’s prompt.
Here is my attempt:
“This Week”
This week rushes in
like the last one–
there’s little I can do.
*****
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While there, be sure to tweet poetic using the #novpad hashtag.
*****
…by using the 2012 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer. This book is filled with hundreds of publishing opportunities and articles on writing poems, publishing poems, building an audience for your poetry, and more.
Bladder full like
A smooth round drum
Has little one hopping with a hum
Just
Won’t
Wait
Good one!
Ha! Delightful and true.
Nice and short.
Know it too well—addicted to coffee
hahaha, so true!
Pearl – Yay for you – first in! Cute poem also …
For me, sadly, pain won’t wait! Surgery not scheduled until December, so I have to get through it somehow until then. Will be back with a poem later.
Ooh Patricia…did not know! What won’t wait are smiles and all positive thoughts for you!
Heart and prayers with you, Patricia. But, you know that.
Sorry to hear that Patricia, sending warm thoughts and love
Sending our best…you’ll be alright.
Patricia,
Best wishes.
I will say a prayer for you
Thinking of you, Patricia, and sending much love your way! Keep us posted! Many prayers to you!
I hate that you hurt, Patricia. Will be praying for your relief.
I hope everything goes smoothly for you.
Honey said she
Wake up for me
I don’t feel right
Stomach feels tight
And something’s been laying in my chest here all night
Oh sleep more My Sweet
It’s just my mother’s food we did eat
I feel it laying on me
Indigestion you see
Mhmmm not sure that I see
Not sure I agree
There is quite a bit of pressure in me
Oh wait what’s that? whispered she wetly in the dark
Put on the light. Where tonight did you park!
Throw on some clothes, no we cannot wait
Robes in the elevator, baby’s head at the gate
Once in the car
Feet up on the dash
Racing red lights followed by police car’s bright flash
Hospital rose through the mist solid and tall
Babe’s head waiting for no one smiling at all!
Because my dear friends, though mother was not at all late
Her dear bouncing boy just
Could
Not
Wait
“Robe’s in the elevator, baby’s head at the gate” Way to “show, don’t tell” Pearl! LOL!
I like the way this begins quite and slow and builds into the urgency as well
Wow, amazing!
Chuckles to you, Pearl!
Just a bit of fun
As the day has begun
Later come some more
Early prompt beckoned
Me before
Might be silly rushing thoughtless through the gate
But these rhymes so simple, yep, just
Would
Not
Wait
Happy start…happy poeming…back later
Robert, as you so sweetly kicked us off…this week won’t wait ..great prompt!
Very fun Pearl!
PEARL IS BACK!!! Yay! (It’s just not the same without you!) <3
Aw….. Thanks for the smile Domino
‘Oh Boy’
Unexpected turmoil
Awaits
From an furious manager
While Arriving
Late.
Sorry, suppose to be ‘a furious manager’
Echoing “uh-oh” still.
Hope it was all just a dream for u
Uh-oh.
After spending years in restaurant management, I can tell you that this poem definitely nailed it! Very nicely done.
I sing to use the waiting. . .
And tell each other how we sang
To keep the dark away.
Emily Dickinson
The dear torment tantalized
Lady of her house of life’s
Languished existential anguish
Was known of Death to say
Pearl, You’re on a roll!
Time and Death wait for no man
Time is that thing we measure life by
In death there is no Time…
Simply eternity
Time multiplied infinitely
Cannot begin to fathom
Eternity…
Time gives you to me
And steals you away
Time is the hour
Of duty and play
But Death is waiting
At every man’s door
Where there will be
No Time anymore…
Time is one tittle
And one Tiny jot
Time is one little
Intangible dot
A speck of blue
In infinite space
What would we do
Were it not for Grace?
Grace waits for everyone
But only ’til death
Our destiny sealed
In life’s final breath
Death is not dark
Inside Heaven’s gate
Time is a spark
And it will not wait
Janet
Ooh Janet…lovely, chilling, true and so very ” Emily ” in your own voice
Perfectly put.
Good one.
Time and Death wait for no man. They’re on their own schedule.
They wait for no man… Maybe they shall wait for a woman, then
LOL
Janet- This is lovely and true.
“Goodbye Andy”
“A writer’s job is to tell the truth.
I believe that if all the truth were known
about everything in the world,
it would be a better place to live.” — Andy Rooney
Truth burns in dim light
knowing time rests at its side.
Lying dormant,
it will crack open
after the fire of impatient lies
burns hottest,
revealing its blue light
and scarring those
who believed they could
hide its essence.
Yes, he’ll be missed
Wonderful. I love truth.
I love truth, too, Benjamin! This is an amazing and beautiful poem in honor of a man, a writer and a voice that had a place in the world. Great job, Jerry! I love this quote . . . how wonderfully true!
Thanks Ina, Benjamin and Janet. Janet, I thought the quote was especially good as it was from his final 60 Minutes broadcast, just over a month ago, I think.
Hi Janet!
Good to see you back at the PAD.
Wonderful, Jerry. I love “after the fire of impatient lies/burns hottest”
Jumping the Gun
Apparently,
Christmas now trumps Halloween.
Amazingly,
the fake trees and lights were on sale in September.
Really.
Truly.
Sadly.
Nostalgically,
it was bad enough when it leapfrogged Thanksgiving.
Statistically,
we’ll soon see department store Santa’s in early July.
Regrettably.
Ruefully.
Honestly.
Hopefully,
a new “occupy” movement will begin.
Actively,
we can sit-in at Sears and Lowe’s and Wal-Mart.
Aggressively.
Strongly.
Madly.
Wow!
Love it! I was thinking this while um… watching Christmas movies this weekend.
I’m there!
Surely. Witty.
amica…i love this type of reply, imitation being the best form and all that
Can’t wait any longer….
There’s beauty everywhere you look,
In the flower in the swan in the pristine clearness of the peacefully bubbling brook,
There’s beauty in the furrows of your face,
I see it because for you in my heart there’s always been a special secret place,
On a summers day or on a winters night,
Whenever you turned to look my way a feeling came over me a feeling that filled me with the warmest tingle the strongest longing born partly of humility partly of excitement partly of a tearful sublime delight,
So I sold my thousand pieces of vinyl for the hard cash it would bring,
And look I used it to buy you a handmade diamond ring,
Coz there’s beauty in life yes that much is true,
But the beauty will only last… for the length of time that I have you ………..<3
Like the rhythm & rhyme!
Oooh “sold my thousand pieces of vinyl”. Vivid way to show true love!
Pingback: What Won’t Wait « It's Real To Me
Just older and older
He turned 29 last month,
married, no children -
good job, loving working wife,
stable household.
He turned 29 years and one month
old this month, still married,
no children. Still a loving working wife,
got a promotion that was two fold,
travels abroad in company’s money.
He will turn 29 years and two months
old next month, still will be married,
no children. Different city,
loving non working wife, making
arrangements for a stable household.
He will turn 29 years and three months
two months later – still married or not,
wife pregnant or working or not,
good job is in hand or not,
he is just three months older.
Life does not wait .. Age neither .. Its upto us to pause and enjoy ..
Don’t we all get just older and older.
And hopefully, wiser
Enjoyed this
Well put.
The Illusion of Control
Birth ~
Not willing to wait
a second more,
and lord knows the mother
is more than willing,
the baby arrives
with lusty lungs
and naked glory.
Life ~
Unwilling to wait
for opportunities to
be offered on silver platter,
she grabs life by the horns
and rides the dusty trail
with all the bumps and
throws life has to offer.
Death ~
When death comes knocking,
we find we are not masters of our fate,
and though we will not go willingly,
death walks his own timely beat,
and in the end,
it is not our decision to let go
but his and his alone.
Lovely, Michelle.
Says it all, beautifully.
The great leveler it is.
Drinking From The Firehose
As the economy weakens
and budgets are slashed,
personnel also disappear.
The shortfall in humans,
doesn’t mean less work-
quite the contrary.
More work for the weary,
and everything’s critical-
open wide, and have a drink
from the firehose.
What an image!
First: Best title ever! Second: Awesome poem!
What Won’t Wait
When my babies were small,
a wise woman warned me
to take the time, to make the time
to tuck them in each night, reading
books, telling them just one more story,
hearing their prayers, planting kisses
in each hand, tucking them into warm
fists for comfort when wakened
by bad dreams. The dishes will wait,
the dust motes in the corners,
the next chapter of my own book
on the nightstand, the work dragged
home in my briefcase. That time,
she said, was my gift to me.
What she forgot to tell me:
Once those babies are grown
and gone, nightly tucking in babies
of their own, take the time, make
the time to sit and listen to their father,
the man I love, as he unwinds, brewing
a cup of tea, bestowing back rubs,
kneading that bald pate I love,
kissing the crown. Work will wait,
the clothes will still be in the hamper.
This man I love—I want him to stay
around for keeps. That time, too,
is a gift to me.
Oh, Nancy … I want to frame this and hang it in every home and hut across the world.
Phew!
Nancy, thanks for this Gift!
oooh just stopped in to apologize for not being able to read… and there you captured me…mystical, magical, wise and true… exquisite…
Nancy that is so beautiful. I must be goosebumpy today–you and Jane both got me
I just adore this poem, Nancy! <3
a keeper, Nancy. Permission to print out and pass on?
Another poem of perfection, Nancy.
No longer can we
Wait to save America
She must rise again
Let’s begin to love
munificently, as though
life depends on it.
Because it does.
No fair using big words I have to look up so early on a Monday. But very nice.
HAHAHA! I’m not usually one for big words, but munificence is actually one of my favorites, as it is so well suited. I wrote you a poem, posted at 12:23.
Even if not,
it matters to you,
it does not wait
to hook another for you !
Nimue, was this comment displaced? Or maybe I’m just dense, lol!
it was a poetic response to your words.. an instant thought
Heehee! Thanks!
No time to say Hello, Good-
Always in a hurry
Rush, rush, rush
Speed up gait
Let em wait
I know I’m late.
Hush!
Alarm set earlier
Then I hit the snooze
Almost break it
I can make it
Or I’ll fake it
Cruise!
Time doesn’t care
Leaves me in the dust
Maximize
Economize
Use it wise
Must!
Truth in fun, well done!
A lovely tender telling, Nancy. I better get away from here and write my own.
She’s under attack
Our Lady is in trouble
We must take a stand
Murder
Each morning the crows congregate
on the lawn just below our bedroom window
to start a ravenous day of squawk and forage,
an avian breakfast club of carrion news and laughs,
raucously cawing road-kill recipes,
garbage-dump delicacies, and pecan tree ripenings,
always fifteen precious minutes before the alarm.
Nothing can make them wait for my sleep-savoring
to end, nothing can suspend their murdering riot—
they’re on pre-dawn time, their own talk show,
and time’s a-wasting.
Are these feathered fiends on daylight saving time?
Crisp imagery. Love crows and their kin.
Me too, Kit. They have real community joie de vivre, returning in the afternoon for a debriefing. So smart, but so loud;)
Wow, Jane. “Avian breakfast club”, “raucously cawing road-kill recipes”, etc., etc.
Wont wait….
Monday wont wait, never has;
Spelling tests and lunch money,
Social studies projects – and the bus.
None of those will wait.
The job wont wait,
Which is really best I guess,
Because the mortgage, car,
Water and electric payments wont wait.
The overdue oil change really cant wait,
Or the overflowing gutters and
That birds nest in the attic.
The dogs can’t wait without consequence.
The kids wont wait, or at least shouldn’t;
Activities, school work and craved attention.
My wife wont wait, though truth be told,
She does…much more often than deserved.
So…what will wait?
enjoyed the push and pull and the tenderness within
The Passing
Eight hours of driving and frazzled, I call.
He’ll keep another night, my brother says.
Get some sleep, he is all right, and come
Tomorrow. He’s asleep most of the time.
But when my head hits the pillow, the first
Ragged weary dreams, I see him standing
A shadowy moment looking down at me,
His hand lightly cupping my head and no words.
And then the phone screams my name
And my sister says in tears, come now, he’s going.
I want to say, wait for me, Daddy,
I’m coming, but I know already, he is gone.
Oh, Jane … so gripping, sweet, heartrending.
Oh, I’m so sorry.
No words, Jane. Tears caught in my throat. Blessings to you.
Wow Jane, you gave me goosebumps!
Jane, your words capture so well the nightmare of such a call.
My Dad was connected to a respirator by the time I got to the hospital. I got a chance to give him a hug and hold his hand before he died, but I know that, in reality your last line is a true one for my father, as well.
Jane- Very touching.
Thanks, friends, for the kind words.
I refuse to wait
One after another,
each hopping over other,
images fall from my eyes,
into the cold lap of loss,
where once you rested
your weary head,
today it can’t wait
to bid you, a farewell …
These two lines are amazing “images fall from my eyes,
into the cold lap of loss,”
you know.. even i loved those
Count me in.
Time Won’t Wait
Time doesn’t sit by the back
door like a hungry dog, it
can’t be retrieved from the
marshes or chased up a tree
rather time runs as fast as
a greyhound, packs a trail
of conditioned modalities
until you let go, break free.
I like the imagery!
I love the balance and contrast (and I see a subtle little rhyme in the ends of the stanzas.)
Thanks!
Time Won’t Wait
Stop the bus
No can’t delay
The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Hold that check
Sorry too late
An additional twenty-five dollars now due.
Try not to push
You are out of your mind!
But, I had one last thing I needed to do.
Time is not late
The world doesn’t wait
The common denominator is you.
Same title, but completely different… enjoyed yours.
What Won’t Wait
11/7/11
Time slips through my fingers
like sifting sand.
No matter how I try to stop the sift,
it still shuffles on,
regrettably.
I love the alliteration in this! Good one!
LUNCH WITH GRANDMA
Always remember
As soon as we opened the door
The scent was there
Mmm
Nutmeg
Cheese
Hint of onion
–Don’t let the screen door slam, Charlie.
Hurry now, if you want to see it. Good food wom’t wait!
Grandma
Always used to say.
I’m there! What a lovely picture and true in so many ways. Moments with the people we love won’t wait.
And food should indeed never be made to wait .. nor grandmas ..
lovely poem ..
So charming, Patricia!
Thanks everyone! Really appreciate your kind words:)
Oops–typo Line should read “Good food won’t wait!”
(from my nano character)
Time Won’t Wait
Together
We walk hand in hand.
Wooden trails
Cypress shade
You’ll be gone in the morning.
Will we meet again?
good waya to bring what’s pressing together
The Language of Flowers
Face against face, belly against belly,
feet entwined, hands around the world: we’re 17:
an age of kicking the doors closed,
raising blankets, steaming the VW windows.
You can probably smell it on us,
this being 17. We probably
glow in the dark.
It’s spring, and I’ve put on my yellow sundress,
the one with the halter top, the one
that lets me get away with just the one piece.
I gather flowers from the side yard
to take to him, to give him
myself and flowers and spring.
My mother looks over the porch rail.
“What are these beautiful flowers?”
I call to her, nearly singing.
She takes a long look,
then replies
“Impatiens.”
Pamela Murray Winters
Very nice Pamela–Read it twice just because I enjoyed all the images; steaming windows, glowing in the dark–give him myself and the flowers and spring…yum
Oh, this is so wonderful! How perfectly you grasp that feeling of being 17! “we probably glow in the dark” and then “impatiens.” Perfect!
Impatiens have taken on a whole new guise!
Oh, delightful! I laughed aloud at that wry motherly reply. You built to the last line so well.
Absolutely! Thoroughly enjoyed this piece.
Lovely poem.
LONG DISTANCE
Words,
exchanged over distance,
warmed by imagination;
an emotion; a connection.
Souls mated; elated
and yearning for more.
What is in store for
the next time we connect?
Awaited. Anticipated.
Staying up all night
in the glow of an inner light,
warming and disarming.
I can’t wait for more exchanges.
Words.
sense of distance both near and far delivered well here
Wow – So true, for this group especially! I always feel a bit bereft when our poem-a-day month is over because of just this connection. ^_^
Bravo! And good to see you here. Hoping all is well.
Robert, my week is starting the same way. Lost the entire poem I was working on this morning when Word crashed. Thanks for invoking one of my favorite poets, E.D. That helped to inspire me.
Love Won’t Wait
Those figures in the photographs,
With curious dress and stiffened gaze,
Were living, breathing, once, and now,
Are captured in frames or on a page.
More recent color snapshots give
Us moments with our kin and friends,
They can’t converse, no longer live,
Except in visions memory sends.
Uncertain ends await us all,
Then we will be as vague as they,
Don’t waste a touch, a glance, a word,
Take pleasure in their company
Walk each day in mindfulness,
Don’t dwell on hurts, don’t tempt fate,
The now is all we have — with zest
Embrace the world, for love won’t wait.
Sleep?
Sorry Kit,
The “sleep?” comment was intended for Mark Windham’s “Won’t wait”
Strange how that happened.
Love won’t wait is beautiful, as well as Emily D.
This one is for Mark Windham. (Please excuse my witzelsucht.)
Internal Memo: Emergency Summit of the Hippopotamonstrosesquipedalian Commission
It has been determined that the president of the Hippopotamonstrosesquipedalian Commission is a philosophunculist. This aeolist must be dismissed and replaced immediately.
___________
Don’t worry. I won’t make you look them all up. Here’s the rundown:
Hippopotamonstrosesquipedalian: Pertaining to extremely long words
Philosophunculist: One who pretends to know more than they actually do, in order to impress others.
Aeolist: A pompous, windy bore who pretends to have inspiration.
Witzelsucht: A feeble attempt at humor.
Weighing In
The exercise programs
Are all cued
I’ve purchased all of
The right food
One week, two, three
The weight is leaving
Way too slowly
Won’t wait for this weight
To get up and leave
So pass the pumpkin pie
Pretty please?
Fate Waits
The dolphin won’t wait
For the new sewer line
The boats won’t wait
For the slow manatee
The mangroves won’t wait
For a development plan
So we can’t wait
Time to take a stand
Oops. Maybe you should re-post this, Sara. It got stuck under mine, and I’m afraid people will miss out on your good stuff here!
Yep. that is an issue. Good catch–I’ve been a hit and run poster…
Both great, but I particularly like the second one.
Love the Witzelsucht–great word! Thx
For me?! Love it! The words, their meaning and their use. Apparently I am going to have to buy that vocabulary app to keep up.
Must keep in mind this aeolistic philosophunculist’s hippopotamonstrosesquipedalian witzelsucht-
sweet
HA! LOVE IT, a.paige!
You gave me chuckle on this headachy day.
Thanks, I needed it.
such words! at least $20 a piece!
ha!
Thanks you guys! No app here, I just did it the hard way … Google. Not that Google is even remotely hard. It’s all relative, isn’t it?
LOL!
Marie Elena, your response to Mark is absolutely
supercalifragilisticexpialidosious!!!!!!!
Please excuse any typos as it has been a while since I played this song on the piano!
Naughty girl, Marie.
I love learning new words!
Crowning
What won’t wait for you tonight? Take the car
and drive like Jehu through each stop sign far
across this sleeping town. Out of the mist
you carom down main, but draw no interest
from the wayward souls spat from Louie’s bar
too late and too far gone, their minds ajar.
No time to ask permission, or to spar
with strangers over places on a list;
what won’t wait
is screaming at you here! Nothing can mar
such perfect clarity – the morning star
is crowning now. Now! Tonight you exist
only to be held by this tiny fist.
Leave the rest: the things we cannot plan are
what won’t wait.
How funny, Andrew, you and I were writing about lists in such different contexts at exactly the same moment!
Excellent, Andrew. A rondeau, right?
Yes, quite right – a rondeau – though the formatting got lost in posting…
The golden leaves
won’t wait for me
to complete chores
and diversions indoors.
The sharp sky
won’t wait for me
to make lists or
count ambitions.
Yesterday, a flock
of pelicans circled
against the sun
before continuing
their long flight
south. This very
moment I have
certainly missed
something.
Blue, I love your ending on this wonderful poem.
Time
What will not wait is this:
Time—
it just won’t stand still.
It neither waits for anyone
nor cares for trivialities
as man’s.
You may be rich or poor,
or feel too small or tall,
have much of this and none of that
and other simple fripperies,
vast sources of our gaieties—
it still won’t matter much.
For even with such seriousness,
the joys and pains we experience,
time just doesn’t care for them;
it merely numbers us—our days
right from the very beginning.
So we live right now, we do it now!—
whatever it is we dream of,
for tomorrow isn’t guaranteed—
No, time never promised that!
Not to widows or to orphans,
not even to England’s queen!
Not to Carlin nor Monroe,
Emily’s gone, and so is Poe.
So our only chance to do our dance is
now!—
for time won’t stand still.
It will not wait for me and you
no matter what it is we do.
Run and sing and fly and climb
up high, up there, and touch the sky!—and sigh!
yes, sigh!
Take a second heave, another breath.
Take a look around and feel the ground.
We’re bound to it—do you hear the sound?—
of mingled joys and pains and hopes
amidst our lives and deaths we paint—much hope
leads us to grace, we hope.
And love.
And time won’t matter much.
“or Monroe”
a.
I like these lines you wrote:
Take a look around and feel the ground.
We’re bound to it–do you hear the sound?–
I do, I do!
Love this one!
Pressing Matters
Time.
Tide.
The truth.
Your eyes.
Death.
Dawn.
My heart.
This poem.
Expecting
What won’t wait
is the baby now;
looking back, it seems
he was conceived
the moment you spoke
your intention, sealed it
with more than a kiss.
It’s as if the desire
hurried to take form
lest you have, well,
not second thoughts,
but third or fourth.
Your first word
when you saw those
two pink lines was,
“Umm?” The next
were, “Oh, shit.”
Your bluff was called
by this baby who
wouldn’t wait until
you were sure about
whether you really wanted
to upset this apple cart,
the cart on which rode
your little daughter,
seemingly content with
neither brother nor sister,
all the apples neatly put
back in place, finally,
more than two years
after she was born
and everything tumbled.
What won’t wait now
is this baby, who saves
his waiting until the very end
so that when he’s born
(at 41-and-a-half weeks),
he’ll look like a fully formed,
well-rested old man,
even more so when they
clean him, dress him in
that tiny white undershirt.
He would wait longer
were it not for a poke,
the plastic hook opening
his watery home lest
certain processes begin,
more natural but less kind.
Some things won’t wait
once you’re on hospital time;
even midwives will stop
the waiting clock, make sure
a whole other countdown can begin.
Here’s Day 7′s
Won’t Wait
Father’s Fear
worried always
that my Daughters
won’t wait.
that hasty decisions,
made from passion and pressure,
will not be Their fate.
we talk and pray
and fear the boy She likes
that just won’t wait.
Oh, do I know this feeling. And my husband, all the more.
Yes… know exactly what you mean.
“Upon the waking”
Maybe it was because
we started to trip over pebbles,
or because our words
frayed inbetween meaning and
motive, or maybe it was
because I hated the iced
cage we slept inside
as torpid sculptures,
side-by-side,
all these years.
Maybe that is why
each morning I can’t
wait to add to
the calluses
on my bended
bruised knees.
I like this one a lot.
Eyelids drooping
sleep is pressing
must go to bed.
As you say, Robeet, the prompt won’t wait!
this leaves me smiling and counting and remember November – way to go
sorry Viv – below is for Patricia – my fingers not willing to wait and let my eyes check – sleep pressing – like that
Wait for It
Once thought weak,
limp and yielding,
then rudely shoved
to a forgotten place
in the back,
an innocent,
victimized,
festering anger
retaliates
by growing strong,
that pungent odor
your just desserts
when Jello
goes bad.
Hah! Good one.
I had this poem since 10. For some reason the server was down. Anway, I personally like this poem. Thanks for this experience. It is really stretching my creativity
‘Impatience’
I sit
Glass of White Zinfandel in one hand
Rose in another
Waiting for you
Warm fireplace grow cold
Song track ended
Listening to the pitter-patter of the
rain hitting the window pane
A pulsating heart turns to a disturbing
Thump
As I am left
Abandoned like an adopted child
Left in the blinding darkness
You stole my vulnerabilty
And served it to a wild boar
But, my so-called-love
No worries
I will not let this moment go to waste
—————————————————-
I stand
Hands bound behind my back
Lights flashing
Siren blasting
Eyes glaring at this outrageous scene
Smelling the atrocious scent of
Potent smoke ad coffee mixed with covered up strawberry gum
This arrest has to wait
I struggle
As I audaciously proclaim
‘You got the wrong man
As I lack time to be interrogated’
Yet the out pouring of the rain
Drowns my attempt
Of reasoning with this
Overzealous cop
‘No, you were high flying
On route 109
Overnight in the pen
Your phone call’s in the morning’
Unending Demands
I heard a gentle rumble at 9am.
You lie in wait, knowing your prey
will fall helplessly into your lap – eventually.
10am – you rouse again
to let me, your humble servant, know
that your schedule does not accommodate
daylight savings time.
By 11:30am, your rumble turns
to a roar – entirely unimpressed with
my excuses of work.
At the stroke of 12pm, I rush
to complete my task. I find
the perfect combination of
animal and vegetable sacrifice.
Your feast ends with
a happy gurgle – the sign
of satiation. You finally rest
for an hour, but I know
the demands will begin again.
What i want to do with my life
What do people think of me
What is the world today
People won’t think of you different
if you don’t do the things they do
just to be cool
I wait until that day I walk across that stage and
get that high school diploma
I wait until that day I meet my first roomate
in that college dorm room
NOVEMBER 7
This dawn won’t wait
for me to sort old dreams that stay.
This dawn won’t wait –
an east-horizon line like fate.
Lest that light scatter, go astray,
it’s time to greet the unknown day.
This dawn won’t wait.
Very nice, Taylor.
Wait! What? No,Wait!
What won’t wait are the words. It’s November man!
I’ve got a story, and its writing itself, for the first
November in my personal history. Chicken though
that I am, I’m not participating ‘officially’
But 14,381 words and counting.
I fear the ‘poem-ing’ will suffer.
I fear suffering readers more though. Enough fear!
The words won’t wait. It’s November!
I’m at 15,232 officially! It’s not to late to join the game.
“5-minute sonnet”
I find the drive to write right now,
a practice of attachments left,
a craft in moments that takes hours,
but not to leave the piece bereft
of sense or style or something said
to make it worth the keeping time:
to ink and paper off the head
into the future’s slanted rhyme.
What sense it makes, if sense there be,
is in the soul the reader feeds,
falls in place accidentally
according to the moment’s need.
In minutes made, a hasty prayer:
from chaos may you find your fair.
It’s nice to see a sonnet
I so admire this one, Daniel. How fast did you REALLY dash it off, lol?
Bravo! My favorite form … but it takes me hours to get them to sing.
This is beautiful!
Pingback: poem-a-day, november 7 « carolee sherwood
Autumn’s Piddling
Inhaling
Autumn’s rustic beauty
As trees laid bare
One by one
leisurely stripped
Naked of their covering
Seemingly
At a snails piddle pace
Good one, Benjamin!
Thanks Laurie!
“At a snail’s piddle pace” – How can you not love that line?
Hurried Haiku
Artist sits idle
Edits must be completed
Please finish today
(I have to finish edits to a non-fiction piece so the artist can finish her accompanying artwork.)
Wow to all. I am enjoying all of these poems so much…and not getting any work done. Work fortunately does wait, but only for so long:)
Here is another…I love this prompt. There are so many things that will not wait…
Lady Dawn
She nudges the dark and it recedes
Like a spineless coward edging toward the shadows
Or does it melt, helpless and wanting beneath her touch?
She softens the horizon line
Etching the night with a pale, gauze ribbon
Pushing aside its heavy robe and kissing it with silver dew
Soundlessly, effortlessly she overtakes
The force of the deepened sky in wild exultation
For Lady Dawn waits for none; and the night can never resist her
Janet~
What Won’t Wait
The day, the close of lunch, the
river rushing over stones
And you
ready to move out
the door and down the stairs
You
with that invisible schedule
repeating every day
With its proper time for breakfast
fitting puzzle pieces, or me to come to bed
You with
that invisible schedule
always a mismatch with my own
Always us
Still smiling back and forth
At what and who won’t wait today
Your smile lifting me
carrying us along.
It Couldn’t Wait?
Clouds, pendulous
with imminent
rain.
Umbrella in my car,
of course,
the fat drops falling,
beginning to pick up
some real
speed.
Really, what else can I do
but laugh
and dance a little jig
hopping puddles
as I make my way
through the
impromptu
shower
to the car.
###
This Really Won’t Wait
I’ve been anxious,
excited,
for so long
but now that the moment
is finally here
I really wish I could
put this off
just a bit longer.
The contractions
keep on coming
harder
faster
stronger
taking all my focus
all my energy
and any small distraction
annoys me like no other.
But now
the doctor is urging me
to push
and so
I do.
As hard as I can
and breathless
and tired
and still
uncertain if
I can really do this,
my son is born.
This is lovely! Brings me back to my children being born.
It’s funny how many of us have written about the birth of our children!
I was writing that perhaps this is so… because the most visceral experience of “cannot wait” for a woman… Eyes are closing expressed myself more clearly first time around… but screen went white and the anonymous critical editor.. told me “You are posting too quickly. Slow down.” and shut me down. WOW where would we have gotten on that original “Street” being told to “slow down” when we had riffs that went from one to the other with lightening speed? Oh well…. Apologies.. which I can’t make generally because there is no provision to do so… So you get the apology Domino… will be back more fully later in the week… when some other writing duties are done…
Last Request
I will not wait
for anything but snow
on my tombstone
Not even the moon
Actually I want to change the title to: Flurry. Is that allowed?
Powerful and right to the point, nicely done!
Time
“Time waits for no one and it won’t wait for me”*
The light changes in our waking dream,
But not the number of hours in the day,
Or days in a week, or weeks in a month,
Every day holds precious moments,
Of work, consciousness, opportunity,
The continuum holds us in its fabric,
And we do not know where we will go,
When we step across the space,
Filled with stars and focusing lights,
But we move onward, toward the reality,
Of new possibilities.
Rolling Stones said that*
evidence of fairies
Though I braved the dark,
tip-toe,
as the world slept,
the fronds of frost
had vanished from the window
That’s what we call “hard evidence”
Charming
thank you!
*what won’t wait? be patient no more: it’s already happened*
it’s already happened: what? it, that’s what
that happened. that great cavernous thing
that will never happen again.
like too many words
lost because they were spoken;
what happened was fatty in words, verbose,
not taut, lean, real –
the multiform muscular carousel
you the clownish elephant circling round,
and me the painted medieval horse,
ridden by you, the love
love, love, love, love of my wordy proverbial life
passed around here one more time;
and now another little girl rides you,
while i, late for what already happened,
wait on line, blind, my self my own female
oedipus, my self my own antigone,
ticket in hand, by the rainbow merry go round: breathless.
***********
***************
Hello from me. Today’s prompt arose more questions than usual.
*
What won’t wait?
Well, I suppose
Anything could wait.
If it needs identity.
Unidentified phenomena
won’t wait.
Perhaps
But then,
who cares?
I don’t.
And what is more
I won’t
Wait.
© 2011 Mariya Koleva
Like Andrew K., I loved Robert’s alliterative phrase for the prompt, so that was my jumping-off point for this little tidbit
:
What Won’t Wait
What won’t wait for you to name it,
Why won’t wait for you to blame it.
Where won’t wait for you to find it,
When won’t wait for you to time it.
Who won’t wait for you to meet it,
How won’t wait for you to treat it.
Nice way to work it, Bruce.
Such an amazing take on the alliteration! I love it.
Bruce, this is great. Right at the heart of it all.
Well thought out, and well written. Nice!
What, why, where, when, who, and How did you ever come up with this? Love it.
What Won’t Wait
Time won’t wait
It has little patience for man
Instead, time spins her web around
Reluctant victims, who are surprised
At time’s incessant demands
On man’s body, mind and soul
All efforts to slow down time’s affront
Become useless
Time won’t wait
Non Vedo L’Ora
Waiting is like the piano;
all the fury of the forte
held back, and whispered.
And when it is impossible to wait,
It is the roar of fortissimo possibile.
The title is in italian. It means “I can’t wait.” But it is literally translated, “I cannot see the hour,” as in, “I cannot see the hour (or time) in which I will see you again.”
Lovely use of idiom.
Che bella!
I always enjoy most the poetry that stands out as so very different from anything else out here. Poetry that catches me completely by surprise. This is one such poem. Love it.
Thank you friends. Your comments encourage me!
Pingback: Decisions (NaNoWriMo – Day 7) « echoes from the silence
What Are We waiting For?
Let’s return to Monterosso
where we can meander
through terraced vineyards,
then sip wine at the cafe
on Via Verdi.
Let’s return to Vernazza
to climb the steep slopes,
ramble among olive trees,
and descend
on paths peppered with cactus.
Let’s return to Camoglia
to eavesdrop and let
the words of others
fill the silence
of the Benedictine abbey.
Let’s return to Riomaggiore,
stroll the Via dell’Amore
above the rocky sea wall
in the company of kestrels
and drink in the scent of rosemary.
Let’s return to Manarolo,
laze on the pier
like nets drying in the sun
and toss our passports into the sea.
Well, suddenly, typing away happily toward my bed, I realized in horror, that: What won’t wait is November!
*
*
November never waits for you
It goes on, flies, relentlessly
ignoring your deficiency of muses
your tired eyes,
that “second best” you’re doing.
November come, November go
The one and only NaNo’s over,
And so is Nov PAD
Well,
ain’t that sad?
© 2011 Mariya Koleva
I know! I know! I wish they were in different months so we could savor them separately!
Come what must
Only the next second must come,
not the payout, not the release,
not deliverance, nor the clutch.
The governor, some smog, your breakfast:
these may come. Maybe your sentence,
maybe the collision, or the brush
of a hummingbird’s wing. Or
they may not come, not the stay,
nor the next note in the symphony.
Mystery, mystery, answer or mystery.
Only the next second must come
on time. It could be the phone call
or the right hook to the chin.
It could be a whip crack or
a stomach rumble, brake failure or
the excellent mirth-bearing punchline—
but any track can be derailed,
any expectation foiled by Jack-in-the-box.
Games and tidal eaves, snow flurries,
fistfights… Only the next second
can’t be paused in its arrival.
Shut down the airports, dismantle
all lines of communication. You live;
and here, you still live. The seconds
will count themselves as your practice
of patience catches fire on the stove.
You live. You still do. As the seconds
latch the gate behind you and put you
back up on your crutches, remember:
there’s only one must,
Brilliantly written. All the connections made (both suptle and blatant) make this a must read again and again. Brilliant.
When garden vegetables grow ripe
It’s time to preserve as quick as we can
From our summer gardens’tangle
of vines and weeds From deep
over-run patches of jungle green
I turn to look, what did I see?
Bright red globes dangling from every stem
Bright red globes of tomatoes ripe
Filled with sun and its energy
From every vine I have to swipe
Them now and get them in a can
They seem to ripen all at once
All at once and overnight Just
Yesterday I never saw a gleam
Of red. Today I see a jeweled bed
That will feed the birds if I delay
Our spaghetti sauce and salsa hot
Soups to warm us through the chilly days
Are for our family and the birds – not!
The jars are ready, the sauce is cooked
Each jar is filled up to its top
All steamed in boiling water deep
The lids give off that little pop
That lets us know that they will stay
Fresh and rosy as the day we picked
And canned. To celebrate we decide to pay
A visit to the fast food burger shop.
A Winter Morning (a tanka)
just when the darkness
seems the most dark, the coldness
the most cold
along comes morning, sweeping away
the last vestiges of night
– Cara Holman
beautiful!
Yes, beautiful.
Thank you, Patricia and Marie Elena.
Lovely, Cara.
For Emmy, at Age 10
I miss:
Teddy bears and Blue’s Clues.
“Mommy, can you tie my shoes?”
Sticky fingers.
Piggy toes.
“Are we there yet?”
“Got your nose!”
When I look into your eyes I see
The woman that you’ll grow to be
As you start to venture out into the world.
You’ll always be your mama’s baby girl.
Adorable, Mary.
Thanks. She is growing up much too fast for my tastes, becoming more and more independent every day.
Wish pennies flicked
into the fountain
Won’t wait
To fall
Neither will dandelion
Fluff puffed on in
Hope wait
To float
Simply beautiful! – This was great! – Mosk
The Lunchtime News: YU55
There’s a big rock out there diving
through space. Driving straight at me
at a staggering pace. An asteroid
named 2005 YU55
and quite honestly I can’t wait
until it’s out of my space.
Partially inspired by the story of the flooded Greenwood Cemetery in Decatur, IL (referenced in “Decatur” by Sufjan Stevens) (which I was listening to)
…
One of These Days
The resurrection happened after the long,
distracted rain: nothing Biblical, no ark,
but nothing in memory had been so strong.
Enough to pull the earth like a tablecloth
tricked from under its settings, slipping along
the churchyard in a muddled tide brown as broth:
headstones bobbed and sank in the tumult, grey boats
capsizing gracelessly. And out of that froth
came the sighs from unanticipated throats:
relatives returned too soon, coffins upturned
by the flood. An object lesson in what floats:
leaves, wood, bones and faces. Afterward they learned,
don’t tempt the river with ancestry (which goes
in two directions: the wide part that is burned
away at death, spirals up, that flaps and flows;
and the close part tapping under roughshod feet).
Keep a place set for the lost loved ones: who knows
when they will come looking for something to eat,
thin, trembling. But the hour never grew too dark:
the dead stayed dead. No conversions in the street,
just water and happenings, to watch, to remark.
***
jeopardy
***
I am pushing a bike uphill, my brother
is pushing
a wheeled
horse-
we are late for the birth of my sister’s doll.
for the tea that protects us.
Had a bit more time, wasn’t terribly satisfied with the last one!
…
3:20 am, Psytrance Set
and when the music has dragged you uphill
leaving you slick with sweat that gleams in the
turquoise flash of laser light
breathing in bittersweet machine fog then you are
full of helium and empty of any kind of
doubt
a crystal vessel
caught in midair when the last tuft of a note
pulls itself out and upward and you ask
is it is it going to
drawn over the strings in one long infinite
stroke
shining its wail over the walls of the club
while you keep your hands raised to catch it
spine poised and crouched to spring
for the moment when the downbeat comes
crashing down again
even though you wish this endless
syncopated country would hold you in its grip
forever
you know
noise calls
noise proceeds and you cannot help
to try and catch up
Timing
We scurry to and fro
busy with details of minutia
that fill days, weeks, years with endless
stacks of stuff. In between we eat,
or do what resembles eating -
quick snack here
power drink there
here some fast food
there a quick meal
never thinking or remembering
that half way round the world
a child lies in the arms
of its mother,
all bones and flesh
waiting for the next morsel
of nourishment that may
save its young life
if the child and mother
can just wait
for us to remember
This one is difficult to think on. Excellent reminder, Linda, and well written.
Thanks, Marie Elena!
The Daily Grind
At work.
In the daily grind.
Crushed
And scattered like
Chaff.
Can’t wait
To go home.
Weighing In
The exercise programs
Are all cued
I’ve purchased all of
The right food
One week, two, three
The weight is leaving
Way too slowly
Won’t wait for this weight
To get up and leave
So pass the pumpkin pie
Pretty please?
Fate Waits
The dolphin won’t wait
For the new sewer line
The boats won’t wait
For the slow manatee
The mangroves won’t wait
For a development plan
So we can’t wait
Time to take a stand
Pingback: What Won’t Wait | Soul's Music
My poem had to wait through a hospital visit, but can be found here:
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/11/07/what-wont-wait/
Oh Wow.
Here it comes.
The ska band led by D’Artagnan
skips through the side streets
and waits for no one,
not even time,
its mother.
What matters is not where they are going
or when they will get there
but that they are going.
One shouts a hole in the sky
and they can’t see past the light
on the hill
but no one stops climbing.
Loved this! The last 4 lines are killer.
Thanks very much, Mary.
Facetious Facts
You say I shouldn’t take life so fast?
Everyone in the world could stand perfectly still
and we’d still be twisting in a cosmic
pirouette at 1,000 miles per hour,
zipping laps around our local
star at 66,000, and careening wildly through our
galaxy’s spiral arms at 483,000.
If you want me to
slow down, you’ll have to
take it up with astrophysics.
this: “you’ll have to/take it up with astrophysics” – I love it!
Warrior
Good news waits on us, bad news
gives us no time outs, no free shots
or pinch hitters. The blow is swift
and often it’s a sucker punch.
Devastation, diagnosis, instant death
won’t wait for us to prepare,
research, know what we’re
up against. We’re just given
our sword and shield and told,
“This is your battle, be brave.”
DECISIONS (a shadorma)
we know not
the time or the date
yet we must
be ready ~
our decision must be made
for death does not wait
2011-11-07
P. Wanken
What Won’t Wait
Reaction (shadorma)
If you scare someone
they will scream,
and step back.
Once an incident occurs,
reaction can’t wait.
Grim (triolet)
That black ghoulish figure has only one
purpose in seeking you out tonight.
Silently he lets you know you are done.
That black ghoulish figure has only one
job, and he won’t recoil from a gun,
so do not attempt to reach for the light.
That black ghoulish figure has only one
purpose in seeking you out tonight.
The Now Factor
There’s no waiting for
stupidity
the common sense of
so few common,
No waiting for
a lover
debating should
or shouldn’t he,
No waiting for
my coffee
it’s on a timer
Everyday,
There’s no waiting
on morning reports
they’re done or
your ass is grass,
No waiting for
a table
fine food never waits
for fine tippers
No waiting for
a mother’s moment alone
little feet know how to follow
you to the bathroom,
There’s no waiting for
a husband’s need
of love from a
longing wife,
No waiting for
what the body seeks
our temple of determination and
Immediate results.
Death’s Catch
mystery excels
I dare not salute your grave
you were but to fish
Warm Shadow
In the wee hours
When the clock only ticks
And the cat is sleeping
With an errant whisker twitch
I hear the floorboard creak
As only a little boy can
Make it misbehave.
He says, “I can’t wait until
The sun comes up.”
We sit on the wood chair
Wrapped in the warmth
Of a fleece blanket,
And listen to silence,
Whisper and watch
Shadows crawl away on the floor
Exhausted after they travel through
The leaves of the crabapple
Into the window.
The Next Second
This second must wait
for the last one to get finished.
The next one can’t arrive
until this one has diminished.
The next second will tick
and for one moment it will last.
The clock upon the wall
moves not toward the timeless past.
Hour after hour
a reliable clear chime.
The next second is fleeting
like no other one in time.
Treasure every second
as they put you to the test.
The next second is coming.
Pray that it will be your best.
By Michael Grove
I really enjoyed this one. It flowed as if ticking time.
You really made this sound like a clock. Excellent.
What Happens to a Dream Deferred?
When she explained her remodeling vision,
He told her, “Dream! It’s good to dream”
And then he went fishing.
That day she knocked seven holes in the walls,
Surrounding the kitchen, tearing at the doorways
to open up the space and free the mind.
After sweeping up the debris from the kitchen
And dining room, she went out to the smoke house
And had a go at those weathered walls as well,
Spending that day tearing the building to the ground
And stacking it well out of the way of her garage project,
Another dream deferred. One carpenter could fix them both.
When my father returned from his fishing trip,
A world of reconstruction arrested him open-mouthed
In the doorway as she turned and smiled beatifically.
“Isn’t it grand?” she said. “You were right. It is good to dream,
and my dreams couldn’t wait another minute.”
Can’t resist. Reminds me of Kathy Bates in “Fried Green Tomatoes” as she remodels her home. Nice work!
This
Your knock is insistent as usual, urgent as
if you can’t wait to get in and the words tum
-ble out of your chin as though you can’t spend
them fast enough, as if they might melt on your
tongue if you don’t spill them loose, lost into
my lap. The snap of the sneering clock ticks
us off and the walls scoff at the things we no
longer bother to say, the way your eyes cast
shadows on the fading day, the dawning of
all things lost. The tides turn and the moon
burns with a light she cannot claim, and my
name is a mystery your mouth can no longer
solve. Truth evolves, and I can think only of
freedom, silence and things worth waiting for.
De- I love this!!! Very good work!
I agree, De, building to that wonderful last sentence. Lovely.
stunning
Hey De,
Hope all is well.
I enjoyed your “This”. Get a load of “This”.
Exquisite. And simply “De Jackson”.
I can’t agree more.
“The Last Page”
Drunk
On the smell of
Ink, the story
Unfolds. Eyes
Race from left to
Right to left
Again, like an over-
Wrought typewriter.
Pages turn,
Turn,
Turn,
Turn. The end is
Looming, happily or
Not.
Great write. The last page can’t come soon enough for the book I’m reading now.
I can never wait until I get to the end, “happily or not.” Well put.
Antsy
Is your last name Molasses?
Get it on already.
Where’d you get your degree anyway?
I wish you would stop flappin’ your jaws.
By the time your ready I could’ve written a novel.
Did you sign up for this?
You’re killing me here.
I’m gettin’ a bellyache.
Who taught you how to feed an infant anyway?
Where’s Mommy?
“Where’s Mommy?”–perfect!
Hey thanks Shannon!
Not yet a poem, but the best I can do for now between work, dentist, groceries, errands, dinner, cleaning, etc. It’s a thought that needs shaping. I’ll be working on it later this week.
Now is the time for opportunity to manifest.
I can’t wait any longer. I’m ready to leap – net or not-
From the comfortable confines of a mind-numbing existence,
To slip off the noose of the job I’m so lucky to have –
I’m fending off ulcers and nightmares. I’m losing my hair.
Helping everyone except myself.
I’ve got to find my way back home.
Foolish or brave depends on how it all turns out,
But it’s just a matter of perspective, after all.
The curse of being tenacious is being too stubborn
to recognize that what I am doing is not in my best interest.
Just because I can take a load of crap does not mean that I should.
Day 7 11-7-2011
Write a “what won’t wait” poem.
Priorities
It doesn’t matter that we cruised in from vacation
at midnight or that my body’s clock’s all confused
from “fall back,” plus a different time zone.
People expect to eat around here,
and the grocery trip today won’t wait.
So the poems had to.
Sleep
All scrubbed and tucked in bed
Pretending I’m asleep
Gram nods her tired head
And she’s out without a peep
From underneath my pillow
I slide the old blue tin
And wondered how many yellow
buttons were within
Beneath my patchwork quilt
I turn the flashlight on
There pyramids I build
Of every colour found
There’s gold and silver too
From a princess’s dress maybe
But my favourite is the blue
For there Gramps eyes I see
Sleep it wouldn’t wait
And I woke to morning light
A blue button I did take
And hid it out of sight
How very sweet this is. Warm smiles, author.
Thank you Marie
Just about Everything Will Wait But …
You know how it goes – there’s so much
Needs doing – the laundry, the cleaning
The dishes, grocery shopping – this and that
Rake the leaves, cut the lawn, pay the bills
And on and on …
I remember when the kids were young
Slowly figuring out some priorities
Learning how to drop everything unimportant
To play with, read to, sing with, and do almost
Anything else fun you can think of
With the kids
And now with the grandchildren
It becomes even easier for us to take
The load off their parents and do it all over
Before you can take another breath …
Is there really anything so important
It can’t wait until after you do something with them?
Because honestly, babies and children
Just won’t wait
Absolutely.
how nice, the straightforward truth of this
~UNCOMPROMISING~
Growing miracle
the time you’ll arrive
know not I
nor do you know
when the time arrives.
You’ll not wait.
Joyful journey,
triumphant pain,
unbearable urge
to push and then
the moment in life
like no other
meeting the miracle.
When our eyes first meet,
true love.
Oh, what fun to read back on the day! I see others thought of the same “can’t wait” moment as I did!! Wish there was more time in the day. Smiles to everyone and happy writing!
True love.
Lovely, Sweet Hannah!
Thank you so much, Marie!! <3
Now Won’t Wait
As insistent and selfish
as a puppy wanting to
be let out,
Now
crowds around me
and messes up
my well-laid plans,
for every decision
is a pivot point,
and I’m smart enough
to know
that the moments
cling to one another
as randomly
as a chain
made of figures
from the Barrel of Monkeys game,
I played forty years ago
which appeared instantly
in the very front
of my Now
right now.
Now does have a tendency of getting in the way.
that puppy line…authenticity in its nowness
Thanks Shannon – when are you going to call and submit a poem to virtualpoetryreading? (951) 665-8161
C’mon, please? – mosk the humbled
November is for birthdays
The stillness of evening’s chill
brings a deep pall
over what was to be a celebratory
moment, a twenty eighth year of
planting sore feet to packed soil
and unforgiving concrete.
Her tired body delays sleep,
moves long fingers to create -
a last gasp before the crash.
Some things cannot be stopped.
Some moments will pass with a whimper.
There is no turning the clock back now.
testing
Can’t wait
Everyone thinks us mad
that we put up our Christmas tree
and lights in November
What no one realizes is that
my honey is afraid he might not see
another Christmas and he just wants
to make sure he enjoys it
one more time
Beautiful and semi- bitter sweet. Enjoy the holidays, especially the music. – Moskowitz
Thanks, Buddah!
“I’m Sorry” Shouldn’t Wait
the canyon carved
in my chest
echoes from regret
Convicting. Perfect.
Wow!
Cheap Date
Addicted to your scent
even though it was just Dial soap
and sweat.
Mind fogged and blurred
with every whispered word.
I toppled at your feet.
I melted from our heat.
I should have known it was deceit
when I sold myself too cheap.
But, you said you couldn’t wait
and now your someone else’s date.
Do you sing? If not, you might look into lessons. Your verses have real possibilities as popular songs. That’s one way a poet can earn real money. I’m serious. You might want to think about it.
I’ve been there too -sold myself for crumbs, as it were. Well-written, Buddah
Well, that would be true, except that the poems she writes for nothing sound much like some very popular songs (not that they are derivative, not at all–they just capture emotions that many young people feel strongly,) It wouldn’t be like she was selling out her talent–just sharing it with people who appreciated it! Buddah, the poems you post here are quite different. If you wrote for that market, to sell, I can understand how you felt. That business can be rough. Still, crumbs are better than nothing. You know what they call professional poets—teachers. Now, I’ve been there.
don’t ask.
This Will Wait
What won’t wait, waits: water welling
up behind the dam. Damn, when we
were waiting for Maurice to die we
got a little wild. We rumpussed; we
stayed up late, barked at the nude moon,
wondered when the stars would fall.
And when he died, the night sky waited
for another wild cloud to be born.
haunting — I love the nude moon.
11:59 P.M.
You promised you’d call on Monday. I promised myself
if the phone didn’t ring, I’d finally admit
there’s nothing left to save.
Scrolling through on my to apologize to all and to MYSELF that I cannot read as my eyes are closing cannot comment as my head is burning… I am told that I am posting too quickly and to “slow down” and then shut down. I miss the original PA Street… I miss as I said here earlier the friendly messiness of it all… that let us interact sometimes with the speed of lightening…carrying on banter, chains and just group mentions… I will be back when another project is concluded… but it doesn’t feel as friendly…and I am grateful that I didn’t wait…couldn’t wait back then to begin and return and return throughout the day…. I am grateful that I couldn’t wait and that I didn’t wait…because I would have missed what was….. Goodnight all… There is some absolutely exquisite work here… that jumped out calling to me as I scrolled to the bottom of the page… Happy poeming all:)
I know. There are so many creative post that, although I read them, I just can’t comment on them ALL. And don’t worry, I’ve been told to “slow down” too:-/ Happy writing.
Growth In Change
The leaves have to fade and die
so green can grow in summer
and often times we wonder why
yet next time makes us stronger
the raven lets out his eery cry
though songbirds sing in spring
in every season there’s a reason
for the changes that it brings.
Good night poets!
And all the poets said…
Ready Or Not
Non-housebroken puppies
A hiccup
The giggles at funeral services
Kids with the wiggles
Time
Tide
Formation (at U.S.N.A.)
Things that won’t wait for you
One more:
Monday
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
This is a link to Mary K.’s response to Day 7
http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com/2011/11/cant-wait.html
Thanks
I am on time on…
Pamela
“Nothing Lasts Forever”
Spinning Sleep
Beguiled by the moon
Spinning slumber on shimmering
Threads and strumming
Lullabies on moonbeams
Sleep won’t wait
and is so hard to chase away, especially in November
Yaaaawn. Gosh, yes….
What can’t wait is posting this poem! It is 4 minutes until tomorrow . . . the moment must be now! Ok . . . now!
THE RIGHT MOMENT
Full moon,
Darkened sky,
Nearby glowing planet,
As if in cosmic communication,
Hints of silver ebbing light,
On the lake waiting patiently below,
Ripples from the passing storm,
Silence in the car while the clarity comes into view!
“Pull over I have to take this shot!”
No clear place to park or stop or adequately land,
Tall swaying grasses block the water,
Trees shadow the union of lighted objects,
Phone poles kill the moment’s touch with nature!
Ice covers the shoulder of the road,
Oncoming cars careen towards the finally still vehicle,
The moment quickly passes until only the moon is seen,
No other reflection offered,
A slow walk back with the camera turned to off . . .
That moment couldn’t wait,
Yet beauty always lies . . .
In the eyes of the endless beholder!
Pingback: Omen #novpad day 7 « Pages from my mind
Progress Won’t Wait
the march onwards
is inevitable
unstoppable
irreversible
there can be
no going back
no refuting
no denying
the future
Iain
like it, Iain
Time and tide won’t wait.
and it’s not that they can’t wait,
time and tide just won’t!
foam fingers
reach farther
and farther
into the tide pools,
covering flower-like
anemones and
larcenous crabs
they grab at
our feet as,
giggling, we
leap away.
What Won’t Wait
The day wont wait
for my life to begin
living in the moment
of this mind whim
found a new energy
it will not be late
fight the good fight
it’s what they call faith?
in me…the other
loving today
it’s what won’t wait
WALT WAITS
A well needed maintenance day.
Mired in muse I couldn’t use,
and a frustrating bout of irritabily,
I found the ability to release
and cease to be nothing but me
for an afternoon. Thoughts ignited
and fired a passion for life and
all that it entails, a soul that sails
and reaches heights not seen
in a long time. Distant encouragement;
an instant pick-me-up to warm me,
it disarms me and alarms me how
much I missed it. How needed it became.
All the same, such heat is a two way street
and it has a therapy of its own.
The seeds of life resown and nurtured
despite the gravity of daily living,
it has given me cause to cheer being here.
It has me elevated. I’m glad I waited.
You just put a big smile on my face before I head out to work and vote.
Your internal rhymes are amazing. I like this one a lot.
Jet Lag
Patience is considered a virtue
and doubly so in dogs expecting a walk.
Mine wait, appearing nonchalant
but a glance in their direction reveals an ear cocked,
one eye open got the slightest hint
of brushing my hair or turning off the monitor.
Then they’re frantic.
Go now. Go now. Nownownownownow.
The biggest looks for his toy
he needs something to fixate upon
else he will jump and bite in his eagerness to leave.
“In the kitchen, by the water bowl,” I tell him
and her dashes off, returns with it
and I don’t know if he understood
ot if it was blind chance that’s where he went.
The smallest cries in case I forget her
(I never do) and dances upright,
front paws held in prayer or supplication
until I slip the lead on her collar.
Three dogs, three leads, one door, one me.
There’s always a fight on the step
about who gets to be in front
who’s the leader
who’s the boss.
And it’s always Jet who wins
but doesn’t really care about being in front.
He prefers to lag behind
and lays his own scent over everybody’s.
Special THANK you to all who took the time to wish me well and good health. Your support keeps me going. I will be following all of you, reading and stealing your thoughts for my day!
Run!
We are supposed to wait
for the big yellow bus.
But the big yellow bus
waits for no one.
So we run!
What Won’t Wait
Weekday morning won’t wait
Waking cat wants food
Work commute slow
Work day long
Words will have to wait
sadly, it seems exactly so
Pingback: PAD Day #7: Prompt: What Won’t Wait « 31poems
rhyme waits for no man
or woman to enfold it
within a poem
Death didn’t wait
long enough
for us to say
a proper goodbye.
He swooped in
and claimed you
before your suffering
became too much to bear.
But even if he hadn’t
come and gone so fast
there’s nothing I could have said
you didn’t already know.
Time
by Rich Atwater Nov 7, 2011
Time flies on wings of lightning,
They say you can not call it back,
What happens may be frightening,
But we must move forward on the track.
Tomorrow will be yesterday in due time,
But today is what counts for doing things,
What won’t wait should be done on a dime,
Then you can let go and fly on eagles wings.
Poets Note: Obviously among those things that “won’t wait” include doing a poem in time for the prompt word or phrase. I neglected to make it in time so here is my take a day later. Was tied up living LIFE with my college student daughter who was home with me for the weekend. No time for poems when we have a call to ACTION in living life. We can reminisce after the fact. Thus here is my take the NEXT day when tomorrow became yesterday!
Redemption won’t wait,
Remedy of medicine streaming down one’s throat,
Bidding truth forth, like pedals floating on water,
Bringing the grace of the revelation,
That melts into my heart.
The water’s downstream flow,
Captures and encircles the flower’s pedals,
Like the wind carries the truth –
From house to house
And door to door.
Here’s Day 8, my entry: Ill Omens
UNIVERSAL TIME
A smart (read crazy) boss once taught me
Problems left untouched
Sometimes just disappear
The universe is like that
The universal clock ticks to its own beat
When I try to force the issue
It stands still
‘til I learn to surrender
Multitasking
The words bouncing in my head say
“Write us now, we need to be free!”
The piano, sitting patiently, says
“It’s been a week since you touched my keys…”
The catch-up, catch-all math course says
“Forget all that, I’m the most important”
and dumps a heap of guilt on me
The problem with loving so many things so fiercely
is prioritization is a total *BEEEE–*
“Still” (tetractys)
Still
afraid
to accept
the here and now,
life passes as I wait impatiently.
In Season
She watches the army cargo planes
descend toward the barracks like geese
in V formation, flapping wings into dusk,
black triangles that serpentine,
heading south or to that desert war
where boys in camo scan the tan horizon
but still hear calls of the autumn hunt.
The truth won’t wait –
No matter how much TV I’m shown,
No matter how thick the glass -
I see through the screen.
The truth in all its rays of vivid light –
Tearing through the sky:
A vacuum of a sky.
Yielding to none it cannot hide,
Nor does truth try,
For what is a locked book,
Will be pried open,
To vanquish with a sword.
for its honor is unsurpassed.
What Won’t Wait (Much Longer)
This need
to be loved
by you.
Ghost Husband
In micro moments,
I catch a glimpse of you:
At the edge of my dreams,
ethereal visions dance.
Between the piano keys,
your song lingers.
Beside me on the bed.
your head creases
the pillow.
I feel the tips
of your fingers
caress my arm,
your lips tango
on mine. And I
wonder. . .
when
will
you
be
real?
My Baby
Holding you in my arms that day
Amazed at the tiny you
Crying when we took you home
How would I know what to do?
I felt a failure at being a mom
I cried for 3 days straight
Not realizing it would be okay
That everything else could wait
The nights I struggled to comfort you
My nerves a massive wreck
You wiggled your way up on my chest
Burying your face into my neck
You took a deep breath and inhaled the scent
Of motherhood and went off to sleep
The relief was almost too much to bear
Again I had to weep
Same time each night, you woke me up
With cries of hunger and fear
But easier it became to do this dance
Without Mommy shedding a tear!
What Won’t Wait
What is so urgent
That pokes and needles me
It is there when I close my eyes
At the end of the day
Lay my head
Upon my pillow
It is there before I awake
Urgent
Requires attention
I hear it call to me
Sometimes in dreams
The answer
Appears
I rise
To test this answer
The day flies by
Never enough time
The work will not wait
Day 7 – Courage Won’t Wait
No matter where you are, how low you feel,
there comes a time when you reveal
the pain, the tears that you’ve held close,
afraid, yes, scared to speak, to oppose.
Along comes courage, fine and true,
stands tall, stands straight, at the side of you,
‘til between the rising of the morning sun,
and sooner than the fading crescent moon,
that ‘won’t wait minute’ suddenly appears
and brings new life, and with it, no more fears.
sonnet for sustainability
a theory of surprise may turn success -
let alone competition – on its head.
so let’s start. before all that, there’s
the if/then. and if you’re lucky and fail
grandly, perhaps the gift is in discovery
of the so what and the then what? smart
money talks – but you don’t have to hear.
and maybe – just – complacency will take
some rich mud in the face, and from it
will sprout things you never saw before.
if the purpose of experiment, though, is
some desired result, you may get lucky
and discover the one watched pot that
actually never boils, and all goes awry.
or is that tweak of expectation the very
gift we seek? o surprise, and o peace.
The perfect moment
doesn’t want to wait,
doesn’t have the patience
to let a wellspring of confidence
build in the occupants of
these seconds. It doesn’t announce
itself, won’t knock on the door,
won’t illuminate the sky
with a neon sign,
won’t suddenly fill the air
with a crescendo of strings.
You want to wait
until the time feels right,
until all the elements
of a single event
come together for a memory
that will define your lives,
that golden ring with
a chunk of the world
older than gods
burning a hole in your pocket
these past three weeks.
But it’s not perfect,
it’s raining, when the weather man
said it would snow. The spot
where you wanted to do it,
is now under construction,
chain-link fences and mounds
of dirt where there should be
piles of fallen leaves.
Here you are anyway,
standing beneath a green umbrella,
rain falling down the back
your neck, kneeling on a sidewalk
that shimmers with liquid light
cast from a street lamp,
holding your heart out
in your hands
and asking for a miracle.
When it starts snowing
as you’re driving home,
that ring now on her finger,
faces flushed with the blood
rushed excitement of love in the cold,
you realize there’s no such thing
as the perfect moment,
when every moment together
is its own perfection
in the memories you create.
Not sure how to do italics (or if they are even possible on this site), so… this is the best I can do. :-]
Winter Won’t Wait
he wakes before sunrise
(so much to do), acres of toil,
but before that, cords of wood,
but first, animals to feed,
breakfast to make & eat
dinner waits ‘til sundown
(daylight hours are precious)
come the evening there’ll be mending,
cleaning, the harvest to put by (“things
she would have taken care of”, he thinks,
“if she were here”.) Don’t Think.
Don’t pause. Don’t hesitate.
Winter won’t wait.
Italics are easy.
Select the word or line you wish to italize. We’ll use your title for demonstration, “Winter Won’t Wait.” All you’re going to do is add a snippet of code in front of, as well as at the end of that line or title. Note: when you do this, type the snippet, replace the ( ) with the greater than, and less than marks. The snippet of code will stay invisible if you do it right.
ok, here’s the code. It is important that you do NOT leave any spaces between the code and your line. Otherwise it won’t work.
(i)Winter Won’t Wait(/i)
The typed “i” starts the italics, and the “/i” signals the italics to end there. See? Super simple.
What Wouldn’t Wait
Baby born healthy
all five fingers, all five toes
lusty, wailing boy
Impatient to grow
but slow at walking, talking
playing with his toys
Sleepless boy awake
late into nighttime, crying –
noise upsets father
Agitated child
plucks at his eyelids as if
seeing fierce monsters
Mother’s soft fingers
gently massaging child’s back
patient for hours
Impatient baby
now grown a tall, robust man
yet not all is whole
Unseen years ago
insidious beginnings
of mental illness
His manhood blighted:
no wife, no family, no home
of his own, no life
No medication
found effective to treat him
years multiplying
Purgatorial
existence in nursing homes
is what wouldn’t wait.
The Boatman
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
When I awoke I discovered
that my eyes had been sewn shut,
victim to the disease
that had been hibernating
within all those years.
Like Homer,
I’d refused to cave at first
in spite of the obstacles,
the consequences,
Reaper be damned.
But Oscar Wilde once said,
“No man is rich enough to buy back his past,”
and now the Boatman has come.
I’m fresh out of coin,
my eyes are sewn shut,
and the river continues to rise.
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Hang Fire
“My mother always told me I wouldn’t amount to anything because I always procrastinate. I said, ‘Just wait.’” ~Judy Tenuta
Hang Fire
I put off doing things…
I’m not sure why.
Hang Fire
Kinda sorta describes
getting off-track.
Hang Fire
Sounds like a skateboard trick
but not really.
Hang Fire
Is what happens when you…
Oh look! A squirrel!
Hang Fire
Just wait. I’ll think of …what?
Something to write?
Hang Fire
Godot and I both wait…
Procrastinate.
###
(Note: The form is Triversen Poetry)
What Won’t Wait
The world won’t wait while you figure out who you are
Time will not slow for you to heal the wounds
The broken pieces of your heart can only be put back together by your hands
Everyone still walks, while you crawl
Everyone still smiles, while you cry
Everyone is seen, while you hide
The world won’t wait while you figure out who you are
Time will not slow for you to heal the wounds
The earth still spins while your trapped in a self-suffocating cocoon
A lifetime lost waiting in lines
while you’re waiting in the grocery line
or counting ceiling tiles in your backless nighty at the doctor’s office
or watching for your number to come up at the butcher
are you waiting for your life to begin?
Do you make bargains with life?
That you’ll arrive once the conditions are right?
Do you wish away your time?
Your life is here. It simply won’t wait
this one’s a little too preachy… feh.