Waiting

what am I waiting for?
I've asked that question all my life
it seems like I've done a lot in my years on earth
but there is so much more to do
what am I waiting for?

am I waiting for someone to ask me to do something?
am I waiting for better weather?
am I waiting for God to part the clouds and say, "It's time..."?

the answer is yes, that's what I'm waiting for

but I didn't wait the other day when I bought the coffee and scone
for the lady downtown on the sidewalk
I didn't wait for any of that when I called my client's mother
to talk about his job experience

sometimes I don't wait and things happen
it's good when things happen organically
I just feel like it's time to act
and the opportunity presents itself
or the opportunity presents itself
and I feel like acting

other times, though, I don't feel like it
that's when I want to teach myself to act
when I know I should but I don't feel like it.

What am I waiting for?
someone to pour the milk on my cereal?
someone to shake the salt on my fries?
someone to pass the ball to me?

"I've been waiting here for someone
to knock on my door
someone to come and ask me
what I've been waiting for

Now I ain't been cryin'
but you know how hard I been tryin'
to keep my door open
waiting here 
in the sunshine
waiting for no one"

I wrote those lines 37 years ago
am I still waiting?
Yes, I am.

I Like Poems, I Really Do

there are many ways to write a poem
one is to do it while you're sitting at home
surrounded by throws, sipping some mocha
trying to think of the next line's joke-a

or one can do it while one spends
an evening visiting and playing with friends
and visions of sentiment that keep ones blood warm
like the night one set fire to the rug in ones dorm

maybe you do it under a moonlit sky
the stars and the planets, and satellites go by
the expanse of the universe boggles your mind
like a vodka martini-- one of a kind!

some people sit by a fire on the beach
the roar of the tide just within reach
seagulls and bay gulls fly over head
and in a bikini that cute tranny, Fred

a fireman writes poetry waiting in stations
about flames and ladders and hot sensations
he writes about how his boots were on fire
but at a senior center for chest pain?--that makes him a liar!

my brother wrote poems while sitting in a tree
he had visions, you know, things that he'd see
he saw new inventions that people might need
he once wrote a book that taught you to read

my sister does poems but to write is a strain
so most of her poems just stay in her brain
she wants to share, but how do you suppose?
ask: she poetically blows her nose

Now I like to write while I'm lying in bed
a cat at my feet, a pillow for my head
toothpicks for my eyes to keep them wide open
I need just one more rhyme-- well, here's hopin'!

When a Cat Lies At Your Feet

When a cat lies at your feet
good things are bound to happen
the sun will shine through your window
the rain will lull the day into nothingness
feathers will float
dust will stay settled
the vacuum is silent

When a cat lies at your feet
you can take account of your life
are you giving enough? 
are you calling your friends frequently?
is your job meaningful?
do your clothes match your personality?

When a cat lies at your feet
it's hard to get moving
crossword puzzles
facebook
naps under throws
poetry
remote
Hallmark

When a cat lies at your feet
you just wonder...
what if I took flying lessons?
what if I signed up for a botany class?
does snowboarding really sound fun anymore?
is my life going the way I want it to?

When a cat lies at your feet
it means she's eaten
and all the world can be at peace
it means she doesn't need to go in and out and in and out the patio door
it means she contented
for a moment

When a cat lies at your feet
enjoy life
this thing we call our mind
our consciousness 
can do its thing
wander, create
solve, ponder
deny, affirm
rationalize, critique
be skeptical
be encouraging

be sleepy

which I am right now
you know why?
because there's a cat lying at my feet

So What?

you can leave leaves

you can stop tops

you can revere a river

you can part the trap

there are many things you could do with your language

I'm sure that English isn't as fun as some

but I don't know any others to compare with

so...

so you sew

sew what?

sew sewers?

so's she sewing sewers

or suing sewers

or sewing suers

sewers stink

stinkers sew and then they sue. 

why does 'er' change the way you pronounce 'sew'?

or not, depending

if you say a word over and over it doesn't feel like a word anymore

Donald Trump did it recently with 'China'

"China," he said 

"China, China, China, China

China, China, China.."

and so on, only each 'China' was inflected differently

which is funny because people in China who speak Mandarin (960 million)

inflect same words differently, too. 

Is it striped, or stri-ped?

Is it often, or of-ten?

Is it all-mond, or ahmond?

Is it salmon or sal-mon?

Why do you pronounce the first 'L' in 'salmonella?

Is it despicable, or de-thpicable?

We may never know but it's fun to think about.

Walter and the Tree

When Walter walks he walks alone
down narrow streets of cobblestone
that last line was not my own
and it is what makes this first verse get thrown

When Walter walks he walks alone
he puts his feet in shoes of stone
he throws the leaves and leaves are thrown
oh that last line has made me groan

When Walter walks he walks alone
It's the only way he's ever known
he feels the wind on his cheekbone
and then he goes off and blindly gets stoned

Boooo! Booo! Booo! Ok last try:

Walter walked through the small town alone
the hamlet felt good like it could be his own
how long he'd been here was somewhat unknown
his short memory had 'no good' muscle tone

he comes to the Tree, hanging limb by limb
he leans against it; it speaks out to him
"where are you going, lost human soul
and why did you pass that telephone pole?

that's where the bus stops on nights like this
when a human's adrift, then something's amiss..."
Walter looked up, wondering what he just heard
and tried to discourse, but the cat had his word

"I see what's the matter, " considered the Tree
"you prefer silence, your voice not to be.
Well, sit down for awhile and lean against me
I'll give you advice and you can agree."

For hours and hours Walter sat there
The moon came up, there were stars in the air
the Tree just kept giving prescription and caution
and going over life's every possible option

Walter just leaned, sometimes listened closely
the words went by like a humming tune, mostly
at last Tree fell quiet in the soft blowing wind
Walter wondered if he should try talking again

just then 'round the corner a man sprinted toward them
bare feet on the sidewalk in the streetlight so dim
he dropped something metal and stooped to reclaim
then he saw Walter, who looked like fair game

The man, a good thief, stole Walter's shoes
Walter was frantic and then was confused
he stood up and raised his hands as to yell
but before he could cry, on his knees the man fell

on his back was a rather large limb from the Tree
it had the man pinned to the sternest degree
In his hands Walter's thousand-mile shoes were clasped
Walter reached, saw the man's face and gasped....

Pretty

I used to think I was witty
I used to think I was pretty
It was handy to be
a quick-witted beau-ty
the head of the slapstick committee

I practice all day on my lines
to say them at just the right times
they came out like chimes
were at times clever rhymes
and stopped dull debates on a dime

I studied the mirror for days
to accept my own admiring gaze
would my fairness ever fade?
or my humor be dismayed?
Or would I just hear unending praise?

Oh I had it all I guess
in banter and beauty no less
I'd say the right thing
to make little birds sing
surrounding creatures I'd bless

but one day I opened my yapper
and out came an insulting snapper
I turned a deep red
ruing what I said
and went off and hid in the crapper

I didn't expect any pity
(I needed to work on my 'witty')
the next day I was plain
my ego fully slain
But, thank goodness, I was still fully pretty!

About Me

Who's going to reach down and pick me up?
Who's going to reach up and pull me down?
What's going to happen to make me see
that everything is not about me 

Usually I think it's all centered right here
Usually I think there's no more to this world
Usually I'm just what I need to be
I figure everything is all about me

When I answer the phone
and somebody asks me a question about somebody else
I think, "what the heck -- that's pretty gutsy"
I thought everything was all about me

If there's a news story about somebody dead
and they interview the poor guy's sister
I don't shed any tears for his family
because everything is all about me

If there's an earthquake in the world
and the country is asking for help
I organize my garage kit for an emergency
'cus everything is all about me

if gas prices fall, or grocery prices rise
I'm either sad or happy, depending on
but I'm not happy or sad for you, I guarantee
'cus everything is all about me

How do I look? how do I feel?
why am I lonely, why am I mad?
all this self-reflecting is driving me crazy!
why is everything all about me?

It wasn't my fault, I didn't do it
I never saw him, but I think he did it
I had no idea so why are you giving me the third-degree?
why is everything all about ME?!

leave me alone go away
come back here read my page
I'm so confused I don't know what to do-- could it be
that everything isn't all about me?

God says, "be not wise in your own eyes"
"trust me with all your heart"
I'm going to take a deep breath and continue to read
and hope from here on out that everything is not
about me