Waiting Poems

Here are a few recently unearthed poems that were written in the span of a couple hours while I was waiting for somebody...

Pour Me Into a Cup

I am mostly water, yes,
But water I am not:
Pour water into a cup
And it will take the shape of a cup;
Pour water into a bowl
And it will take the shape of a bowl;
Pour me into a cup
And I may break my neck,
But I will maintain the
Shape of a man.

Who and What

Tonight, I am a compost heap
As with any other night
But not usually in my mind

The blue shadow-reflection of my cup
Feels like magic
But my studies would say otherwise

Sometimes I think
(hope)
I feel love
Most times I know it is myth

I want to believe

The clock’s chisel maddens me
I know it isn’t real

Time is the creation
Of a Blackberried fool
I acknowledge neither creation nor creator

Tonight

I am an organic stroke of luck

When I Tell the Papers

I would like, someday,
To tell the papers:

--I never dreamed; I only did--

For, by then,
I would be a picture of confidence,
My brilliance having been evident
Since nary I was a teen.
And people of my caliber
Do not dream, no no!
They simply do.
For what they do is a sure thing.

It is the starvers who dream.
They dabble in their studio apartments,
Awaiting the Prince of Opportunity
To apply the slipper which will show
That, yes, the dreamer is worthy.
But the Prince seems to often come
When the dreamer is out
Drinking his failure away.

I write this now to forewarn you:
When I tell the papers:

--I never dreamed; I only did--

I will be lying through my face.

All I do is dream
And stay sober enough to hear the door
When the Prince comes to it.