#godot
We spent at least 15 minutes in the parking lot,
Everyday.
Itching in the grass and making up arguments.
Waiting for my mom to pick me up from your house after school,
Spraying mist out the water hose at each other and into the sky.
Over invested in card games and extra-murals.
Got locked out of your club penguin account.
I lied to my mom about the pickup time,
So we could play pool a bit longer.
All that nothing might have been everything.
Wait for the bus with me sometime again.
Jul 29, 2024
Jul 29, 2024 at 3:21 PM UTC
Life passes by
Moment by moment
Each minute a grain of sand
In a ceaseless flow inside
This biological hourglass
Time has this peculiarity:
This irreversible absurdity
That to crave for more time
Becomes one's slow undoing
Sagging skin, unsightly wrinkles
Bones turn brittle, breaking
Muscles ****** out of their strength
Atrophied
Eyes failing, perpetual darkness
And the self succumbs to the lull
Of oblivion
The mind: no longer, extinguished
What's left is a husk of what once was
A human being.
Hope then becomes a beacon, a torch
In the middle of a starless night
A burning, warm sense of certainty
Hope, or that stubborn illusion
That happiness is one's lot in life
But time silently persists
Eroding foundations, narratives
Dismantling falsity
Uprooting grand, elaborate conceits
Blind and merciless
Uncaring towards puny human desires
Hope's demise.
Life: a futile struggle against time.
To what end?
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
drove friend to doctor
counting wheelchair ramp spindles
~waiting for Godot
© 2020 Mark Toney
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 4:58 PM UTC
Quest or journey?
One has an end in mind, which?
I wonder?
A step, a line to cross; who laid this line?
In my mind, I imagine I am several,
if not many,
opposing mental-
beings, persons, suggests a bird, there...
can you, no, you can't.
I am here, and you are there, and neither of us matters.
At the moment you next notice me, all I knew
of Beckett was sorted and stacked, so
hap hazardly that any thought may seep through the
softening cellular barriers,
holding,my idea of me as more than one thing, being
in contention for
contentment, with godliness {undefined}
how odd. No lie is of the truth; but known lies live
institutelary as gods,
mental constructs, ala church or synagogue or pedagogue
of your choice.
Sort.
---- breakaway narrative thread, said soto voce, golf shot caller voice,
Poli-yesterday, say we gone gno no mo no mo no mo hit
--- did you finish the line, must have
here am I, jack of all trades, you paid attention, at the mention of my
name,
the euphemism of vastest worth, or you know jack.
Gnosticsnotso impossibly true as a true player in the balance
of in for by, all manner of pre set positions,
adding weight where weight is wanting,
lifting lightly where denser matter
crushes hope of ever finding love {undefined}
the game of the gods-spirit-winds-whatevers
give and take that makes this world of mere words
flow
through and through, over and under, one way or another.
Here,
join me, it's 2020, I live on the westside of a granite wave,
a reflective wave,
I think, the crest is seven thousand feet, and past that, there
is Borego, and a trail heading east, across the land
in the rain shadow of the Pacific Crest.
This is the rest that remained, after the shamed man's journey
from the east.
West is west, keep going.
Peeping birds, and curious dogs in the distance, neither obtrusive,
but then the dog goes silent,
and the peeping voice could irritate if I were to allow... allow
by whose authority,
do i allow this peeping, ah, I see, it is the squirrel, squeek
no peep.
It will cease if I whistle like a hawk, but
today, that would be lying to the little rodent whose kits
are as cute as any cat on Facebook, but only
when the peep
stops... and the I'll go on, rythm, I'll go on
be yonder when the role is called, say I,
I am here,
waiting with the rest that remain from Eden,
back in the day.
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 3:46 PM UTC
We waited – waited – waited…
For that which
We knew
Not
Just killed the time till killing time…
With small and
Pointless
Talk
We seemed to ride upon a dream…
That faded with
Slow with
Time
And in the end, the curtains closed…
Without a
Reasoned
Rhyme
.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 11:21 AM UTC
the door creeks
"Ah, I've been waiting it for weeks."
"It's surely the Reaper, the final undertaker."
waiting for nothing
"Maybe, he has another job. The door creeked, but he sent one of his helldog to do the job."
the void avoids my thoughts
"Hellhound or a fluffy bunny, stop me feeling so moody."
"Somebody, take my thoughts and take me voice. Not to feel more sore."
waiting
creeking
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 2:55 AM UTC
Je suis orpailleur
Je vis d'or et d'eau bien fraîche
En attendant Godot.
Je plonge dans les entrailles de ma muse
Armé de piolet, pelle et battée.
Je sonde à belles dents le fil des eaux
Je me prélasse dans le lit de la rivière
Et jette dans la battée sable, eaux et graviers
A la recherche inlassable
Des paillettes couleur de colza et de tournesol
Sélectionnées et assaisonnées par ma Muse
Jusqu'à ce qu'elles se précipitent et fondent.
Je me nourris d'elles et elles de moi
Elles me mâchent et me mastiquent
Pour faire jaillir en moi des geysers d'huile philosophale
En attendant les lingots de Godot.
Et dans chaque mot que je dédie à ma muse
J'engloutis ses carats nature
Sans colorant artificiel
Sans huile de palme
Sans conservateur
Car je conserve en moi les pépites
À l'abri de la lumière jalouse de God-haut.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:54 AM UTC
I’ve been waiting for so long,
On the road that never ends
Migrating between seasons to my
Pastoral lands north and south
Searching for your unfamiliar face
In forest foothills, swarming buses
And basins next to the Ganges.
I can wait till the moon hits the sea
The time- till you come, till you come.
Flashing lights, chiming bells,
Inscent sticks and a peculiar charm-
You carried, they said.
But you’re flesh and blood for me
Truth and reality knotted between
My garland of jasmine flowers.
I can wait with full heart and glistening eyes
Till you come, till you come.
There is no haste, I’m anticipating an upcoming
There is no starry blanket or mount chariot
But there are fireflies and a summer sun
Playing peekaboo with my shadow
Behind the mangrove forest
Envisaging your ticket to this world.
A crew of lasses claims and expects you
But you’re beyond love they could conceive.
Let the world scream, cry and yell
I still can wait till you come, till you come.
You’re a friend, philosopher and guide
I adore, worship and awaits your arrival.
Merchant ladies who walked my hut
Asked me all day to keep a ghee lamp
I lit a thousand lamps and still you dint-
Walk my shed. This life is not long enough
To witness thy face, eternal and mysterious
I can wait till you come, till you come.
The journey is beautiful, endless and offhand,
Walking through lanes strangely acknowledged
But there’s a feeling familiar still so odd.
The walk is not to say good bye but it’s a quest,
A prayer to reach your mountain nest.
There is the world- cirrus and starry nights
I can escape for the time forever from tides-
That counts the time- to the unknown!
I can’t wait, till you come, till you come.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
you dislike the kisses I give you
you say no to the rubs on your back
pushing my hand away
pushing me away
pushing my love away
woe to you, I see you now
jumping to the beats of my new Bentley
gnashing your teeth to the screech of my thick rubber
waiting on my love like Godot
I see you man
I see you wanting to be the center
the center that you were
the center that you want to always be
the center that YOU WILL BE NO MORE
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
I do not know if what I say to the questions of our absurd existence
is a suggestion or an offer of supposition inherited from the dreams
of a previous life or the dreams of my ancestors
It is not enough to be loved by a silent creator because we must entertain ourselves while we wait for the one who cannot be described except within the limited knowledge we possess of our own being
The question of taking oneself seriously must be answered with regard
to the value we place upon ourselves; are we special because we say so
or because we are loved by a parent we have never met?
But could it be the love of a child that makes us special in that the innocence of children protects their worth as what they desire from us protects our worth as the desire for one another protects our collective worth?
I once found the pursuit of my desires to be the path to meaning; it was as if pleasure was God but it was a God of selfishness and the pursuit of my own glory and when the truth was revealed I became nothing
Is it the impossibility of sustaining the meaning of life for its own
sake that draws forth the belief in the supernatural while simultaneously abdicating a belief in our ability to be empathetic towards those who share our fate?
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC