"godot" poems
I’ve seen colors melt, colors mold over, colors who stick to the sides of
Other colors
I’ve seen colors which soak to the quick of wood and skin, ones that spill over
Or dry like deserts
I’ve seen colors that congeal like the living, I’ve seen the same ones mixed to death
I’ve seen colors pool, colors rust and colors boil
I’ve seen colors that don’t read maps
Colors that overrun, overturn, overlove their neighbors
And ones that play well in sand
I’ve seen colors that drink cocktails, drink water, drink blood
Together
Colors that get bored, colors that get sexed
I’ve seen colors ripped from the earth
Seen them ghost to other places
I’ve seen colors give up, every time, waiting for air, for shelter,
For Godot
I’ve seen colors grow cold like science
Grow loud like a flag unfurling
Grow up, move out, move on
I’ve seen colors stuck in between things
These same colors fill empty spaces
Fill vision, fill cups of coffee
I’ve seen colors tell white lies
They aren’t white
They are happy
And they aren’t here for us
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:34 PM UTC
months since last eye writ, your eyes most likely have never crossed mine. still inhabit the buststops, now called bus shelters though they are not a "shelter in place" place, but a crossroads where the poor and rich, the youthful and the nearer-to-god-than-thee sit bearer nearer to each other when they reside in the equality of the moments that are globally know as
"waiting for the bus"
or as
"waiting for Godot".
eyes have seen buses in Rio and Delhi that carried livestock and more humans on the exterior than the interior.
but mine eyes are in a slow fade away mode, dimming in a final
sun setting so u are needed.
give me your bus stories yearning to he free and I will give you
my imagined ones
for are not all bustop poems are imaginary?
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
A spiral galaxy of cream in my coffee dream
The dark caffeine universe my sunrise today
A bridge between waking and sleeping again
And the morning paper’s sadistic nightmare fun.
A milky way of latte mixes with banking binge
The espresso speed of the incredulous ******
Front-page stupefied, newly poor church-mice
Await another failed pension rescue bid today.
A drip, drip, drip of freshly brewed Colombian
Aroma comfort a promise for work-less workers
Catastrophe curious seriously seeking employ
Vladimirs and Estragons still waiting for Godot.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
Teaching high school kids the craft
Directing them in their school show
Teenagers singing just off key
With a band that's one beat slow
Holding rehearsals when the gym is free
Have you really sunk this low
Are you truly at your bottom
Or are you "Waiting for Godot"?
"YOU'RE ON IN FIFTEEN MINUTES...MR. WILSON"
Doing plays in local theater groups
With untrained amateurs on stage
You tell them all your stories
And you keep them on their page
It's not exactly where you started
Talent that you just can't gauge
Selling programs in the lobby
It's time you act your age
"TEN MINUTES TILL SHOWTIME MR. WILSON"
Touring shows around the country now
Second touring group, smaller towns
Doing revival shows of Sondheim
"Sweeney Todd " and "Send in the clowns"
Living out of an old suitcase
The countryside a sea of browns
Where you are at the local's mercy
And there's less ups than there are downs
"FIVE MINUTES TO SHOW TIME MR. WILSON"
You've made it, you're on Broadway
Starring roles are yours to choose
Where the highlights of last nights show
Are in today's reviews
Where a sold out run continues
And your name is in the news
You're an actor, and you're famous
The world is yours to lose
"SHOW TIME MR.. WILSON...ON STAGE PLEASE"
The kids are out there schlepping
working their way through the *****
singing songs sung by the Beatles
"All This and World War II"
You're just a pillar standing, sweating
As you see what you can do
You're still an actor, and you know it
You'll need a drink when this is through.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
It was a fortunate evening
I chose to stroll out. Somewhat cold
and cloying soft for recent rain.
The grass arched speculative at me
the better to see Godot on his way to an appointment.
Just so, the stage light
mixed its ponderous firmaments
to a more even pigment.
I gazed upward at the longing, doleful
eye and felt the monochrome sigh of
that girl who sits upon the air.
She directs her lambent limelight
half-heartedly for she only reads the script by candlelight.
You can see her strolling over gondoliers
or pausing on the running man in a
nineteen-forties travel film with all
the ubiquitous pains of
a villain in a childhood mystery.
A bleating bulb that never burns the eye.
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
I wait for Godot
He won’t show
This I know
The scene is between
A meme and me
What does that mean?
Do it now or don’t
Doesn’t matter if you won’t
It’s not known in the unknownt
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 10:26 PM UTC
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
Sleep
Hush little baby
Hush little baby
Mama bout to tell you whats going on lately, yo
Waking up at noon,
sleeping fully clothed
lectures in the afternoon,
i think I should fully go
Teachers always barking
Barking like a dog in this,
place,
we call home (home?)
Hanging on the phone
Hanging on the monkey bars
Teachers told me don't
monkey around
Gotta grow up get paid and be
sound
But its just me against the world now
(me against the world now)
LIKE PAC
it's just me against the world now
LIKE PAC
it's just me against the world now
Waking up at noon
Alarm always belling late
Unless I set it
wrong
can't remember last night's mind state
Darkness in the morning
Up a mourning yawning
another day another
dolla to pay,
another bent,
copper to pay
to the **** poor,
mama tell me what my life might,
got in store!
Girl a like, Hey Hey!
Girl a like, Hey Hey!
Beats in the bedroom,
mac by the stereo and
Pats on the stereo
Pats on the decks
Hey Hey Harriet I tell her that she next
And i tell her that she next
Me against the world
Me against the world
Me against the world
LIKE PAC
LIKE PAC
L-L-L-LIKE PAC
I wish i was a bear
I wish i didn't care,
I wish one day I might grow up,
and be fair
dada told me
son
SON!
SON!
LIKE PAC,
HAIIIL MAARY!
Haaaaaailm Marrt
Harriet
Mum, I'm sparking up!
up! up! Stop Smoking ****
Stop Smoking ****
Met Her once
Might have met her twice
TV show told me its love at first,
sight
sight
Face told me that she looked quite...
nice
She looked quite nice
Harriet, Scott!!!!
Scott!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ahhhh!
I'm Scared Now!
Well we can ask,
Meek Mill and Game
Who The **** Scared NOW!
?
Scott!
And again, Scott!
I'm Lying!
!!
Harriet save me now,
Jesus, Rachel,
forget it, Leanne!
Gone,
Waiting For Godot,
Waiting For, Jamie and Jay at the Gates of Dawn
Waiting
Grow Old
Grow Old
Stop smoking ****
Waking up at noon
Smoking lots of ****
bunning bunning bunning
Who is Kym, Who is Rachel?
who cares
I 1 life
I can be as self indulgent as i like
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
~Still life
In the window frame
Empty stare
Through the self-imposed
Prison of glass -
On the windowsill
Candle never lit -
Souvenirs of the past
Painting -
An empty shell
Of a woman, staring
Chiaroscuro background -
Darkness, shade, hardly any light
To illuminate
The inside
Of the jail
Contemplating
Escape?
Suicide?
Waiting
For what
For the end?
Waiting for whom?
Waiting for God-ot!
He, who shall never come -
In vain
Still waiting
Years too late
For the bells to toll
In the window frame
Oil on canvas -
It is me
Through the window pane
Staring through the glass
Resigned
Lifeless
Still life
On canvas
Author Notes:
Waiting for Godot - Samuel Beckett's - absurd tragicomedy; Godot never shows up.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 2:14 PM UTC
At 20, it's adios to childhood.
By 30, you have played your youthful folly card.
At 40, you have ground it out to mid-field.
At 50, the bigger helping was dished out yesterday.
At 60, you enter the final stretch.
At 70, you finally get to play your wisdom chips.
At 80, most are surprised to see you.
After 90, Godot is waiting for you.
November, 2015
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
I’m right at the end of an endless road,
My story is written never to be told,
I sit in the middle of a dry rivers flow,
The earth above the sky below,
A maelstrom inside a tranquil lake,
Step on the gas only to brake.
From two dry eyes, flow a single tear,
I’m everywhere, no-where , somewhere, near.
Soaking in sweat, chilled to the bone
Messages seeping through the phone.
In a box with three sides, silence in sound,
People are everywhere, no-one around.
I saw again the man, who wasn’t there,
Next time I don’t see him, I will not stare.
I am full, yet empty, a hole inside,
As vast as the universe, I ride its tide.
I bleed from memories, hide in the light,
Let me step into the dark, to make things bright.
Waiting for Godot, the message futile,
My mouth tastes sweet as it pours forth bile
I am awake in the infinite dream,
I could scream, do you know what I mean?
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
I wait
For a sign
For stars to align
For magic in time
For the skies to glow
For a miracle on the go
But no
It’s endless - the wait
It’s a no show
It’s like waiting for Godot
Dec 9, 2023
Dec 9, 2023 at 11:19 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 am waiting like a girl waits on the bench of the garden for her beau.
I am waiting like those two cobber wait for the Godot. (Samuel Beckett)
I am waiting like the Merchant's wife does wait for the return of her soulmate. (Ezra Pound)
I am waiting like Taran looks for Amar. (Tum Bin 2)
I am waiting like the peacock does wait for the rainfall.
I am waiting like every successful man gets a pat on his back.
I am waiting for the day to hear not the golden words but my ears are waiting just to hear whether am I as important as you are in my life...
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 5:51 AM 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
He smiled as he looked up the hill at me.
I was asked if I knew the friend in the sky.
I said nothing. I was frozen in unknowing.
I was frozen in unknowing.
I was nihilism in this moment.
He smiled as he looked up to the sky.
The friend was asked if he knew me.
The sky said nothing.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.
I was warm with the notion.
I was warm with the knowing.
The friend was there.
The man he smiled at me, and I knew in his certainty the truth was as such.
His friend was there.
/My/ friend was there.
I waiting forever for Godot.
Only to realize the sky was in my heart.
The friend was I.
I was the sky.
The Friend, I and He and All, was inside and above.
It was within.
It was without.
Allah made my spirit porous.
Hashem made my spirit white light.
Jesus made my spirit gracious.
Buddha made my spirit still.
Shiva made my spirit real.
I made my spirit sing.
I smiled as I looked up the hill at him.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
and I feel
like the homeless lover
without any Godot to wait
without any heart to care
and I feel
time goes on and on
and I have moved out
but I'm back where I don't belong
and I feel
that it goes on forever
looking for some eyes
to see myself into
and I feel
I could die any second
and nobody would remember
a little bit of my name
and I feel
this has gone too far
my hope has vanished
and for now
I just wait
and wait
and wait
and wait
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Suitably respectful, and
never asking for trouble
or the time of day
I wait at home-station
like a cattle dog
My master, absent in the midst of a promise
My bones wait for flesh
My theatre
for Godot
As factories burn
As droughts become floods
As Apollo is a god sending chariots to the moon
I’m ten years beyond birth already counting ways
to escape the infirmary
The hallway mirror
holds an apparition of silence
And over my shoulder
Is reflected a leafless tree
of seeming indifference
There may be leaves one day
but who can say
I wait
like Didi
for what I mean
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
Once upon a time
When the time wasn't a line
I met a who/man named Godot
In a bar, all alone, calm but fine
It was raining outside
And we both were drunk
S/he had a star in h/is/er left eye
And in the other one the sun
S/he had a face from golden sand
Not only one but thousands ones
S/he was drinking from an iron cup
In front of bar's haunted mirror
His gun was shining on the table
S/he was drinking
And it was raining outside
I asked h/er/im to light my cigarette
Complately indifferent
And with strange reflex I asked:
"Whom s/he will **** tonight?"
We met right there that night
It was raining outside
And we were both drunk
With an unnecessary smile "you"
S/he said, unnecessary though
I sat down beside
It was raining outside
We started to drink till late night
It was raining outside
Then without any hesitation
l killed h/er/im at end of that night.
Without knowing
If in the universe
If is there anyone
Who wait for h/im/er to come.
Selman Akıl
25.07.2017
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:02 PM UTC
Every time you kiss me, you leave me
And keep me waiting, waiting
Months, years until the next sweet brush of lips.
The hands halt and the sweet ticking of my watch goes silent.
Nothing to be done.
I won't wait for you anymore.
If you ever show up, you'll arrive to a lonely company.
Every time you kissed me, you left me.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
god is dead
he died of a bad review in The New York Times
that accused him of being
a fascist
and a *****
he is being replaced by a new
non-sectarian trinity
of
Me Myself and I
all of whom are
free
to **** god
and say
god is dead
god dead is
dead is god
is god dead
I think I have heard somebody suggest
(and therefore I have)
that the Department of Health is soon to issue
new and improved
antiexistentialistdespairpills
free of charge
to every adult
man and woman
sitting in front
of his/her
TV/Smart Phone/Game Console/Computer
waiting for
godot
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 11:10 PM UTC
i might be cruel at times, but one thing is for sure: truth always is, esp. when drinking.
i find the concept of the "rhetorical" question slightly
bewildering,
it's simple enough -
whenever a "rhetorical" question is asked
you rarely hear a counter -
the person asking the "rhetorical" question
in all instances continues the "conversation" -
by a rhetorical question i'm sure the implication
states (as asked): that i invite you into
the discussion - and, from what i've heard or seen,
that's rarely the case!
why ask a rhetorical question when only
the rhetorician asking the question is the only
person answering it?
the smug punctuation mark and cliche that
a "rhetorical" question has become is just that,
a semicolon in a monologue...
how about asking a solipsistic question?
you know, pierce the membrane, get someone
out of their head, out of the pronoun
hemisphere - and into: hey, john, what's your
take on it?
to ask a persuading question to later add
that it is a "persuading" question, does not
really invoke a persuasive counter answer -
this entire "rhetorical" question is a pompous
double-under-cut against dialectical fluidity -
fuck's sake, people had to found debating societies
to speak in godot's terms,
and as ever, a man in his 30s and a man in
his 70s, and a park bench,
is all it takes to be civil...
obviously the 30s man asking permission
of the 70s man if he can continue drinking
his beer and smoking a cigarette.
rhetorical my ***
just say it plainly: it's not a question,
it's a self-empowering answer -
to continue the monologue -
there is no such thing as a "rhetorical" question,
simply because once the "question" is asked,
it's swept under the carpet -
because whenever a rhetorical "question"
is asked, it's embedded in a quick-answer dynamic
of the person making such a bogus request...
no one has ever answered a "rhetorical" question,
simply because the only person who can
answer such a question, is the rhetorician himself...
codswallop... that's what it is...
it's also called the barometer tactic of
checking if you're insane, when you talk to yourself
when you're alone...
hazelnuts 'n' all...
by the way... you want to stage a horror movie
scene? have a drink, no, have lots of drinks,
drink the whole **** bottle of wine...
but! but...
have a mirror in front of you -
nothing shows as much truth as a drunk
narcissus -
then again, if it was a puddle of *****
do you think he would have fallen in love
with his visage?
like any mug of a man after five pints and
six shots later: she was a 4 when i began,
but now? she's a tenner, an alsatian stunner!
oh right, they always say: it's not a rhetorical
question... so?
it's not really a question at all,
is it?
it's a self-serving answer...
and that always seemed to bother me,
why ask a question you already know
the answer to? oh, right: to gain rhetorical
momentum, and double-up on hushing
the oppositional argument.
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 11:26 AM 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
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
(_____________)
O \/ O
::
~<>~
I look around the school yard
I am amazed
That so many of you
Are still here
•
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC