From God to Godot

Sometime today.

Or tomorrow, I’m not sure.

He said he’d be here by then,

but when? We don’t know.

Philosophy escapes me.

It takes my mind away from

the task at hand. This grand

stand has me annoyed…

beside myself. And I’m a man

who prides himself

on being patient.

Okay, so I’m impatient

but he should be here!

Passers-by and posers,

Lucky asses and hosers …

I can’t remember yesterday.

Spare me your angelic messengers,

my guess is I will die by my own hand

if I stand here much longer.

My resolve is not as strong as

when I started waiting.

Sometime today.

Or yesterday? I’m not sure;

He said he’d be here!

I’ll wait until the end.

These shoes aren’t even mine!

© JPW – 2013

Poetic Asides - Prompt #236 - Appointment poem

Poets United - Poetry Pantry #167

Pretty Boy Front Man

Shifting moods and a flood of light,
bringing him into singularity; all focus
belongs to the handsome Lothario.
Musical mates fade bringing him upstage.
Head hung; chin to chest - at best he
meditates. A sigh and a raised eye brow
show his depth. A last breath and a note;
long and drawn, his song begins. At times
he is lost in the moment; others, he chuckles 
and grins, catching the glances of the 
enraptured nymph lost in his gaze.
Ballads were made for such seduction.
They are alone now in a sea of hushed gasps
and fawned stares. The words become clear
and he has this innate fear his voice will
go away, leaving him merely a face with no traces
of ability. He has this fight every evening.
But gilded looks are deceiving. Pretty boys can be
refaced; front men can be replaced.

© JPW 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem

ORDERED CHAOS DEFINED (O.C.D.)

My Music:

Give me a song with a beat,

make my feet move

to a groove I can dance to;

take a chance to find

romance too, if I’ve a mind to.

Melody matters; lyric flatters,

I can’t carry a tune for shit,

but if it’s a hit I can fake it

as long as you can take it.

Give me a song with a beat.

My Team,

is a nightmare, dressed as a dream,

conforming to sports passion

with the team’s current fashion.

Anything for a buck,

and it’s just my luck -

we’re still in contention

for dishonorable mention.

I swallow my pride,

don my paper bag and hide.

Give out a cheer, “There’s always next year!”

My Meter Is Running.

This muse of mine

works just fine. 

But I laugh and I scoff

because I can’t turn it off.

I can fill any form

and make my words swarm

but, a terse verse

keeps repeating on me.

It can only get worse,

when hooked on poetry.

 © JPW 2013

Poets United -Verse First ~ Original Obsessions
(Three of your obsessions as three stanzas of your poem)