poetry from another dimension

the waiting room


these blank pages


and deep urban night

businesses closed

people gone

a moment to rest

in the space

behind the i’s








and personal history

a moment asking

where to go

what to do

how to get there

from here

the first blank page-

years of tears

the second-

months of panic

the last-

analytical restructuring

this time

just sitting

watching people come and go


who will remain

to be a character in the new novel

waiting for someone

as, ah, as


A white room

a silent night, or maybe day

waiting still

for the arrival

looking at the watch

it’s been ten years

or maybe more

an appointment

with an expert

is he coming?

yes, he’s coming

look for the man

with the green hat

back to my waiting

this story, so familiar

it’s funny

in the meantime

learn to cook

eat the food

do the dishes

mop the floor

put on boots

and it’s time to eat again

how many years has it been?

he isn’t coming

and the expert arrives

oh yes, he is coming

look for the man with the green hat.

something green

maybe the sierra club

or something like that

that’s what she said, really

mop the floor and

look at the watch

and then the calendar

execute a few sun salutations

which always end where they began

nothing has changed

‘cept maybe

the body is a little softer and warmer and calmer

which isn’t a bad thing

but eating is getting old

the dishes are never done

and the floor never stays clean

for long

the ending

is always the beginning

the sun always rises

in the same place


it’s always changing

but the change stays the same

the expert arrives

this time without  invitation

too late

I’ve realized the futility of waiting

for the guy in the green hat.

he’s not coming

she says this time

but someone is coming

a man in a red hat.

You will like him, very much

I look at my watch, the mop, the floor

the dishes

and for the first time I look into the eyes of

woman and I say “thank you”

in the yoga of sound it is said

that the sa is the note that the song resolves back to

it is the source

it is in you

Patanjali found the whole

universe resolves

back to the source

in you,

beyond the time bound fluctuations

of the mind

or maybe not only in you….

in me, too

and therein lies the solution

to the resolution


I love these blank pages

silence and deep urban nights

glittering stars behind the mask

of light pollution

all businesses closed

for the night

the people have gone

home to the country

in the city,

a moment to rest

in the space

in the mind that is beyond

the stories of my teachers

my friends

my parents

a moment to ask myself where I am going

and what i want

and what method I will choose to get there.

some say there is no duality?

ah, but there must be

that silence from which the action emerges

without a white room

there is no resolution

the must be a canvas

and there must be paint

and without action

the silence means nothing

it’s just a waiting

this time the expert arrives

or maybe it’s someone else, I don’t know

with a pen and pencil and paintbrush and canvas and

hands them to me


and stands aside, smiling

well, he says

the last story was about waiting

and this one?

I say, “creating”

© 2010 exitsbyalice


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