My Poem ‘Waiting…’

Waiting… waiting…
I’m waiting for something…
I’m waiting for something,
and for this thing
I have been waiting all morning…
I used to think that I was good at waiting –
for my birthday, for Christmas, for the weekend…
when I was a kid I knew that within no time at all
my favourite days of the week and the year
would come around again
and within the blink of an eye
they always did…
but, I am all grown up now –
and as I wait now
for what I am waiting for to arrive and be delivered,
I now know the true meaning of the song lyric:
“the waiting is the hardest part”…
did I mention that I am waiting for something?

I have been keeping myself and my attention occupied
while I wait, I have been doing things
that I have not done for years –
but since I cannot leave the house,
and there is no one else
who can sign for my delivery for me,
I knew that I would have to keep
my eyes from constantly
looking at the time while I am waiting…
so I cleaned – I cleaned my bedroom window,
I cleaned the dirty-dishes from the night before –
I listened to music, I sat looking out the window…
thinking… wondering… waiting…
and now here I am, writing, still waiting,
and anticipating…
my morning and my day started early,
as it always does –
but now it is 2 o’clock in the afternoon,
and I am still waiting.

Waiting for what?
What is this something that is so special
that I would stay at home all day and wait for it?
Well, it is something special indeed that is coming –
something that you could say I am connected to,
and the reason that this something even exists…
what I am waiting for is something
that I have spent a long time invested in,
and as I wait for what I hope will soon arrive
I am even starting to have flash-backs
to my first encounter with the idea
of what is beimg delivered,
and I think about the journey that I and it
have already taken with each-other –
all those mornings… all those nights…
all those words… all those internal fights.

When you are doing things,
time literally flies away from you…
when you are watching something,
talking about something,
and when you take your mind off of something,
then the waiting for something
can be a little more bearable,
and less mind-numbing –
but waiting can sometimes be a good thing…
waiting can be exciting…
waiting can also be boring,
especially if you have been
counting how much time
you have actually been waiting…
time is a wasting –
but maybe it’s not?
At least I got to do something
to fill my time while I was waiting:
I wrote this poem that you are now reading –
so at least something worthwhile
came about and was born out of
all the time that I have been waiting…

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My Poem ‘Unforgettable Sixth Avenue’

They don’t understand;
how could they?
Everything that happened,
everything that I wrote,
happened to me,
and I wrote it in my words
and from my perspective;
how could anyone else understand
what it was like to go through what I went through,
if they were not there at the time,
if they did not feel how I felt in the moment;
people tell that they like what I write,
but I wonder what they actually think,
what they imagine when they read something of mine,
and I wonder if anyone will ever be able
to truly be of the same mind as me.

I remember walking the streets of New York City,
like it was yesterday –
in my mind, and in my heart, I am still there,
and I want to be there:
I can still hear the sounds,
I can still taste the air,
I can still see the lights of Broadway at night,
I can still remember the moment I was found,
I can still go back there anytime of the day
in my imagination and daydream
even the smallest of details
that I still remember and love to this day,
as I will everyday.

I treasure my memories,
and I replay the best and the brightest of my life
as often as I can;
I miss people, places, times,
that will always be special to me,
more than anyone could imagine;
I relive my youth,
because those years I never want to lose;
I listen to the songs that I remember hearing
on the radio as a child, and I understand them
and what they were trying to say to me then,
now more than I ever knew.

My heart has been open wide since the day I was born;
every day of my life,
something unforgettable has happened to me,
and I remember so much
I wonder if there is anyone else
who loves being alive
and remembering their experiences as much as I do;
even now, I can easily flashback
to the most perfect day of my life,
to the night when I wrote my first poem,
or to the moment when I remember
standing on the street corner
on the “Avenue of the Americas”,
on a beautiful September afternoon,
in Manhattan, in New York City,
and being in awe of the entire world
and the gifts of life
that I can still see happening right this second,
on Sixth Avenue.

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My Poem ‘Board Life’

Backpack on their back,
baseball cap on back-to-front,
wearing a black hooded-sweatshirt,
skating, standing, talking with one-another-
young, like-minded, boys and girls;
young, similarly-dressed, men and women-
weaving quickly and easily
through the city streets and paths,
getting from place to place,
enjoying themselves, laughing, joking,
smiling, having fun,
jumping, chasing, doing tricks,
doing whatever they want,
and going where they want to go,
by board and by foot,
nothing seems to slow them down-
they are all doing something that they genuinely love.

Seeing so many people with the same interest,
wearing nearly the same colour and design and style of clothing,
I have a momentary flashback to when I was a kid:
when I too had my own skateboard.
I didn’t take skateboarding as seriously as some of my friends did,
but I do remember loving the experience of learning to keep my balance,
changing direction, and when going fast
learning the art of knowing how not to fall.
I didn’t go far on my skateboard,
I probably only went up and down my road,
or maybe around the black;
I didn’t ride around with other skateboarders,
or do too many tricks, or flicks,
and I never felt the sensation of being weightless for a few seconds
after skating down a ramp and going ‘over the top’.

To be a skateboarder, you can be anybody, you can be from anywhere,
and you can speak with any accent,
and still share a common tongue,
with your fellow ‘boarders that doesn’t need to be explained;
to be a skateboarder,
there isn’t a particular code that you have to live by;
to be a skateboarder, you can be yourself,
as well as being a member of a club
in which everyone is one and the same;
to be a skateboarder, means never to have a day
when you think that you have a bored life,
because you are free to go anywhere –
because you live a ‘board life’.