Thursday, April 29, 2010

Squander Time

Hospital waiting room. Blocks of time and nowhere to go. Killing time. Should be writing, but can't
concentrate. Everyone stacked and racked in chairs is a story, has a story, and is awaiting a happy ending. I took notes on expectant faces - ultimately grinning from relief, or crumpled in grief.
Family members leafed
through magazines, or read book pages
I kept my journal open and remembering fields of colors - gorgeous flowers from the aboretum -attempted to turn a phrase or create a happier place.
Surely a poem would erupt from my brain onto the page inspired by the plant name Poet's Laurel.

Alas, I sqandered time. It was there ... the clock ticking on the wall, the butt in the chair, the paper, and the pen.

But, at least, I got to smile at good news and now the fingers fly across the keyboard -free from worry, and eager to capture a few memorable characters.


  1. Hey Joanne- Thanks for catching my spelling error. I made fun of the robotic ending of your note: "Please correct." But beyond the joking, I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate the heads up.

    Best to ya!

  2. I"m glad Ray's okay and on the road to recovery. I doubt the time was squandered. Like good tea, some poems have to steep a while.