Awaiting Room Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

AWAITING ROOM

Waiting Room am I to all drawn through
my space, trace day or two, weeks, more, few know
when weakness, illness, accidental blow,
may strike? All careful welcome find, though to
my door few come by choice, ‘tis all too true.

Waiting Room sufficient, spartan taste,
furnished for patience overcoming haste,
I cater to expectations, needs. Time's flow
takes on a different meaning here while slow
trickle second thoughts that elsewhere tick off waste.

Waiting Room bright white - nor curtains blue,
nor scarlet velvet trappings status show,
no gilded chandeliers, no burnished glow,
divert attention. Textures rich in hue
overload the senses, to rest prove foe.

Waiting Room offers revues time has erased
ten thousand times perused where double-faced
hacks rant on gossip, challenges that grew
formidable, then faded far from view,
tarnished reputations soon replaced.

Waiting Room sees frustration, pain explode,
sadness, joy, as next-of-kin decode
last gasp Will some grasping fingers rue
Home truths hidden from men's conscious view,
await new tenant's temporary abode.

Waiting Room bears witness to red tape
documents of every size and shape,
'the law's delay', frustration, questions put,
answers withheld, hopes trampled underfoot,
rarely relief, hopes come to grief, sour grapes.

Waiting Room stays neutral through and through,
continues welcome. Patients come and go:
some cured and some immured, while, to and fro,
mind's eye's reminded of life's fragile cue.
Mundane challenges seek solutions new.

Waiting Room is antechamber to
Judgement Day in every way or sense -
closed door or open options - gap immense
between bland yea or nay on which to chew
new opportunities or freeze ambitions' cue.

Waiting Room: where standing in a queue
or, restless, sitting, sparing no expense
to find an answer, often overdue,
once rubber stamped end sitting on the fence,
between hope, fear, scope. cheer, dreams knocked askew.


25 July 2001 revised 30 September 2009 revised 16 April 2019


For previous versions see below Previous title 101 of ROOM 202

101 of ROOM 202

Room 202 am I to all drawn through
my space, trace day or two, weeks, more, few know
when weakness, illness, accidental blow,
may strike? All careful welcome find, though to
my door few come by choice, ‘tis true.

Room 202 sufficient, spartan simple taste
furnished for those who should never haste;
I shelter all who nursing need. Time's flow
takes on a different meaning here while slow
trickle second thoughts that elsewhere tick off waste.

Room 202 bright white - nor curtains blue,
nor scarlet velvet trappings status show,
no gilded chandeliers nor burnished glow
should twist attention. Textures rich in hue
overload the senses, to rest prove foe.

Room 202, home to bed pillow-cased
in cotton clean, where conscience double-faced
or clear must meet harsh challenges that grew
formidable, host cancer, palsy, flu,
unfêted crash fate caused, with limb replaced.

Room 202 bears witness, sometimes pain explodes,
some sadness, joy, as next-of-kin decodes
with gasp or grasping fingers motives true
too often hidden from men's conscious view,
await new tenants' temporary abodes.

Room 202 stays neutral through and through.
continues welcome, patients come and go,
some cured and some immured, while to and fro
mind's eye reminded of life's fragile cue
from age old illness seeks solutions new.

25 July 2001 revised 30 September 2009

previous title Room 303 for previous version see below


Room 303

Room 303 am I to all those who
here spend a day or two, or ten, - who knows
when illness, or when accidental blows,
may strike? All care and welcome find, though through
my door few pass by choice, ‘tis true.

Room 303 am I, with simple taste
furnished for those who should not be in haste -
I shelter all who nursing need, - Time's flows
take on a different meaning here while slows
the clock that elsewhere hurries swift to waste.

Room 303 am I, all white, - no blue
or scarlet trappings velvet, rich in hue
here overprint the senses to foreclose
the pain that sometimes threatens to implose
each mind reminded of life's fragile cue...

25 July 2001 Room 303