It is Haibun Monday at d’Verse Poet’s Pub. Imelda is the publican that waits on us this evening and her prompt is…. waiting.


In another place it might be impassive but here its round face is cruel, returning its captives’ furtive glances with a cold unblinking stare. The constant television, flickering noise and light, cannot compete with the steady heartbeat of this clock on the wall. It is this  metronomic ticking that gives it authority even over their phones, clutched tight like talismans in each worried pair of fidgeting hands while its steady hands mark time. They wait, uncertain, alone in a waiting room full of people. They each await their prognosis, wishing to turn the clock ahead, wishing to turn it back.

Autumned grass tufts sweep

Circular tracks in the snow

Roots remember spring

21 thoughts on “Waiting

  1. Oh, that’s good. I can hear the wind blowing through your haiku, and the tension in your prose. That push and pull of wanting time to speed up and slow down, both at once. How funny that our haikus both centre on winter grass as well. The poetry lines were crackling tonight!

    Liked by 1 person

    • It is kinda surreal- every time. And then there’s the levels of waiting rooms; the one where everyone is sitting around in their johnnies is actually more relaxed. Must be the casual attire, or that everyone there is in the know and in a similar situation.


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