The Waiting Room & Three other new poems by Ian Lewis Copestick

The Waiting Room

Off-white walls, full of leaflets and pamphlets
The bolted down, hard wooden chairs
To get through the glass door, we need a code and an escort
A nurse to take us from here to there

On both sides of the glass, professionals are working
On this side you sense a struggle, where to score, who to rob
In the other side they’re more confident, joking and flirting
Resigned to making the best of their job

Although none are present, drugs can be felt in the air
Like how after an all night binge you can smell drink in a room
Our clothes old and scruffy, in the eyes a vacant stare
As we wait for our prescriptions in the winter gloom

Every few minutes a name is called, someone rises
They return with a slip of blue paper that’s worth a fortune
It means another week of no pain, no surprises
This place we may hate it, but we’ll be back soon


Is it fear, or is it surprise ?
When you find yourself staring into mortality’s eyes
All invincibility has gone
Repercussions to every action
Sheer terror! No ! Not me ! Not yet !
None of my ambitions met
I’ve never had wealth, rubies or pearls
Never made my mark upon the world
I really don’t care about power or money
Just let me get out what’s inside of me
It’s not that I am scared of death
Just ashamed of what I haven’t done yet
When you peer over the edge of the cliff
And find yourself staring into the abyss
Do you see your fears dispelled
Or do you find yourself repelled
By your ruined hopes, dreams even your name
A walking holocaust of shame
I could have been, I should have done
If you do, don’t worry, I too am one

In Waiting

Depression sneaks in to catch me unawares
Like a cold Winter’s breeze
Through the gaps in the windows
And under the doors
I sit here powerless
As the sadness takes hold
I wish I knew what to do
How to fight against this feeling

In theory I do
In theory
I’ve done 2 years of
Voluntary work
For a . Mental Health charity
But, no, I sit here
Clueless and depressed
A suicide in waiting

I Have Been Waiting

I have to say that I don’t
Understand why more
People don’t write poetry
They spend their hard earned
Money on enemas, or
Colonic irrigation, if you
Want to get rid of be all of
Your shit. Just get a
Computer, or typewriter, or
A pen and paper and write
Write and keep on
Writing. At first you
Will probably just write
But if you are honest and
Put down whatever it is
That you are truly feeling
Then you will already be better
Much better than most of the
Pretentious forced garbage
That has passed for
Poetry for hundreds
Of years. Honesty
That’s all we need
It’s all that we have
Ever needed.
So come on, jump in !
The water’s fine
I have been
Waiting for you

Ian Lewis Copestick is a writer from Stoke on Trent, England. He is 45 years old and unemployed, this means that life can be tough but at least gives him time to write.

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