deepundergroundpoetry.com
street
it’s the dirty part of the city, that continued to rot
when progress & opportunity fled north. it’s the street,
where the Dream died long before it ever suckled its
old mother’s tits.
it’s the ex-monk, who got kicked out of the monastery for
whackin off in front of the boys’ choir, who preaches his
sermons in every season, reminds us that Jesus is coming,
& maybe he will, but if he does he’ll be packin heat.
it’s the sticky summer nights, where you learned to make
out in the narrow gangways between tenement buildings,
where I earned my degree in hard drinkin, Polish Lepke’s
College of Remorse, & I could identify the specialty of every
whore on skid row by the tattoo on her ass, & the needle
jockey who put it there.
you ran with girls who smoked & swore & were almost pretty,
girls like Lill & downtown Cathy & timid little Jane Marie, who
never had a chance to drop outa high school cause some fucker
raped her & beat her to death with his fists in a rat infested alley.
& if I ever loved a woman, I would change my name & burn my
notebooks, I would tell her every lie that I saved up until now, &
she’d believe them, because she would detect bell notes in the
words, & find a clarity in my eyes that handed out faith like
little wafers served up at Sunday mass, faith that never came
from a bible.
she would be a capable woman, who knew what it meant to walk
with a man, & to lay with him, & I would feast at the bounty of her
serenity, I would get drunk on the juice of her spirit,
& I would understand, at last, the heart of a woman,
because she didn’t come from the street.
Published 5th Mar 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 17
reading list entries 4
comments 17
reads 1739
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
6th Mar 2015 00:36am
<< post removed >>
6th Mar 2015 1:21am
Having a past in the street hardens the heart, can cauterize the soul. A woman spared that is a gift, a treasure to be cherished, perhaps sheltered by a strong man. One who knows what being on the street really means.
6th Mar 2015 1:27am
Love it, John. Lines like , "Dream died long before it ever suckled its old mother’s tits'"
just makes me want to walk up and down the avenue with you riffing on all we see.
just makes me want to walk up and down the avenue with you riffing on all we see.
I fucking love this poem. This is my all time favorite read from you by fucking far and that's saying something.
"you ran with girls who smoked & swore & were almost pretty" Totally know these girls...
"& if I ever loved a woman, I would change my name & burn my
notebooks, I would tell her every lie that I saved up until now, &
she’d believe them, because she would detect bell notes in the
words, & find a clarity in my eyes that handed out faith like
little wafers served up at Sunday mass, faith that never came
from a bible." The depth of what you're saying her is so awesome...
Fucking brilliant writing, John. Bravo....
"you ran with girls who smoked & swore & were almost pretty" Totally know these girls...
"& if I ever loved a woman, I would change my name & burn my
notebooks, I would tell her every lie that I saved up until now, &
she’d believe them, because she would detect bell notes in the
words, & find a clarity in my eyes that handed out faith like
little wafers served up at Sunday mass, faith that never came
from a bible." The depth of what you're saying her is so awesome...
Fucking brilliant writing, John. Bravo....
6th Mar 2015 2:53am
The heart hardens with times, and with each scar we carry a museum of memories. Of all the people who come and go, the one's we carry the pain from in the end, are the ones we loved the most.
TBH, it begged for couple of readings, you have some fine lines in there John.
TBH, it begged for couple of readings, you have some fine lines in there John.
6th Mar 2015 3:43am
& if I ever loved a woman, I would change my name & burn my
notebooks, I would tell her every lie that I saved up until now, &
she’d believe them, because she would detect bell notes in the
words, & find a clarity in my eyes that handed out faith like
little wafers served up at Sunday mass, faith that never came
from a bible.
Love this stanza - it stands out in this stellar piece for me ... As always you present grit in an unapologetic manner that captivates
notebooks, I would tell her every lie that I saved up until now, &
she’d believe them, because she would detect bell notes in the
words, & find a clarity in my eyes that handed out faith like
little wafers served up at Sunday mass, faith that never came
from a bible.
Love this stanza - it stands out in this stellar piece for me ... As always you present grit in an unapologetic manner that captivates
Anonymous
6th Mar 2015 6:52am
Luvlee
6th Mar 2015 1:59pm
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 3:45am
7th Mar 2015 1:35am
<< post removed >>
7th Mar 2015 2:00am
I always think there's redemption JF - but your lines are beautiful and lyrical and the truth of a man who loves the streets
great
great
7th Mar 2015 5:07am
With every thought and emotion I had while I read your words, as always, I am left with muddled thoughts, speechless. Poignantly beautiful. Amazing, again, as always, Mr. Feddeler. I missed your words. :)
-tpd
-tpd
7th Mar 2015 9:06am
agh the story telling mode continues to keep me entranced and present as always ..captivated by your work..a sincere curtsy bow to you......
8th Mar 2015 5:17pm
The tragic sadness of the shy girl raped and murdered in a filthy alley gives a hopelessness tone at first then you lift the poem by expressing the hope of finding love with someone from outside this dire environment.
A great piece of story telling. oved it.
A great piece of story telling. oved it.
9th Mar 2015 7:16am
i am ever enchanted by your collection of broken women, Mister Feddeler... noir really is the new black & you wear it well
9th Mar 2015 6:33pm
Spiritual atonement in the finest linguistic essence of human cognition. I much enjoyed this ink! There seems to be no end to your creativity in poetics, John. Nice!
12th Mar 2015 6:48pm
14th Mar 2015 5:53am
Compelling write. Reminds me of James Joyce-like so much of your writing does. I hope you find this lady...
