deepundergroundpoetry.com
stranger to love
deep in the melancholy.
you just get so familiar with it that’s it’s comforting.
the only comfort there is.
last call has come & gone. Tommy the bartender says
go home. says we can’t stay here. some of us would
sleep folded up on the bar. drink whiskey for breakfast.
drink whiskey till it kills us.
the cocktail girl pats my shoulder, says be careful out
there, Lonesome John. she calls me that because of the
somber mask I wear: the antithesis of Sardonicus. I
wonder if she goes to a lonely place, but she doesn’t
talk about it.
the lachrymose fog reflects my pluvian demeanor. on a
park bench, under the moon’s tears, I gather with the
ghosts of the star-crossed, a desolate choir singing the
blues in the night. we need a drink, a hit, a fix, anything
to murder the elegy of solitude.
had a woman once. she did things I’ve only seen in porn
films. said I’d have to tie her up to keep her. I told her if
she belonged here she’d come back. she never did.
been so long since I laid down in a warm bed & held
someone who was holding me, my heart is a foreign place.
I’m the sad song unsung, the bullet unfired. I’m the
revenant of a beautiful dream.
a stranger I am – a stranger to love…
Published 6th Nov 2015
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6th Nov 2015 10:53pm
Touching, sad and absolutely captivatingly written. I so love your pieces, John.
6th Nov 2015 11:01pm
Touching, sad and absolutely captivatingly written. Perhaps a stranger to love but no stranger to words. I so love your pieces, John.
Not able to edit my first comment, DU asks me if I want to delete it. No, I don't want to delete, I just want to edit it! Something's wrong here. Except your poem :-)! That's crafted perfectly.
Not able to edit my first comment, DU asks me if I want to delete it. No, I don't want to delete, I just want to edit it! Something's wrong here. Except your poem :-)! That's crafted perfectly.
Anonymous
6th Nov 2015 11:17pm
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 2:45am
6th Nov 2015 11:39pm
<< post removed >>
7th Nov 2015 1:07am
We are not sure who discovered water, but we're pretty sure it wasn't the fish.
Excellent melancholy.
Excellent melancholy.
7th Nov 2015 4:27am
I agree with a couple of poets who commented before me, you've weaved some fine magic into those last couple of stanzas.
If you should ever publish a book of your poetry, john, I'd burn every page, draw a line in the ashes and snort every word.
If you should ever publish a book of your poetry, john, I'd burn every page, draw a line in the ashes and snort every word.
Anonymous
7th Nov 2015 5:16am
'the "cocktail girl" doesn't talk about her lonely place
because it isn't her place; she is there in company
to accompany misery right down to last bourbon
drop. & she steps into & under the same
lachrymose fog reflecting her own pluvian demeanor
with only one thought in mind: hoping that she can share
the same park bench, & perhaps lead those
star~crossed ghosts to that point prior to
when they first became just a stranger to love. . .'
*sigh*. . .
because it isn't her place; she is there in company
to accompany misery right down to last bourbon
drop. & she steps into & under the same
lachrymose fog reflecting her own pluvian demeanor
with only one thought in mind: hoping that she can share
the same park bench, & perhaps lead those
star~crossed ghosts to that point prior to
when they first became just a stranger to love. . .'
*sigh*. . .
7th Nov 2015 7:21am
7th Nov 2015 1:06pm
yet another beautiful piece of writing from your prolific pen :-)
'my heart is a foreign place' Just love that expression - have felt like that often, you have just given me the perfect wording :-)
'my heart is a foreign place' Just love that expression - have felt like that often, you have just given me the perfect wording :-)
8th Nov 2015 2:01am
"under the moon’s tears, I gather with the
ghosts of the star-crossed, a desolate choir singing the
blues in the night. we need a drink, a hit, a fix, anything
to murder the elegy of solitude." .. . - a night stirred by the heavy hand of melancholy! I hate drinking alone, especially if I'm having to swallow my heart. Here's to the death of loneliness! - blue angel
ghosts of the star-crossed, a desolate choir singing the
blues in the night. we need a drink, a hit, a fix, anything
to murder the elegy of solitude." .. . - a night stirred by the heavy hand of melancholy! I hate drinking alone, especially if I'm having to swallow my heart. Here's to the death of loneliness! - blue angel
9th Nov 2015 5:22am
You speak from your soul with great truth and honesty. I love that there's no guile in your words.
we need a drink, a hit, a fix, anything
to murder the elegy of solitude.
-- I adore this line so much. It perfectly hits home with me.
we need a drink, a hit, a fix, anything
to murder the elegy of solitude.
-- I adore this line so much. It perfectly hits home with me.
10th Nov 2015 10:09am
"I’m the sad song unsung, the bullet unfired. I’m the
revenant of a beautiful dream.
a stranger I am – a stranger to love…"
^^^^^
absolutely spoke to me. like sussuration on a balmy evening.
you're magic, feddeler
xo
revenant of a beautiful dream.
a stranger I am – a stranger to love…"
^^^^^
absolutely spoke to me. like sussuration on a balmy evening.
you're magic, feddeler
xo
11th Nov 2015 4:01am
11th Nov 2015 4:06am
"the lachrymose fog reflects my pluvian demeanor. on a
park bench, under the moon’s tears, I gather with the
ghosts of the star-crossed, a desolate choir singing the
blues in the night. we need a drink, a hit, a fix, anything
to murder the elegy of solitude."
Sheer Holiness...
park bench, under the moon’s tears, I gather with the
ghosts of the star-crossed, a desolate choir singing the
blues in the night. we need a drink, a hit, a fix, anything
to murder the elegy of solitude."
Sheer Holiness...
11th Nov 2015 10:35pm
Very cool, John, how the familiar barroom noir of the first three stanzas breaks into otherworldly poetry in the fourth stanza and winds up in a well of beautiful sadness. Very very nice !
This alone spoke to me with an accent of
(doom) but not. And in that we love hard &
foolish sometimes:
"a stranger I am – a stranger to love… "
So weary we become, too tired to
please & nurture ourselves, as it must feel
beautiful to have someone to provide us
with things, it's part of our survival. So that
we no longer feel death's embrace
reconciling with our souls, heart & minds..
You've seeped into me this night my Feddler,
damn you..again & again..
-Howlings
(doom) but not. And in that we love hard &
foolish sometimes:
"a stranger I am – a stranger to love… "
So weary we become, too tired to
please & nurture ourselves, as it must feel
beautiful to have someone to provide us
with things, it's part of our survival. So that
we no longer feel death's embrace
reconciling with our souls, heart & minds..
You've seeped into me this night my Feddler,
damn you..again & again..
-Howlings
