deepundergroundpoetry.com
Living his Poems
He never knew he was lonely
until at the pub he saw
the most beautiful pair of eyes
looking at him from across the room
soft lights of pity and compassion
and he hunched over at the bar
clutching his beer mug to his face
He felt the years of loneliness hover
around him like taunting harpies
the muses that he unknowingly
caught in his many meaningless poems
scratched on old notebooks
each one living a whisper of old memories
old stories told and retold in musty pages
O but how the words flowed from his pen
tracing the dirge of muses in agony of needs
all beautifully woven in colourful tapestry
each lines of clever words bleeding
with creativity.. how awed he was
how he had glowed at his creation
his words flowed unto the pages
purging his brilliant mind of desires
only the eyes saw him for himself
a man alone squeezed off words
articulation sacrificed to silence
turned into rages, screams on pages
he is alone still
but now he knew
how much he’d missed
and wished he could for a minute
drown in the compassion
shown in the eyes of a stranger.
until at the pub he saw
the most beautiful pair of eyes
looking at him from across the room
soft lights of pity and compassion
and he hunched over at the bar
clutching his beer mug to his face
He felt the years of loneliness hover
around him like taunting harpies
the muses that he unknowingly
caught in his many meaningless poems
scratched on old notebooks
each one living a whisper of old memories
old stories told and retold in musty pages
O but how the words flowed from his pen
tracing the dirge of muses in agony of needs
all beautifully woven in colourful tapestry
each lines of clever words bleeding
with creativity.. how awed he was
how he had glowed at his creation
his words flowed unto the pages
purging his brilliant mind of desires
only the eyes saw him for himself
a man alone squeezed off words
articulation sacrificed to silence
turned into rages, screams on pages
he is alone still
but now he knew
how much he’d missed
and wished he could for a minute
drown in the compassion
shown in the eyes of a stranger.
Published 23rd Nov 2015
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reading list entries 1
comments 17
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23rd Nov 2015 10:36am
Nice poem. Just a few typos perhaps
1. third stanza should the zero be 'O' ?
2 first stanza line 6 'and'should this not be 'as' he hunched ?
1. third stanza should the zero be 'O' ?
2 first stanza line 6 'and'should this not be 'as' he hunched ?
Thank you kindly Kexby for pointing them out. At it now.:) I will leave 'and' though as a reaction to the stare.
23rd Nov 2015 1:19pm
23rd Nov 2015 1:36pm
Were his poems meaningless? Perhaps they had more meaning than his lonely life. As I read, I was expecting they beautiful eyes watching him from across the room were going to be not those of a stranger but the reflection of his own in a mirror behind the bar. Sometimes you can only see who you really are by stepping outside yourself or by reading your own poetry and realizing the loneliness you feel is the result of too many nights spent alone at the bar drinking too many beers... I think I'll have anuttha poem bartender, and make sure this one has a good frothy head...
JJ
JJ
24th Nov 2015 00:49am
Poems are such beautiful creation, mostly born of one's creative mind. A mundane scene can be translated into a pretty piece. And yet, Poetryman, what good are they in our life, when we sit hunched over our computer without any physical friends; just our cyberbuddies who we live love laugh with. Out of that door, and how alone we are. :) thanks for reading me...and a pint for me too, if you will.
Anonymous
23rd Nov 2015 3:37pm
Ahhh. . . Loved Poetryman's comments. As I
read this beautifully constructed poem I had
to put myself in the man's situation, for there
are many instances where I have felt the same
way as the poem said the man thought. Also, I
am alone in these my dwindling days.
read this beautifully constructed poem I had
to put myself in the man's situation, for there
are many instances where I have felt the same
way as the poem said the man thought. Also, I
am alone in these my dwindling days.
24th Nov 2015 00:54am
Hi Scooter...I can say we feel the same way, in the same situation. Poetry is an escape especially fantasy. There is always a degree of alone-ness in everyone I think. Thanks for reading.
23rd Nov 2015 5:55pm
I think some dwell on the darkness and loneliness in their poems and miss opportunities for love and companionship in their lives. Ideally a balance is struck between conjuring poetic fantasy and the demands (and requests) of the real world. Excellent poem Grace! Really got me thinking this morning,,,
24th Nov 2015 1:07am
Crowfly, some people live in their writings. Agony, desperation, loneliness and pain are their muses, and without these feelings their creativity become less or just disappear. Balance is always good, in every way.:)
23rd Nov 2015 11:48pm
Live with what you love and you are never alone. Must just be me but this does not seem that sad and melancholic at the moment: more wistful reflection before a happy happenstance. Nevermind this man, it is you who have woven clever words of creativity to ensnare the hearts of passers by.
24th Nov 2015 1:14am
A book of written poems, how ever beautiful can never beat the warmth of human interactions. This realisation is an eye opener for that lonely writer in question. Thank you Lord Viddax, for reading, and commenting.
Anonymous
24th Nov 2015 3:57am
Beautiful poem, Grace. I agree with many of the comments - I think many writers dwell in their heads and ignore or neglect real human relationships. Someone can write thousands of poems, get a few "faves" online, but not really be anyone that is likable or even approachable. Anyway, your poem is inspirational as well as thought-provoking!
24th Nov 2015 7:58am
HadesFlower, you are right. A beautiful poem does not a beautiful person make...especially within. Thanks so much for reading and commenting.
25th Nov 2015 9:48am
Well well... MY kind of poetry... The kind that illicits THOUGHT :)...
The scene you paint, n the emotions it stir, qualifies this as
a MUST read! Very nicely done my
dear lady :)
The scene you paint, n the emotions it stir, qualifies this as
a MUST read! Very nicely done my
dear lady :)
25th Nov 2015 10:07pm
2nd Jun 2016 5:46pm
"rages, screamed on pages." wow. That is a dystopian view of the artist. A strong perspective expressed eloquently. For me, writing is like a seizure that comes over me when I am connected to the all light, the sentient heart of the universe. It is an exquisite agony that far outstrips the mundane experiences that crowd each day. I always hunger for it, but I do not put pen to page (fingers to keys) until it comes for me.
5th Jun 2016 9:18pm
Indeed. At time its raging and sometimes it's just a blink... inspirations are unpredictable :) thanks for reading, Daniel.
