deepundergroundpoetry.com
sepia nights
when a man’s got a thousand sordid tales in his archive,
the nights don’t have to be a blank page in a journal.
a moody poem is just a drift away.
I can fall back to those days when I was a jacked-up
teenager, before the Army took me, scoring prom
princesses in the back of my old man’s Ford Fairlane.
he woulda beat me with a cro-bar if he knew.
maybe the Army was the escape I needed. they sent me to
distant shores, hot & spicy. in between dawn patrols &
guard duty, I made time in run-down bars & fancy clubs,
where the hookers seduced me in foreign tongues. I didn’t
need no translator, either, because ‘f*ck’ is the same in
every language. Soldier Blue, that was me.
after my discharge, my wicked habits continued; sex is
something you never get enough of. I was a nightcrawler,
on the prowl for the naked flesh of a woman. chasing angels
& suicide blondes. they were fast & loose & they knew how
to be bad. even the angels.
sometimes the hunt was good. when it wasn’t, the payoff
was a drunken, lonely night.
these days I’m kinda reclusive. the dames & dolls are still
around, just not so close where I can put my hands on them.
best I can do is think about them thinking about me when
they’re not supposed to.
we make love in our hearts, I guess;
it’s more poetic that way…
Published 24th Nov 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 15
reading list entries 0
comments 11
reads 1293
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
24th Nov 2015 7:03pm
Sometimes the physical can actually taint something beautiful to imagination and dreams. Lovely write.
24th Nov 2015 8:58pm
The title caught my eye and after reading the poem it caught me, holding it's promise.
Wonderful, John. Sepia nights ... love that.
Wonderful, John. Sepia nights ... love that.
24th Nov 2015 10:33pm
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 3:45am
24th Nov 2015 11:16pm
<< post removed >>
25th Nov 2015 7:51am
This is quite open about how the other half think. I think it retains a humble air due to it. Lovely write.
25th Nov 2015 12:56pm
25th Nov 2015 2:46pm
Tinged with melancholy and true to life as usual. The ending was superb. I think Taryn was absolutely right in her comment by the way. I thought your work was fantastic Mr. F.
John
John
25th Nov 2015 5:55pm
"we make love in our hearts, I guess;
it’s more poetic that way…" ..- The way you do it, yes it is more poetic. The pull of the night still tempts me. So, what shall I do but rush into its arms. Always in awe when seeing the wicked world through your passionate eyes. Love, blue angel
it’s more poetic that way…" ..- The way you do it, yes it is more poetic. The pull of the night still tempts me. So, what shall I do but rush into its arms. Always in awe when seeing the wicked world through your passionate eyes. Love, blue angel
Anonymous
26th Nov 2015 7:37am
. . .*beautiful*, John, just beautiful. . .from beginning to end. . .this piece leaves me thinking, pondering. . .spellboundless. . .xo, Devlin/Doll. . .
29th Nov 2015 7:31am
Dare I say John you've shared quite a bit of you here...beautiful write as always...thoroughly enjoyed and thank you for sharing... :)
Anonymous
- Edited 8th Nov 2018 00:49am
29th Nov 2015 9:21am
<< post removed >>
