deepundergroundpoetry.com
every woman is...
I walk the side roads of life; the trails that are beaten by lonely,
desperate footsteps. I’ve left pieces of my heart in the dirt, like
seeds that bear no fruit, & the rain washed them away.
sometimes I ride a streetcar. it makes a stop, & I can’t see thru
the dense fog outside the window. other passengers exit, & they
look at me. I tell the driver, go ahead, I’m not getting off here.
my reverie carries me back to the old war; I wonder how I made it
thru, why I wasn’t deleted on the killing fields. cast here, to know
what agony is, & loneliness, & to write about it.
there has been an occasional woman, who had a drink with me, &
took me to a bed. she let me press my scorching flesh against her
naked body. she let me do sexual things to her, & I paid her for it.
at times I feel I’m only completed by a woman. I find her, or she
finds me. she removes her clothes shamelessly, to show me her
physical beauty. she tells me things, sweet things & dirty things, &
I excite her as she excites me. we touch ourselves, until our
common, primitive passion runs off into a stormy mess; & it’s done.
they can desecrate my name – they can adjourn me to the most
obscure shadows.
I’ve made my own judgment of women, & I judge that every woman
is a whore. & a man must never love a whore.
a man… a man like me…
must never love…
(Art: Caspar Ritter)
Published 5th Jan 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 17
reading list entries 2
comments 10
reads 1455
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The author encourages honest critique.
5th Jan 2017 8:23am
Loneliness takes what it desires,
And love is no exception.
I can feel it in the blue lines of your melancholy brilliance...
And love is no exception.
I can feel it in the blue lines of your melancholy brilliance...
5th Jan 2017 10:26am
Wow. How tragic it is to know that thats all you ever known and held; a whore incapable of being anything more to soothe your sombre heart & soul. 💔
5th Jan 2017 3:00pm
A specter along the highways of the living. It's as though you died in the war, albeit not physical. Or, love was taken hostage and you haven't quite found the right negotiation for her return.
Anonymous
5th Jan 2017 3:41pm
what a conundrum, mister
since most whores
just want to be loved...
... adored this
xo
since most whores
just want to be loved...
... adored this
xo
5th Jan 2017 11:55pm
Your dictum to not love whores seems to falter in the closing lines so I suspect you've fallen for a few. You write well of a lonely man, battle scarred and weary, finding comfort where he can.
Anonymous
6th Jan 2017 00:07am
It is in those last four lines that scream in a whisper...this made tears for me...oh, yes....I see and hear this loud and clear...yup..those are my lines in this one, John. With love, always - Kitten xoxo
6th Jan 2017 5:59am
even if she is nothing she gives you something even if its nothing and vice verses...is what i got from this...i an always blown away by the breathtaking art you create John..i have truly missed reading you..know i got some catching up to do..loved this gritty ink
6th Jan 2017 1:39pm
Outstanding piece in which I can do relate to. Feels like the lament that influences an artist like James Taylor or the group Sade.
19th Jan 2017 12:46pm
I almost feel like the protagonist is exposing himself for the reader to judge him; a self-proclaimed antihero, a war-torn alien, a loner in need of a women to hold the pieces together. Too angry to love, too broken to be loved. Yet, to him all women are whores, and a saviour to all men. I like where you ushered our thoughts with this somber piece, Mr Feddeler.
Anonymous
1st Feb 2017 8:01pm
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