deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Rainy Walk
I’ve been walking in this April rain as I make my way towards my house a mile from the station
With no cabs to be had I suffer the rain, steely still in the early spring so that it hurts your face
As I turn into the wind on my way home, always alone
The sun is still just a slightly brighter line in the clouds on that Eastern horizon, seen through the slanting precipitation
And I wonder why I do this to myself so often
Night with a stranger in a stranger’s house - only to slip away before the sun rises
I spend the nights looking for an animal of my stripe
Who isn’t looking for a commitment or relationship or life to spend together
Just a night to keep each other warm and pretend
And I’m not a young man anymore but I still play this young man’s game
The search for conquest, a cockistador a friend called me once with a smirk
And now I wonder how much a friend she really is as I duck my head against a gust of wind
With one last turn I can see my house with the light on the front porch
As though someone inside is waiting for me to arrive and lighting my way to the door
When it was me who flipped that switch before leaving for my night
When I finally reach the warmth of my home I turn on the kettle and set out one cup
And dry my hair in the bathroom while the kettle begins to steam and snort on the burner
And feel lonely in my house so large while I go through my life so small
With no cabs to be had I suffer the rain, steely still in the early spring so that it hurts your face
As I turn into the wind on my way home, always alone
The sun is still just a slightly brighter line in the clouds on that Eastern horizon, seen through the slanting precipitation
And I wonder why I do this to myself so often
Night with a stranger in a stranger’s house - only to slip away before the sun rises
I spend the nights looking for an animal of my stripe
Who isn’t looking for a commitment or relationship or life to spend together
Just a night to keep each other warm and pretend
And I’m not a young man anymore but I still play this young man’s game
The search for conquest, a cockistador a friend called me once with a smirk
And now I wonder how much a friend she really is as I duck my head against a gust of wind
With one last turn I can see my house with the light on the front porch
As though someone inside is waiting for me to arrive and lighting my way to the door
When it was me who flipped that switch before leaving for my night
When I finally reach the warmth of my home I turn on the kettle and set out one cup
And dry my hair in the bathroom while the kettle begins to steam and snort on the burner
And feel lonely in my house so large while I go through my life so small
Published 5th Apr 2017
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This echoes of the melancholy of missing. Not necessarily missing a person but something from Life itself. The imagery is chilling and indicative of the not-so-warm April rain. The significance of the light on reminded me of childhood, and how our parents used to leave the light on for us, and we'd walk into the smell of baked goods and dinner simmering.
Birds of a feather are difficult to find sometimes. They say the bird will appear when the branch has grown enough to hold it.
Birds of a feather are difficult to find sometimes. They say the bird will appear when the branch has grown enough to hold it.
5th Apr 2017 10:38pm
i totally agree. The poem has a lot of significance to many people's childhood. including mine.
5th Apr 2017 11:48pm
I never meant to refer to childhood when I added the light on the porch but I see what you mean. It's a purely accidental effect though. It was meant more as another talisman of loneliness to go along with the walk in the rain all alone, sneaking out of the lover's house at dawn and the single tea cup set out for one. John
6th Apr 2017 1:57am
we need that place - where we go to pretend;
the rain is a lonely companion...
the rain is a lonely companion...
Anonymous
8th Apr 2017 10:28pm
This is a bit different than what I'm use to
reading from you.
Wow John love, the reflections of your words
blinding
reading from you.
Wow John love, the reflections of your words
blinding
