deepundergroundpoetry.com
I'm struggling only when I'm waiting
He's coming home I can sense him near
Did he forget? Or just leave me here
It doesn't matter now, he's nearly home
It won't please him much to hear me moan
I have no idea where he has been
Or any others he may have seen
I only care that he's coming home to me
Knowing this I always wait patiently
I'll greet him the moment he walks in
No questioning, only heart felt greeting
I've missed him, there's no time for wasting
I'm Struggling only when I'm waiting
I'll show him my worth, greet him with mirth
Shower him with love, touch a special nerve
I adore him, hate to miss him
Now I have him I'm gonna cuddle in
Where he's been is no emergency
I will always sniff it out eventually
Right now I'm happy, hearing the door keys
And wait patiently to here the word, walkies
Published 5th Oct 2017
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Very clever, Wayne. I adore these types of poems: where one can practically whizz through it in the confident manner that one's already grasped the Theme early in the piece . . and upon reaching the very last line (or, in this case, the very last word), one realises instantly that it's a completely different Theme to what one assumed. Which then compels one to immediately re-read the piece; and only then does one realise that the poem makes completely equal sense in both Themes: the theme that one naturaly assumes . . and the Theme it actually is. I always feel minor elation when a writer does that to me. And what imagination to turn one little word - walkies - into an utter bombshell . . that's very sophisticated.
I'm reminded of Saki, who, 70-80 years ago, used to write short-stories (5-10 pages) with a major twist; and, nearly always, the twist came in the very last line . . and it was such a mind-blowing twist that, of course, one had to immediately re-read the piece to see how cleverly one had been lured into thinking one thing . . only to be hit by another.
Your poem is one such piece of work, Wayne . . and I must thank ya for the delicious last-word shock.
I'm reminded of Saki, who, 70-80 years ago, used to write short-stories (5-10 pages) with a major twist; and, nearly always, the twist came in the very last line . . and it was such a mind-blowing twist that, of course, one had to immediately re-read the piece to see how cleverly one had been lured into thinking one thing . . only to be hit by another.
Your poem is one such piece of work, Wayne . . and I must thank ya for the delicious last-word shock.
6th Oct 2017 11:55am
Wow, thank you. What feedback, I'm certainly going to look into those short stories by Saki. Short stories I sense are right up my street, what with my attention span :-) Your comments really are empowering thank you for your time in reading ( twice) :-) and more so for your comments. At the start of my journey! In essence, been writing a while, but lacking in self belief, to be recognised and appraised by fellow poets, it's new and scary to me, yet exhilarating. Best wishes Monte And sincere kind regards Wayne
6th Oct 2017 7:04pm
If ya get a moment, Wayne, go to classicshorts.com, and find 'The Mouse': H.H. Munro (Saki). It's only a few pages long; and it perfectly exemplifies why I was reminded of Saki after reading 'I'm Struggling . . '
7th Oct 2017 8:30pm
Didn't see that coming :-)
Thank you for the comparrasion, and the reading suggestion, much enjoyed and educational.
Regards
Wayne
Thank you for the comparrasion, and the reading suggestion, much enjoyed and educational.
Regards
Wayne
