deepundergroundpoetry.com
All The While
Nothing gets noted down
like the empty stomach,
the tired eyes
and burning frustration.
It's easy
to get hold of
and work with.
I could shake the hand
of Fante himself
and it would be no more
than part of the blur.
There are sad black days
(to quote a friend)
But then, there's these:
complacently grey.
What of it?
Nietzsche makes sense,
Arnalds soothes,
and there's always
a beer at the end of the day.
That's the end
of the day
though.
like the empty stomach,
the tired eyes
and burning frustration.
It's easy
to get hold of
and work with.
I could shake the hand
of Fante himself
and it would be no more
than part of the blur.
There are sad black days
(to quote a friend)
But then, there's these:
complacently grey.
What of it?
Nietzsche makes sense,
Arnalds soothes,
and there's always
a beer at the end of the day.
That's the end
of the day
though.
Published 14th Feb 2012
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
15th Feb 2012 5:30pm
I love your poems. They are always there when I need a bitter melancholy to wash over me
Anonymous
23rd Feb 2012 11:51am
Like Bukowski, you have the rare gift of being able to write the same poem a thousand different ways, so the material seems fresh each time. Some writers become staid and dull after realising their true theme. You, however, have managed to mine a wide variety of precious stones from the same shaft. In short, I like this poem a lot.
23rd Feb 2012 12:40pm
