Sunday, August 30, 2009

And it's perhaps perfect in that moment of guilt,
when it's sometime after three in the morn,
and I've been drinking whiskey since seven,
on a hot, humid trembling night,
watching silhouettes drape the irony in the hall,
and I've nowhere else to look or feel,
and nothing to really do but watch an hour wheel,
caressing the creases on the sofa,
and nodding to an old fool sitting in the corner
with a stuffed chicken tikka smile,
wondering if that'll be all,
contemplating whether to head to the loo,
or will I ever be able to sleep again,
or thinking about what it was like
or what I used to do on such evenings,
while you light another cigarette
and touch your foot gently against my leg,
and laugh till your laughter fills the room.

And then suddenly we find ourselves alone,
first in a dark room,
then on the roof,
in a house which could be haunted,
and I think about a poem,
the raven, which I once wanted
to be read on a night like this,
then I feel the breeze among the grim trees,
and then I look at a broken moon,
while you rest your back against the rail,
mumbling sullen apologies,
of some previous evening, of some childish play,
you with your quivering wine lips, pale,
and your sweet vodka breath,
which I gently meet to kiss,
and will forever miss,
because I have someone else beautiful in mind.

12 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

you can't be writing so well.it's freaky-ishly written.everytime I visit you here, you leave me with a lingering thought, photographic memories of the past, thoughts about how the author gets where he does,how he construed these visions in his head,is it fiction or rea etc etc.(the thing about following blogs is that it doesn jus finish, the author doesn just die after an interesting span of short time plus there's an assurance of growth along with the many other things..its like comong back to check how the sappling u accidentally stumbled by is doin,with d difference that here that sapling talks and i watch).I may sound like a desperate stalker, but basically you leave a lingering feeling and this time it's here to stay for a little lomger.

5:56 PM, August 31, 2009  
Blogger Dr Filth said...

That's awfully kind, whoever you are. (Hope it's not a prank!) Makes me want to write more. I suppose a blog needs desperate stalkers, but do mark a sign next time. And if you have a blog, or write, I'd like to read. Cheers!

8:10 PM, August 31, 2009  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If it was a prank,would have sounded less oroginal.I don't write.I've resisted the temptation of leaving remarks ESP. With a sign'! But if I'm
Doing it, let's do it right. Initials would be too obvious( no, I do not know you but I beleive we have re
Mote common contacts)since you're taking the pain of flatering a reader suggest a SIGN dear writer.

11:29 PM, August 31, 2009  
Blogger J said...

Hmm so I don't know you but I will be able tell who you are with your initials? Curioser. Well I can't suggest you a sign, think about it mystery.

11:05 AM, September 01, 2009  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

my initials are very dramatically hilarious and I bear an uncommon name. Today a strange thought occurred to me-if you stop smoking, I wonder what would fill the little gaps here. -mystery.

6:49 PM, September 01, 2009  
Blogger J said...

Hilarious initials? That's strange. Well, if I stop smoking, I guess poems on global warming would fill the gaps. Think about it.

7:30 PM, September 01, 2009  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If you were to restrict yourself from saying anything close to black Or even grey, and if it couldn be about a woman, war would it be. -M

8:00 PM, September 01, 2009  
Blogger J said...

Possibly, but I think it's become like that. I mean what is this blog about? Nothing. Just a slice of trivial absurdities and meaningless drivel. And, for whom? Invariably whoever knows me, finds me here, looking for something I cannot offer.

5:17 PM, September 02, 2009  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

well, I don't know you, wonder what you look like.not a stud,not a jock, 5feet 11inches maybe.sort of lanky wheatish with sharp features and hollow eyes. I don't know...but this is what I drew of you. Where is precious? I don't have to ask, you needn answer but well, as a loyal reader maybe I should get a little part to play, another joker maybe, when life's slow and I can stop and not just look but maybe play. -M

8:54 PM, September 02, 2009  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I assume u were with a glass of whisky while u wrote the previous comment-it doesn quite answer my question. -m

8:56 PM, September 02, 2009  
Blogger J said...

You're right, maybe I wasn't thinking when I wrote that. But then again I guess I'm not very good at giving straight answers. But you do seem a loyal reader, and I'm pleased to meet you. And I suppose I should be a loyal writer and produce more here. And, hey, a good mystery should always play. :)

1:04 AM, September 03, 2009  
Blogger A said...

beautiful. i don't really know what stops you from writing more poetry.

6:12 PM, September 04, 2009  

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