(for Vautaw)
This rose for all the world for you
These tears for all the dead,
Those empty words of morningtide
This ever-present dread..
Those cloying smells of perfume
On the dresses of the rich,
This workman stumbling homeward
His body in a ditch.
September’s moon still shining
On this old planet’s doom,
Her wind and tide conspiring;
A chill invades the room.
I agree with Kevin, there is a soulful comfort in your poetry even the ones that delve into the dark side. Reminds me of Leonard Cohen, my favorite poet. Don’t worry, you’re on the list too, right beside him!
Kevin T.S. Tan
Sat 5th Sep 2020 00:20
You make darkness and gloom sound beautiful, almost comforting. Thanks for sharing this wonderful piece of your soul.
And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on
An old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers
The night watchman flame keepers and goodnight, Mathilda too
Tom Waits
Thank you John. I am honored. You made my day. Write on my friend. ❤️
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John Marks
Sat 5th Sep 2020 03:03
Thank you Kevin and Cathy. You are both very thoughful, sincere and honest. The dark side is essential to all our lives but we should never live in it.
It's really a wonder that I haven't dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.
Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl