S**t Happens

A small village, any time, all the time.

Midweek

Drinking wine

Doors locked

Notepad on knee

Alone

Half dreading/ expecting

Knock on window

Winter shutdown

Denying contact

Saying nothing really

Pleasantly stoned

Knowing

In one hundred years

Dust

And sleep await

Smiling/alone

Notepad on knee

Doors locked

Drinking wine

Midweek

Any week

I'm always home,

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is a fresh re-write of the writer stereotype & yours feels fun & tongue-in-cheek, instead of dreary & sad like the old stereotype. I love the way you sketch out some barely-there details & it blossoms into a fulsome character profile of this guy. I can feel how he must feel (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[gram linski]

Thanks Margie, once again a great review, there wasn't much substance to the guy back then, just a pen, a pad and a bottle of wine, only the ghost of the chains remained

[andrew mitchell]

The solitary thinker comes to mind fuelled by alcohol comes sweet melancholy.

[gram linski]

Very true, thanks, Andrew, it was a bit of a melancholy wave.

[kentuck14]

Gram,
Hey, I like this . . . has a nice flow as well as a certain choppy, mellow feeling from the wine consumed
while trying to be an artist in the midst of interruptions. Also like the way you begin and end with (almost)the same lines, but in reverse order. I've done this myself. Effective here.
Tom

[gram linski]

Glad you liked it Tom, thanks for the read,

[John Alexander McFadyen]

No man is an island but many writers live on one set in the sky as they reach for the clouded words, the soggy memories and the feelings that make a pen flow. Now a nice drop of wine/beer/gin/whisky/rum.......oils the wheels.
You really have captured the dedication and solitude of the writer in this flowing, descriptive free verse. And not a profanity in sight!

[gram linski]

lol, f**k you,

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Now look at what you gone and done!

[gram linski]

Your bad, dude,

[Chris Shaw]

I'll have what you're sampling. Anything which makes you feel you've still got a hundred years left before you become dust, has got a certain appeal. Winter reclusive, I can understand that, especially if you are a poet. I can only write when I'm alone. Visitors are welcome, but not at the same time as my muse. You sound positively anti-social :))

Chris

[gram linski]

Haha, I certainly have my moments, of self imposed solitary confinement, no exactly a hermit, but I did used to live in a cave,lol

[Chris Shaw]

Why does that not surprise me :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we live in our own little village and close ourselves off to others sometimes. When we feel we need solitude and just don't want to talk to or see anyone...and yet...when we do die, become that dust....we will be alone....and will we be smiling? Or will we wish we had unlocked those doors when we could and made the most of human contact, when we could?
j.

[gram linski]

You are absolutely correct, j, our time is short and sweet, but sometimes when you unlock the door, all you see is a piss stained empty street,

[Cherrie Palmer]

If that's how it works I must have lots of poets living here on the lake. Cause all my neighbors have wine boxes on trash day. Except us we're raising a granddaughter and deal in Hi-C fruit punch.

[gram linski]

The Wine God is a just and loving Master, all hail Bacchus, and God bless you and yours, thanks for your review,