A poem

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PipedJimmy

PipedJimmy

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Linger on beside me, my ever faithful friend,
Linger on as you would have done, had I not wanted to end,
Do not pass me by, as you linger on in form
For I am a restless spirit now, a warrior forlorn
A man who lost his way, that ventured the beat and track
Who could never find his home again, or the happiness he lacked

Linger on beside me, my ever faithful friend,
as I linger on in spirit, as my body comes to its end.
 
Is that a poem to a man's dog?Seems like it.

Winslow :sunny:
 
lol yeah its original, thanks guys, was feeling a bit melancholic when I wrote it and seemed to fit the bill, but reading over it again yesterday it seemed a bit sh*t lol without the star to make it better. When I was writing it was about the spirit, it being ultimately stronger than the man, and man's vulnerability without it, heavily based on God I guess.
 
I wrestle with the duality of man a lot, always have. For me its almost as though the body and soul refuse reconciliation.
 
Lol I know what you mean, when you touch those emotions that don't seem to be just through your conscience's eye, you feel pulled between natural desire, whether it be getting angry, desire of a carnal kind or whatever and doing what you know to be right, I think you float somewhere in the middle trying to play the best you can, but always scared of something lol no matter how hard you are as a person, its a tough life sometimes but its worth it, ups wouldn't be the same if you didn't have downs and downs have their own particular charm when you're feeling up again.
 
Jimmy you sound completely 'normal' to me, whatever that is. I think the human condition is a perplexing one ... the only people who don't explore its complexities are 1. Incompetent to do so 2. Are too perplexed to care (can't be bothered, too distracted trying to out Jones the Jones-es)
 
PJ -- thanks for posting your words; it takes some guts to put original work up for scrutiny. With that said, I like it. In many ways, are we not all "warriors forlorn," somehow, somewhere, some way? I also like how you repeat the words "linger on," which adds a kind of existential melancholy/post modern dilemma to the whole thing. Nicely done.
 
Thanks for sharing that Jimmy. Poetry, I believe, is essentially an internal exercise; written to satisfy some need in the poet to express his/her heart. When that poem touches the heart of the reader as well it's magical. Your poem touched my heart. I especially love the forlorn warrior image. :cheers:
 
Thank you Trout Bum and Centurion, those were very nice words of your own. Yes I think we are all warriors forlorn, everyone has their problems and their fears, not only in the specific sense but en-mass and objectively, we are all striving towards something, betterment it seems to me, anyhow before I really start rambling, peace brothers, hope you have happy smoking! I'm looking forward to some Mick McQuaid early tomorrow morning.
 
Sounds like Edgar Allen Poe very dark...I LOVE IT! Very nice Sir will done!
Best Regards
Richard
 
For me it recalls both Poe and Ambrose Bierce in many ways, but I also find great hope in the piece/peace.
 
You started it PipedJimmy ... I hope its contagious ...
 
Ha ha thanks Richard and Kilted, I'll keep going until someone decides enough is enough and posts their own :gatewheel:
 
PipedJimmy":ksqi9ucv said:
Ha ha thanks Richard and Kilted, I'll keep going until someone decides enough is enough and posts their own :gatewheel:
Click to expand...
I did, in another thread, didn't wanna be thread jacking you :lol:
 
Right lol will head over to that thread and check it out now, please don't worry about 'thread jacking', we are brothers after all ;)
 
I sit here, a lonely, lonely, room, trapped, encased, encapsulated, longing for freedom, it comes,
Be it black glyph that frees my mind, or gentle tap tap on white keys, the pain recedes
It drifts off on a memory, a soft, quiet, breeze, thought that dissolves into mist, like an old treasured time
Not quite remembered, not quite forgotten, how I feel at present, what a sweet, sweet, sentiment.
 
Wonder down the written road, there are no ties that bind, save the ever flowing constructs of rigidity in the mind.
Pre-conformed agreement, that stand in stead for us, that labour under misapprehension
despite meaning ubiquitous.
Then stand for me as I use you, for me and my brothers in kind and labour on with interest, to move their gentle minds
Plant only a seed of happiness and let is come to fruit
And labour on in me, so that I may water the root.
 
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