"creatives" poems - Hello Poetry

It was late And the night was beginning in earnest When I learned about love. I sat one night And eavesdropped without intention Into the intricate lives of a pair Creatives, artists doomed to a life of non-satisfaction Yet they are humans too They may conjure out (in this case) music out of thin air Melodic moments and sensuous sing-songs But they feel pain too And try to lose it in viscous, pungent, happy-making liquid. This fellow, bearded and thick spectacles atop his nose (Is there a more stereotypical artist?) Would lose his father soon Intuition and expensive healthcare told him so What to do? Well take a sip and another and another Because drunken words are sober thoughts. A dog he suggests, so that his mother will not be lonely Who will care for it? We will of course he says, And she is lost at 'we', a confirmation of their union To take over the world, together. Is this not love? I sat another night Encountering two whose sips became gulps And gulps become swallows Diving into the pool of intoxication Rid of all senses they walked, together Up and Down carriages, Stumbling in unison Destination unknown, they would find it together Matching trench coats flapping in rhythm Giggles as they rocked to the swaying melody of the train They may have appeared as two nuisances, inconveniencing others But they were two foolish lovers, Holding on for the moment in a night they would forget Is this not love? The last night on the last train A soft pitter-patter of midnight rain An arctic breeze had blown in Across me a couple huddled Touching Not groping and wandering with perverse hands Subtle sensual caressing Involving no movement Just the pair joined in body and soul Tucked into each others arms Clicking together as two jigsaw pieces Slowly slipping into splendid slumber I wondered Is this not love? And when will I find it?

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Sep 15, 2013

Sep 15, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC

caleb-azumah-nelson

Love on the Last Train

It was late And the night was beginning in earnest When I learned about love. I sat one night And eavesdropped without intention Into the intricate lives of a pair Creatives, artists doomed to a life of non-satisfaction Yet they are humans too They may conjure out (in this case) music out of thin air Melodic moments and sensuous sing-songs But they feel pain too And try to lose it in viscous, pungent, happy-making liquid. This fellow, bearded and thick spectacles atop his nose (Is there a more stereotypical artist?) Would lose his father soon Intuition and expensive healthcare told him so What to do? Well take a sip and another and another Because drunken words are sober thoughts. A dog he suggests, so that his mother will not be lonely Who will care for it? We will of course he says, And she is lost at 'we', a confirmation of their union To take over the world, together. Is this not love? I sat another night Encountering two whose sips became gulps And gulps become swallows Diving into the pool of intoxication Rid of all senses they walked, together Up and Down carriages, Stumbling in unison Destination unknown, they would find it together Matching trench coats flapping in rhythm Giggles as they rocked to the swaying melody of the train They may have appeared as two nuisances, inconveniencing others But they were two foolish lovers, Holding on for the moment in a night they would forget Is this not love? The last night on the last train A soft pitter-patter of midnight rain An arctic breeze had blown in Across me a couple huddled Touching Not groping and wandering with perverse hands Subtle sensual caressing Involving no movement Just the pair joined in body and soul Tucked into each others arms Clicking together as two jigsaw pieces Slowly slipping into splendid slumber I wondered Is this not love? And when will I find it?