Solitude

This poem is for a poetry reading, tomorrow night in St Petersburg, the subject is solitude.


Leather turns to suede

of your office chair

Your weight rubs it away,

like black chipping paint,

revealing soft grey

Talking to yourself,

wondering things like,

was that real leather,

is this real suede

You’re in your boxers,

it’s mid-day

One song plays on repeat,

no-one to make you skip it

That’s OK

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49 thoughts on “Solitude

      1. thank you much, Sabiscuit, you’re the best. Tonight’s was a poetry group, so everyone in attendance wrote on the same topic. Not surprisingly the verdict among writers was unanimous: solitude is at least useful. Saturday I read to anyone though, so, heads will be scratching, I’m sure. Even with the poetry group, half the heads were scratching, but the other half though were mucho enjoyo, mucho agreeo. I’ll read other stuff Saturday too.

      2. I hope to hear your review on that experience. I’ve just replied to your later comment. Never mind the head scratching. I like the mystery you bring to your work. You’re an abstract artist. Can’t be cut and dry. That would be letting everyone off easily. x

      3. I’ve just replied to this comment now too. I don’t know why I feel compelled to say that. I’m surprised you’ve heard about the art festival this saturday in St Petersburg Florida, Sabiscuit. I don’t mind the head scratching. Head scratching is good. Head scratching is all I can produce.

      4. it was a gender split, really. I’d read my poem, each poet reacted, told me what they thought. Female poets (except for one) told me it says I am ‘lonely’ and not ‘alone’, and male poets said the opposite –and speaking as a male poet, it was. Apparently it seemed too unrealistic to some that I could enjoy sitting in my boxers listening to my favorite songs over and over, lol. And while writing. Which is often. If not always. But there was one commonality: all had defended their right to solitude.

      5. I can’t believe people fight over another person’s creative expression. Seems like your eye rolling technique got a workout. Don’t you just enjoy when people project their stuff on you, through their own work? Such fun. And for the record, I enjoy sitting in my satin PJs, listening to Beethoven symphonies or Bach cantatas over and over again, while writing. Which is often. xoxo

      6. I know right. I mean it’s poetry, not equations. There is no reference book for this kind of thing. How can one’s feelings be proved wrong? In my poetry group it’s not like that, disagreements are brushed over, and the shock of being wrong can be muffled by one assuring nod, or a quick glance from the person who agreed with you in that moment in that room about that point on that word of that sentence in that stanza. It’s a pretty good group there.

      7. I like to listen to jazz sometimes, but sometimes I listen to just whatever, like recently I’m on a punk rock kick. I’m like that with music, aka what some would call fake. One month it’s nothing but rap, then it’s classic rock, a week of jazz, now it’s punk revival. I’m a little bit of everything.

      8. yeah, that’s true and that’s also another benefit to being alone, that you are free to make those kinds of explorations, with things like music, things on which people ascribe so much to you in real life. It’s not the tradeoff of a lifetime, but I do listen to whatever I want in solitude, sometimes I even listen to artists I’d be embarrassed to say I listen to and thoroughly enjoy them. Solitude is solitude, but yes it does have its perks.

      9. I like all my posts. I like all my comments. You would need to be more specific, but Bonnie represents a stereotype of so women I’ve encountered in life, and same with all three of the he’s. They are stock characters.

      10. Bonnie isn’t any one woman. She’s my frustrations and if only a little, admiration, of women in general. I need to read more female authors because I feel like it would be helpful. To write in a women’s voice, as a man, that’s like out of reach for me. I did try once. A short story I called “Porches.” It’s on my blog if you care to read. A really old post. First-person female voice.

      11. You should see street signs in st petersburg. There are a lot of displeased punk enthusiasts here, over hipster fascination with their music. It’s in high volume enough that death wishes via stickers are everywhere. This is most common anti hipster sticker I see in st pete: “Fat guys with beards are everywhere,” and “Die fast, fix-wheal hipster scum,” and “Punk rock is dead, you killed it with craft beer, skinny jeans…

      12. & fixed gears.” Which was awkward the first time I noticed, riding by on my fixed gear, though without a beard. But hey, I guess they want their music back.

      13. And honestly, i don’t blame them. Because punk rock is for punks. It’s like the trix rabbit, I really don’t blame the kids for excluding him. Trix are for kids.

  1. And awkward is awkward, until detachment drifts, then it’s objective-ish. And detachment is useful, until attachment hits. Then it’s awkward. And the cycle continues. It’s fun.

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