Tag Archives: Lonely

The Lonely Road

This is my tribute to all those affected by the terrible incidents in Boston, especially for the runners, because I know how it feels to put in the miles, the time and the effort. My heart goes out to everyone who has had to witness this cowardly act. I used to run half marathons and have lost count of how many Great North Runs I have done, the biggest half marathon in the world. So I know what it takes.

The Lonely Road

Tarmac, dark, foreboding,
Submissively listens, with
for the footfalls that will
inevitably arrive,
the runner must coexist alongside
The Lonely Road.

Horizons, twisted by heat haze,
permanent illusions, trickery
Sent to confuse aching muscles,
tired feet,
that continously stride
The Lonely Road.

Hour upon Hour,
Mile upon Mile,
Day upon Day,
the road is my lover,
my enemy,
my brother,
my only companion.

I know this road, intimately!
running shoes make love
to the ebony surface, that
seduces me, beguiles me,
like an addict urgently seeks a fix,
My only requirement being,
The Lonely Road

The Lonely Road is my life,
The Lonely Road is my soul,
Without The Lonely Road
I am nothing,
The road without me is
vacuous, destined,
interminably,to be
The Lonely Road.

Posted for OLN over at dVerse, the poets pub. Its taken a few knocks so we need to show our support for the team there. So try and spare a little of your time to post and read some of the other offerings on show by some very talented poets.


Living With Myself

Lonely park bench
blissful mid afternoon sunshine glints
off puddles that ripple
disturbed by a gentle breeze
A man,
lonely as the bench he calls home
is in deep conversation
with someone only he knows.

They converse for hour upon hour
time, a concept neither respect
or fear.

Tuesday, just another day
much like any other
same park bench
same man
conversing with someone
only he knows.

Early morning mist lingers
unburnt by the suns early warmth
promises of
another beautiful day
in the life of
a lonely park bench.

Still is the air, restful
as the man who slept under
starlit skies.

So soon, the chatter of conversation
fills the void
like the dawn chorus
taken for granted
by the 9-5 army
marching on rations
of cholesterol soaked
bran flakes

“Hello mister”
rubbing his still sleepy eyes
is this a dream caught
between the realms of the real
and imagination
“mister, you ok”
ah, those words
music from a long defunct jukebox
of broken promises.

“want some coffee mister”
“does it come with nicotine”
“whats nicotine mister”
“never mind”
“i’ll ask my mammy”
with that, she skips away
a bird chasing its own song
unemcumbered by life

“mammy doesn’t smoke, sorry mister”
“but you can still have some coffee
cant you”
the last veil of mist
to reveal this day
the most glorious yet

“is this yours mister”
“whats it for”
sure this was still a dreamscape
the man yawned, aware
this was surreal, yet
somehow not.

That strange encounter
saved a mans life today
preventing hypothermia
from taking another innocent life
of a man who is not like you,
from a man who could not live like you
but a man who
Can live with himself.

This came about for a host of reasons. If you know Jethro Tull, you will know Aqualung, a song I find so sad, I tend to shed tears when I hear it. Then there was the old [to a child] man in the park I used to talk to as a bairn, unbeknown of the inherent dangers that would brng about today. And lastly, for the time I spent living rough, where the rest of the word passes by, ignoring the fact that you even exist. Hypothermia is the enemy of the homeless, no amount of paper or cardboard can repel it. Last of all, its for the people, who for whatever reason, spurn the life that the majority of us lead. Their bravery is testament to the human spirit.

A quote from Ian Anderson, frontman of Jethro Tull and composer of Aqualung.

“Aqualung wasn’t a concept album, although a lot of people thought so. The idea came about from a photograph my wife at the time took of a tramp in London. I had feelings of guilt about the homeless, as well as fear and insecurity with people like that who seem a little scary. And I suppose all of that was combined with a slightly romanticized picture of the person who is homeless but yet a free spirit, who either won’t or can’t join in society’s prescribed formats”.