My Uncle Lives Alone

Cherry

By ItsSteveDave

Mon, 01 Oct 2012
  • 1963 reads
10 comments
 

My uncle lives alone.
He does not write,
He does not pain,
He does not lust,
He lives a simple life;
Devon hamlet life,
Out in the wilderness,
And I often wonder what he does
with all that time.

Life is an encroachment on
eternal everything;
A canvas on which
sadness and joy
communicate themselves,
Made tangible by finite time.

Life is short;
What greater endorsement
For making peace with one’s self?

I look on my compatriots;
Slaves to desire.
I have fought the forces
urging me to fill time
with man-made wants;
Plain to me is the pain
of unquenchable desire;
It leads me nowhere but the beginning.

And in a breath,
I understand what my uncle
has done with all his time.

Certificate U
Poem
A Collection of Nothing In Particular
Spiritual

Comments

Submitted by sid on
I really enjoyed this. Plain to me is the pain of unquenchable desire; It leads me nowhere but the beginning. And in a breath, I understand what my uncle has done with all his time.- love these lines

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on
I like this because the old adage of respecting our elders is being forgotten by society. I like poems that either highlight the plight of celebrate the life of the elderly. Your poem falls between the lines of both. Lovely.

 

Submitted by ItsSteveDave on
Thank you sid, I really appreciate your opinion, it means a lot to me. I'm glad you enjoyed. Sooz, thank you as always. My uncle is, of course, my elder, but I don't see him as old. He never married and has lived in the countryside all his life, working in a warehouse and renovating an old chapel of rest in the middle of Dartmoor. He has three rooms completed after having owned it for over 20 years, which I just think is brilliant - two fingers up to all those people trying to live their lives at 2000mph. Thank you, too, cherrypicking robot! :)

Submitted by steve_elliott04 on
A perceptive write and an engrossing read. The finishing stanza wraps things up so nicely, and yet leaves me contemplating what I've done with my life so far, and whether I have lived as a slave. I'm glad this was cherrypicked; I hope plenty have read and will continue to read and benefit from your brilliantly crafted words. Cheers! Steve

Submitted by ItsSteveDave on
Steve, thank you so much for the comment. I really appreciate your feedback. Don't worry about those thoughts about being a slave, I very much doubt that you are given your passion for writing - this hints at good powers of deduction and a critical faculty which isn't taken in by the plastic things in life.

Submitted by steve_elliott04 on
Very true, as writers it is our job to take a step back from the world, to critically assess, to interpret and be inspired, so as then to 'teach and delight', as Sidney puts it in his defence of poetry - a rather dated theory, but still holds some weight. Of course, it is also essential that we immerse ourselves in life: the good and bad, the important and trivial things, otherwise we can't truly write with the belief that what we say is of worth.

Submitted by blackjack-davey on
isn't there a song lyric about 'being just contaminates the void?' and there's Beckett talking about words 'staining the silence...' I really enjoyed the character portrait and a glimpse of a life with an end to wanting... man-made wants/want-made men.

 

Submitted by ItsSteveDave on
Hi blackjack, thanks very much for reading. 'Being just contaminates the void' - I like that, I think that's how everyone feels sometimes - wanting to see through the glass to the truth of the world without their reflection impeding their view.

Submitted by Pixie on
Love this.

Submitted by ItsSteveDave on
Thanks Pixie, much appreciated, thank you for reading.