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Poetry
The Terrible tale of a man too bruised by love
By alandavidpritchard
28 March 2006
There is this man who builds his house on the edge of a cliff
so he can watch disasters occur below him.
The cliff fringes a wasteland (no helicopter-Hollywood shots
of an idyllic retreat – no)
and it takes him weeks to walk to the nearest shop.
“Damn inconvenient,” we tell him so, “139 miles to the nearest
advertisement. No electricity for the house. Nothing.
Just wasteland and sea – the one’s just wetter than the other,”
we tell him, adding, “the butt-end of nowhere.”
But, he doesn’t listen. He builds his house on the edge of a cliff,
where he lights candles to warn passing ships
not to get too close, and they always do,
and the rocks eat them up.
I’LL NEVER ALLOW ANYONE NEAR ME AGAIN!
he howls into the sound-scoffing wind,
and then goes back to lighting useless candles
which the wind blows out because he has no windows
just holes in the wall.
           Hut’s a good word. Can’t really
           call it a house.
Bollockshrinkingly cold,
which is why we used to bring him blankets
(we’d drop them outside the bullet-proof electrified
enclosure surrounding three sides of his shack surrounded
by hidden landmines)
and we’d find them – the blankets – later,
washed up on the shore.
The wind’s fierce up there, ‘especially this time of year.
Comes a time, he stops his bi-annual trip for supplies
(lots of toilet paper)
and we hear nothing for months –
‘cept when one of the old-timers electrocuted himself
putting canned food too close to the fence.
 

We all want to help him, you see.
 

Listen to me talking about him as if he’s still alive, no – he’s
long gone now. Just a pile of rocks –
we still can’t get too close –
looks that way, like a makeshift grave
without a headstone, without a cross.
 

Pity.
 

He had a nice arse.

Reviews

Written by amboline (183 comments posted) 29th March 2006
Oh dearie me :grin What a splendidly silly little vignette! Every time you're on the point of saying something deep and poignant, you throw in a magnificent joke (like that punchline at the end). I *love* poems like this, and would love to hear it performed live sometime. Good on you! 
 
I'll try and add some slightly more objective comments/suggestions for polishing, when I've stopped grinning.

Written by shirley_keeldar (67 comments posted) 1st April 2006
This reminds me of byron; the wryness, the voice, pessimism and humour. I like how the title has seemingly nothing but everything to do with the story. :grin

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