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Open Poetry #41
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The Old Hermit's Hut
| Open Poetry #41 |
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The Old Hermit's Hut |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria 
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The Old Hermit’s Hut Wizened and old but his eyes were still clear, The old hermit had long lived alone, Some thought him eccentric others a bit strange, Of his history so little was known. In the bush by the river his old tin shack stood, Its corrugations were covered with rust, It’s split timber palings blended in with the bush While it’s interior was covered in dust. A rough picket fence of eucalypt boughs Marked the boundary of his small vedgie patch, Mint and wild hops grew near the back door Where a piece of string was used as a latch. Scattered at random was a small stand of maize And white quartz edged a small flowerbed, Its colors were bright in the dying sun’s rays Backed up by a rose and geraniums red. From back door to river a track wandered down Through scrub & rushes to the edge of the stream, And there on a log was a comfortable seat Where the old fellow would sit and daydream. Long ago he had lost all faith in mankind, At their behaviour he had become totally disgusted, The galahs and goannas, the wild life in the bush Were the only things now that he trusted. Inside the old hut, though a haven of peace, Much junk hung there on some nails, Tattered clothes, ropes and a battered old hat And a past history that told many tales. An ancient rifle & fishnets could be seen at a glance, Some discoloured books were there on a shelf, On an upturned tea chest an empty bottle of gin That he had evidently drank by himself. The cast iron stove surrendered its warmth, To this old hermit who lived here alone, While the black iron kettle spewed forth its steam And the old shack had a smell all its own. An old wooden table leaned on the wall, At its end was just one single chair, Several melted candles had burnt low in a jar, The whole place showed an absence of care. Some hessian bags divided the cabin in two While the bed sagged close to the floor, The greasy old blankets were in need of a wash In conditions one could only abhor. An old photo hung at the head of the bed, Much faded and discoloured with age, It showed a young lady in the prime of her life But so long ago now had fate turned the page. I wonder what happened to this man in his youth, Some tragedy that remained long unseen, Evidently fate had dealt him a terrible blow And now he dreams of just what might have been. |
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| © Copyright 2007 Lindsay P Wilson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
Beautiful poem. It takes talent to write so eloquently about simple, everyday things. |
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Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
Lindsay, I could read your poetry all day long ~ Well, I'm reading this poem at near 3 AM and could read your poetry all night long!  Quite the raconteur, ye be! ~ and you shared the story so poetically! I appreciate your attention to detail and how you bring your readers into whatever 'world' it is that you are writing about. Warm hug, EA |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
Excellent story. JL  Blessed are those who are generous, because they feed the poor. |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
Marchmadness, You flatter me with your kind response, thank you, much appreciated. LindsayP |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
You are the sweetest person Linda and I thank you sincerely for your very kind response. Hugs to you too. Lindsay |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
Thanks JL, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Lindsay |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Quite a write...James |
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Earl Brinkman Senior Member
since 2010-03-03
Posts 1183Osaka, Japan |
It has been said before but let me repeat that you are an excellent poet who tells wonderful tales. |
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