|Man From The Takeaway
On the corner of our street
is an Indian Restaurant
run by a man who takes
the large pieces of lamb
he neatly slices,adds spices,
and brings orders to our home.
He sits and shares our meal,
while recounting the history
of a far away mountain village
built of blood and stone
from foothills of tall mountains
that make skyscrapers seem small.
I never question this,
though I'm partial to the large
onion bhajis he consumes.
He walks home through early hours
to sleep with head in clouds
beneath a deep red moon,
breathing thin air,
while murmuring verse
from his homeland;
one tear wetting the temple of his bed,
one unblinking eye staring far away.
1 Jun 06
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I don't get enough from this to feel the work. The bad pun in line 2, and extra words in 3 (cuts, carves, slices) lead us into more extra words, and bland visions.
I can tell there is more to this man than you're giving us: The last stanza makes that clear. You have the vision to make this poem work, you just haven't given it to us yet.
I'm not there, I've not seen your street, nor this man. But I've seen similar. Here's an example, using line 4:
His spiced hands rub the lamb he brings to our home
I can smell curry. I would vote for some punctuation, you need some commas to break this into small bites but even as written, I get a sense of the homesickness and the attention to detail, the pride this man has in his shop.
The last line was kind of creepy, only because now I have a picture of one wandering eye awake while one is sleeping. Not a great picture!
thanks for taking the time and trouble .Sorry i have to go,someones knocking on the door and i'm hungry.
Dear Diana Trees
Sorry i had to rush away yesterday.I have rewritten and reformatted the poem incorporating your suggestions
I really appreciate the time and trouble you take to read the poems of a lost cause such as me.
Larry clueless Lark
By the time i got to the end I felt his lonliness,
Poignant. Liked it.
This man is one of my very best friends cus when i'm hungry he feeds me.On slack night we go drinking together at The Green Maharishi Club in Sion Street where we chase Nepal Whiskey through the tail of a dragon.He has shown me photographs of his home village high in the Himalyas where every house has a luxery curry oven and a line to hang out chapatis to dry.I would like to go there but unfortunately i can't stand hights and once had to rushed to hospital when i stood on a shoe box to evade next doors pet rattle snake that had escaped from its kennel.I will pass on your felicitations to Mr. Hackear as he is always asking about the wonderful people on PC and has in fact posted many poems here under the Non de plume Horatio Bitch.
Larry International Cuisine Lark