The truth is that I do alright without her.
I trudge here and there. I read. I write.
I eat and sleep. I lead a dull, monastic
Life, and mostly that's okay with me.
I'm not someone who has to talk. I'll
Listen, but I soon grow bored from
Hearing details of the lives of those
Who seem more dull than I. (I marvel
At how that can be!) I am not cheered
By noisy bars. I'm fine here by myself
All day. The only reason why I miss
Her is that, when she spoke to me,
She made me happy, truly happy.
In her absence that is something
I never can be.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 74 times
Written on 2017-01-04 at 14:26

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Larkin would have shrugged it off and been sardonic that's his charm.

You don't and that's yours.

Lover your poems.

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
Larkinesque, lugubrious, or whatever, it is mostly passionate to me. It's that happiness that is taken away that we miss the most. Our shot of opiate that makes life worthwhile. Beautiful one.

alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
some have said that i had something from larkin.
did he like jazz? jazz is a complex doesn't lull you with an easy beat...

one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Bravo! A subtle departure.

Larkin did have jazz, a different sort of passion.

It does resemble with the works of Philip Larkin. Colloquial, reflective, ironically understated, lugubrious than usual, you name it. Well, I love it.