A Private Eye’s Late Autumn Evening

November 28, 2015 at 8:54 pm (Detective story, Life, Poetry) (, , , , )

A Private Eye’s Late Autumn Evening

Silhouettes cast shadow on the wall
The light on the desk the sole light in the room
The open bottle of bourbon remains untouched
The ice in the empty glass melted hours earlier
All that bourbon in the bottle
in which was reflected the image of Carson Albion Private Eye
Would it really ease the pain of painful memories?
If it passed his lips
Those lips so often kissed by bourbon
yet rarely kissed by a woman he truly cared about
He discovered many women didn’t really care about guys who had been knocked down
by the school of hard knocks in life
They most often fell for the guys who had climbed their way to the top
no matter how many people they had stepped on and crushed to get there
And so they ended up as trophy wives
drinking from bottles themselves to cure their loneliness
since once caught, they were looked at and paid attention to as much as those animal head trophies that lined the walls of their respective mansions

Carson put the top on the bottle and put it away back in his desk
He sipped the liquid left from the melted ice in the glass
Another birthday spent alone
Five years in a row
A birthday spent alone
Was it part of some 5 year plan planned by a Politburo of cruel Fates
Whose threads formed a tapestry of Stalinesque style mercilessness?

Carson got up from his desk and walked out into the night
Lyrics from Simon and Garfunkel went through his mind
In the corner stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down and cut him
until he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving
And so Carson left.

But did the fighter still remain?
Carson stood at the street corner
How much fight did he have left in him?
He headed home.
Tomorrow was always another day.

-A private eye poem
written by Christopher
Saturday November 28th
2015.

Advertisements

36 Comments

  1. Nicholas C. Rossis said,

    Beautiful and poignant, as always. But you forgot to mention that Carson wasn’t alone. I happen to know for a fact that he has friends πŸ™‚

  2. ѕнєяяιє βˆ‚Ρ” ναℓєяια said,

    Oh, geeezz … I am the type that would always fall for the Fallen Ones – has always been. My father always know I love the homeless ones, the broken ones, the ugliest ones, the dark ones – my late best friend is a broken artist and I love him with my whole heart for he is who he is – a lovely person.

    I can never really strive to understand people who praises too much of the top people in the world. I can understand to pay respect for the top people for their efforts and hard workships as an example of success. But I was never the ONE type that easily fall of people like that.

    I am a writer, an artist, the ones who loves the dark more, I think. I am heightened by emotions of the broken songs and can turn the dark notes into lovely flowers. My father told me the many hundred times of our conversations that I always reminded him much of my beloved mother, for she and I, have a golden heart and I can see the beauty in those who think they are not.

    I guess, that’s why some people can take advantage of my good heart. But that is not my problem because it is not a sin to treat people with kindness. It is more a thousand times rewards than having money that can never buy you love for your soul …

    Don’t you agree with me, Chris?

  3. anaatcalin said,

    Happy Birthday, dear Chris! I’ll take care of what I promised you in a few days πŸ™‚

  4. Mithai Mumblezz said,

    Wishing you a belated happy b’day Christopher!! You have wonderful friends here and we all love reading what you write πŸ™‚ More than just any friends its the friends who are there for you to share thoughts, are the ones that matter πŸ™‚ I wish you wonderful years coming ahead πŸ™‚

  5. Hyperion said,

    I’ll admit, me and Carson would have enjoyed that bourbon. Then I would fall down the stairs and Carson would have to find a new friend to drink bourbon with because I would be in a body caste for a while. It was an excellent poem and I could relate. Thankfully, even as mad as I get at myself sometimes, I’ve remained close friends with me and sometimes Me and I like to drink alone. Then we get into an argument about whose turn it is to go downstairs for the oatmeal cookies. At least one of us always goes. Happy birthday my blogoteer friend. Puns N Buns for the new year. πŸ˜€

    • Dracul Van Helsing said,

      Thanks very much, Daniel. πŸ™‚

      You and your friend could then read an adventure with Renfield, Amadeus and Michelangelo while drinking bourbon and see who can spray the most bourbon on your desktop screen.

      • Hyperion said,

        Bwaaaa haaaa haaaa! That would be a pastime that could get entirely out of hand.

      • Dracul Van Helsing said,

        And both your liquor store and desktop computer repair shop would be happy. πŸ˜€

      • Hyperion said,

        It’s good for the economy, what could be wrong with that, right?

      • Dracul Van Helsing said,

        What’s good for General Liquor Sales is good for the USA! πŸ˜€

      • Hyperion said,

        Yes! Our economy was founded on whiskey, cotton, and tobacco. We had our priorities straight. That’s why we like to lounge in our underwear, smoking and drinking. It’s what made us great. The part about lighting farts is a rumor.

      • Dracul Van Helsing said,

        Lounge around in your underwear eh?

        So it was probably more than just mendacity Big Daddy was smelling in Tennessee Williams’ play Cat On A Hot Tin Roof? πŸ˜€

      • Hyperion said,

        Hahahahahah! It’s likely there was emissivity about! πŸ˜€

      • Dracul Van Helsing said,

        So southern women were probably the first women in the world to realize that most men only change their underwear (as well as their socks) once a month. πŸ˜€

      • Hyperion said,

        It’s possible they set the fashion trend themselves. Until the Debutante days at least.

      • Dracul Van Helsing said,

        Rhett Butler’s original final line in Gone With The Wind probably wasn’t, “Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a damn” but should have been “Frankly Scarlett, I think I better go change my underwear.”

      • Hyperion said,

        Perhaps it would have been a bit more romantic if he had done that! πŸ˜€

      • Dracul Van Helsing said,

        Indeed. πŸ˜€

  6. righteousbruin9 said,

    You are ever remembered, even if it’s only visible in Cyberspace. Excellent narrative of your condition.

    • Dracul Van Helsing said,

      Thank you, Gary. πŸ™‚

      Yes, I guess I do have lots of friends in Cyberspace. πŸ™‚

  7. doesitevenmatter3 said,

    Aw. 😦 Well, you are thought about and cared about!
    Happy Birthday, Chris! (Yes, you can stretch out the wishes for days!) πŸ™‚
    “Carson” HAS fight left in him! And, yes, Scarlett OHara and I know tomorrow is always another day…and could be THAT day when something wonderful happens! πŸ™‚
    Amazing poem…poignant and we can all relate to it. Thank you for sharing it with us! πŸ™‚
    Birthday-HUGS!!! πŸ™‚

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: