… for a book of evenings

Poem #1 from The Book of Evenings

Back to: The Book of Evenings – Introduction

he has sworn
he would stop this
but once more won’t hurt
and this will be the last time
surely the last


it is cold out
there is sound
but receded to the status
of a murmur
his footfalls
occupy disproportionate space
in the stillness

there is no hurry
no direction
measured movement
is enough
in these abandoned streets
where life has retreated
from the fall of darkness

into kitchen and lounge
bedroom and bath
to cook and eat
wash and sleep
argue and love

he knows it is there
feels it radiated
from houses
shadowed against windows
muffled through the air


so many times
in the hours after shades
have been drawn
he has paced these streets
felt the stories
whisper into him
secrets unsuspected
only to him
drawing him back again
when he has told himself
he would listen no more

every evening
every house
every last footstep
its own ever-changing story
and he has listened

but this is the last time

he has heard enough

© Frank Prem 2003

The Book of Evenings Poem #2: telephone and tabby


5 thoughts on “… for a book of evenings

  1. to walk the streets after dark – seeing everything in shadows and half-lit – by exterior and interior illumination – is a sacred mission ….

    yet it can be exceedingly lonely too

    Looking forward to the new series Frank 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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