The Recluse

He hadn’t lived in the world of men

Since he’d tossed his job, and quit,

He’d told his boss, ‘There’s no future here

And so, here’s an end of it!’

The grimy city was getting him down

And the noise was driving him spare,

So he said goodbye to the world of fumes

To head for the open air.

 

He found a tumbledown cottage that

Nobody seemed to own,

The roof was keeping the weather out

So he thought to call it home.

He cobbled together some furniture,

A bench and a rustic chair,

And sat in the shade of the eucalypts,

And bagged the occasional hare.

 

The cottage was back off an ancient track

Unsealed, and long out of use,

The nearest cottage a mile away

In a similar state of abuse,

The pioneers had been and gone

Leaving just these standing stones,

A testament to a rugged life,

They were now just piles of bones.

 

Though at first the silence suited him

It would give him time to think,

He would lie at night awake and cite

That the sky was made of ink,

An ink shot through with pinpricks so

That the stars came shining through,

And feel, as the Autumn dampness fell

On his face as morning dew.

 

But Autumn shivered to Winter and

It would rain and pour for days,

He’d look on out to the distance where

All he could see was haze,

He’d keep a fire in the ancient hearth

With wood, when it wasn’t wet,

And curse himself for short-sightedness

When it was, or he’d forget.

 

Then his hearing tuned to the many sounds

That he’d missed before in the bush,

The slightest sound of a twig that cracked

Or a breath of wind, at a push,

He heard the echo of silences

That whispered over the plains,

A spirit stirred that he’d never heard

Before, in his city pains.

 

But someone back in the world he’d known

Was worried that he had died,

And found the tumbledown cottage where

His friend was lying inside.

He wouldn’t answer his queries when

He spoke in a human voice,

Such sounds were strange to a mind that ranged

When given a different choice.

 

Then the doctors came to check on him

And the police turned up en masse,

They said, ‘We’re having to take him in,

He’ll harm himself at the last.’

But he raised one hand when they closed on him

In a manner distinctly odd,

And whispered ‘Hush! If you strain you just

Might hear the voice of God!’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[MomzillaNC]

Isn’t it odd how readily people make the assumption that you must be insane if you eschew the hurry-scurry noise and fury of our modern tech-driven lives? It’s sad how few know the majesty you can only hear in the silences that cannot be found in modern cities.

[Willard Wells]

Silence can bring sounds and thoughts that you must be aware aware and listen for. I used to live in Alaska and cross country ski. The silence was a silence I have never had before, but often wish is was near to me each day. Well Done.

[Josie E. Cook M. A.]

Sometimes are cruel world is just that cruel and unforgiving. Assumptions are so dangerous without any facts to base them on.
I find this true every day and often wish to disappear from this Earth full of despair and negative forces. However, hope is my driving force. Without it, I would not continue at all.
Finding peace is a comfort, and your poem shows the peace and the quiet that reflects his heaven on Earth.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

This reminded me of something Edgar Allan Poe would write...well written David.

[Lyndy]

Wow, this poem is quite interesting.
I enjoyed reading it. :D

[B]

A very powerful piece
Wonderful

I actually felt like I was in a place of complete reclusion
You done a great job

And I love how you ended it all

You got talent surely

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I love the imagery of the following lines:

"He would lie at night awake and cite
That the sky was made of ink,
An ink shot through with pinpricks so
That the stars came shining through,"

Aside from this, having moved from the city to the country, I appreciate the quiet and the silence. The more land and deer, birds and wild turkeys the better. The less I see of man the happier I am. Drives to the city to work are enough for me. If I could retire and still pay my bills, I'd be a recluse as well. It is the surest way to hear the voice of God.

[andrew mitchell]

An exciting read David .Made me wander and wonder over the outback seeing all those pioneer abandoned cottages and how the people lived and the stories those walls could tell.

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the story. Took me to good places and thoughts.
"And whispered ‘Hush! If you strain you just
Might hear the voice of God!’"
You create good situation and interesting character. I liked the ending a lot. Thank you my friend for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[R Smith]

That's brilliant David, i must admit its tempting to get that urge for solitude sometimes and i believe hearing the voice of God when alone for long enough just might be the thing that you hear the most :)