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.

[Mick Burke]

Great poem. Tells a great story.

[Perkele.7885]

The man went to a lot of trouble to be left alone. Leave him be to himself. What is wrong with wanting solitude from earthly noise?

[Valentine]

I knew I got on the site today, for a reason. This write was it. Such deep meaning is written into each line and the changes in him that made him state the last line. Another for my favorites list. Valentine

[Megan]

Beautiful.

[Tate Morgan]

Ah that was well done. And so that is why i always come to see whats up round your neck of the woods

[Marie]

The last line gave me goose bumps. There's so much to be heard in the silence...I guess he found it...

[roarke]

yeah, man. We live like this, and I keep saying we didn't move remote enough. Yeah, David, every sound in nature is the voice of God, and you don't have to strain to hear it unless you are fresh from the city of man.... nice work my friend.

[alf]

Hi David. The diversity of subject matter for your poems, ensures the freshness and vitality that comes from your writing. I loved this one for the simplicity of the tale, and though the end is sad, in a reflective way, it seemed so fitting. I look forward to reading each new posting, wondering where you will take us next, alf

[Barbz]

You take us to the grumbling moans of a man fed up with modernization of life, but rather a simpatico relationship with natural surroundings. Returning to the bush, and, perhaps regretting it, was not where you took us. We found ourselves in the beauty and silence of nature, and the one who created it. Thank you for this piece of, perhaps, All of us. Barbz

[Jane Winters Rogers]

Oh! Each time you write a new poem it is so exciting and vivid, the poem has a life, it's your energy, your imagination that makes it that way...I so loved the ending.....I know you can hear God in the Forrest....just so real, full of power...Thank you, this poem has touched my heart.