Sitting - Eleven a.m.

The dilemma I put myself in by sitting down in a peculiar, sunfilled spot everyday at the National Art School, Sydney, Australia.

I, like all those before me,
Seek comfort in the warming sun.
To escape the coldness of

The old cells is a daily routine.
I don’t know where Gleeson parked his arse
But my certain little spot is troubling.
Daily the sun shines to warm my body.
A warm body means a relaxed mind.
However such a thing lasts only so long.
The piping gurgles, as it must upon request.
Down flows it’s contents, warmed by my sunshine.
It rushes past my ears into a sorrier place than I wish to know.

I truly fear the sound of the flush, still I do not move.

The Flaneur in me simply must take in the day.

Whatever the discussion �" however so great,
The piping becomes the focal point
When the s**t begins to tumble.
Conversations give way to wicked gurgles.

My complaining begins
When the sloshing can be heard
coming from the pipes of that old girl's bathroom.
Still I do not move,

My spot is too damn nice in the sun.

m . Young

Author's Note

This is the first poem i've written.. any honest feedback would be good.. honesty i value

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

I, like all those before me,
Seek comfort in the warming sun.
To escape the coldness of
The old cells is a daily routine.
I don’t know where Gleeson parked his arse
But my certain little spot is troubling.
Daily the sun shines to warm my body.
A warm body means a relaxed mind.
However such a thing lasts only so long.
The piping gurgles, as it must upon request.
Down flows it’s contents, warmed by my sunshine.
It rushes past my ears into a sorrier place than I wish to know.
I truly fear the sound of the flush, still I do not move.
The Flaneur in me simply must take in the day.
Whatever the discussion " however so great,
The piping becomes the focal point
When the s**t begins to tumble.
Conversations give way to wicked gurgles.
My complaining begins
When the sloshing can be heard
coming from the pipes of that old girl's bathroom.
Still I do not move,
My spot is too damn nice in the sun.
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I, like all those before me,
Seek comfort in the warming sun.
To escape the coldness of
the old cells are a daily routine.
I don’t know where Gleeson parked his arse
But my certain little spot is troubling.
Daily routine sun shines my body.
Warmth means a relaxed mind.
However, such a thing lasts only so long.
The piping gurgles, as it must upon request.
Down flow its contents, warmed by my sunshine.
It rushes past my ears into a sorrier place than I wish to know.
I truly fear the sound of the flush still I do not move.
The Flaneur in me simply must take in the day.
Whatever the discussion however so great,
the piping becomes the focal point
when the s**t begins to tumble.
Conversations give way to wicked gurgles.
My complaining begins
when the sloshing can be heard
coming from the pipes of that old girl's bathroom.
Still I do not move,
my spot is too damn nice in the sun.

A little clean-up with editing...the fun stuff we all like to do...as writers...I believe this is not bad...I wanted to show one that is polished a bit...so you can go from there...and change the words a bit...the same words makes the verse redundant...but read both and you will see what I mean about the word usage...I'm going to take it lightly on you...this is your first poem...I'm keeping that in mind...but you're on your way...Happy writing...