He told me of
The Victorian tip
By the beach
Through the tunnel slip
That now discovered
Yielded finds
Through his glasses
Widened eyes.
Passioned words
As he explained
The history of
Items obtained
The inkwells
The medicine viles
Mineral water bottles
Bottle dumps defined.
An old man
Who collected glass
From a bygone era
Now with cancer sat
To share his words
His knowledge wide
Still that passion
Where death resides.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: July 27th, 2026 02:17
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
This poem created quite an image in the mind. The metaphor has layers with fragile glass and a man with cancer vintage bottles and a vintage man. The parallel is unavoidably visible. Nicely done
many thanks, much appreciated
Most welcome Norman
A person's deepest passion (as poetry is in this site) can outlast their bodily deterioration. When acquainting ourselves with them we journey along the investment of their time, effort, talent and thus they are perpetuated in their life work/occupation. 🙏🕊️
true my friend, thanks and appreciation
Most welcome my friend🕊️🙏
A sensitive write N.
Meanwhile - so you had enough time to clear up the litter, and bottles, waiting for that bus?! lol.
yes, we have formed a task force , the cleanest bus stop in the world lol
Norman, this really moved me. His illness may be claiming his body, but it has not diminished the enthusiasm that lights him from within. One heck of a touching poem, my friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
most kind, thanking you my friend much appreciated as always
We each have our own passions that will never die within us Norman.
Andy
true my friend, thanks and appreciation for reading
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