Tin angel
Plastic Jesus
Brass whistle
That doesnt play
Cigarettes pay homage
To the dying day.
Blues quarter
In the neon
Brightly lit
Struggles to breathe
The glass reflects surrender
The prostitutes the need.
Steam train
In the distance
Its mournful call
To the falling night
Picture frame the vision
My tin angel out of sight.
-
Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: September 13th, 2026 03:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 50
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange

Offline)
Comments7
So many possibilities, common things, a collectors dream, memories, nostalgia brings. Religious decorations, false and fake, an attention getter that no longer works, coffin nails to the day's demise. Night life brighter than day now dead but still tries to breath, Surrender in a glass, sexual release. Trains of the past, so sad the call of memory, end of the day set in a frame one worshiped out of sight. There is hidden beauty and sadness in this journey a fave
thanking you my friend, always much appreciated
My pleasure Norman
There’s a smoky blues-noir atmosphere here, with the tin angel, plastic Jesus, cigarettes, neon, prostitutes, and distant steam train all inhabiting a world where faith and human struggle have been worn down by the night. The final return to “my tin angel out of sight” is especially effective—it turns that battered little religious object into a symbol of whatever hope the speaker has lost or can no longer reach.
Spot on my friend, thanks and appreciation for read
Good write N. Ahh, angels gone rusty while protecting you waiting at that bus stop?! lol.
guardian angel of the no 7 lol
It never leaves the bus garage! lol.
Old certainties keep us awake at night but sometimes lead to nowhere and dissipates into the night as well. Moving read. 🙏🏻🕊️👍🏻
thanks and appreciation my friend
Norman, this one carries such a lonely, late-night ache. It feels worn down by life but still strangely beautiful...like finding something sacred among everything discarded. Powerful poem, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
So many things in our life are irreplaceable Norman.
Andy
so true, much appreciated read, thanking you
And this is the Father's will which has sent me, that of all which he has given me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up again at the last day.
Thanks for read, appreciated
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.