In a place
Full of sailors
Barmaids and waiters
Silence and sorrow
In the books
That I borrow
Witten by poets
In poverty and pain.
Life without sparkle
Smoke rings keep rising
From the queues by
The soup kitchen door
Old faces and embraces
Worn shoes no laces
Pavements littered
A pitiless stare.
Dark streets they grimace
To the sound that mimics
The passing of time
In decline
The closing time bell
In lifes living Hell
Closes its eyes
One more time.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Online) - Published: September 17th, 2026 02:42
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 47
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Teddy.15, Tristan Robert Lange
Online)
Comments6
A fine write N.
So you've read all your own books and are borrowing other books to read, while waiting at the bus-stop. lol.
read all the newspapers too lol
There is an intriguing feeling woven into this poem with internal rhyme and near rhyme. It meanders and flows all the way to the end. A fave
most kind my friend, always much appreciated and many thanks
My pleasure Norman
A cityscape straight out of a Dickens novel...
thanks for read my friend, much appreciated
Superb, and brings much reflection, true and clever makes me think about Sylvia Plath who lived in a loveless marriage with deep depression and Oscar Wilde who was gay and not accepted as such and so many more. 🌹
So glad it hit with you, thanks for read, much appreciated
Norman, I have always believed books let us enter lives the world would rather keep invisible. This took me among those forgotten faces and left me wondering how many stories disappear because nobody cares enough to listen. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
spot on my friend, thanks and much appreciation
Sad words Norman in a world where there is enough in it to share with all but those in power will not release it.
Andy
yes indeed, thanks and much appreciated read
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