Another Man's Treasure

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Fri, 15 Aug 2014
  • 3957 reads
12 comments
 
Below watercolour skies he sits content
on tatty, plastic sofa; a square peg in this
dump-it-get-a-new-one age.
 
Overhead, a flock of seagulls shoot
the breeze. One by one, they land,
establish pecking order; feathers fly 
before they dine on whatever
they can scavenge.
 
Under graffiti-daubed, grey arches –
his abode; an inside-out kind of home
with river frontage; an antique tilt-topped table,
a chance find from some burnt-out, stately mansion,
a clapped-out, iron framed mangle, circa
nineteen-fifty-three.
 
and a cello with no strings. Borough Market
just a stone’s throw away; pigs’ trotters, fish-heads,
his for the taking, when the stallholder chose
to turn a blind eye.
 
Under frosty, phosphorescent skies, needs must
he gets wrapped up in the news; The Telegraph,
The Independent, whatever he can find. Mind you,
a ‘Page Three Girl’ wouldn’t go amiss – not 
on a freezing night like this.
 
A fingernail moon sails high above Tate Modern,
spawning images – transient, bizarre; shapes
and shadows fall on ochreous walls. Abandoned
bathtubs, sinks and stoves,
 
ever growing hoards of trash, throw a myriad
of patterns. Tin trays clatter-crash – vermin scatter
as the gaffer of the dump sets to work, sifting,
searching, discarding nothing. 
 
One man’s waste is another man’s treasure.
Behind him, the flicker of a fire…a mountain
of detritus; a beacon of our time, burning bright,
ever brighter.
Certificate PG
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

As beautiful as anything in the Tate Modern (and I do like it in there!) 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Phil...so do Ismiley but you had me thinking, for a momentwink

Tina

 

Submitted by jeand on

HI Tina

I enjoyed reading this, and hearing of the treasures that your man had found and made use of. I like the idea of seagulls shooting the breeze.

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Many thanks, Jean...magpies rule the roost, in my neck of the woods this morning.smiley

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Tina,

I really love the idea of one man's waste being another man's treasure.

I enjoyed reading your poem, it was a perfect example of a person who could find magic in almost anything,  whatever the condition.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

That sums it up so very well, Jenny.  Many thankssmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

From the skies, and ceiling, to the intriguing descriptions of his home, I enjoyed the structure of this piece, and for a moment forgot what I would really feel like living there myself. The idea of the changing patterns of the trash was good too. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Rhiannon.  Your feedback more than appreciatedsmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by Denzella on

Hello Tina,

Yes,  you should think about becoming an estate agent.  You made the man's open air home sound like a desirable des res.  But  I too liked the idea that the man found a use for other people's trash in this disposable age.

Moya

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Moya - you had me in stitches.  An estate agent, eh?  Might just give it a whirlsmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

It is another man's treasure. Often think the same of kid's strange collections. This is stunning, the care in the words makes him as precious as his newsprint.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Treasured...your words, Vera.  Thank you for them.