The Poppy Man
By Silver Spun Sand
Sun, 12 Feb 2012
- 4073 reads
20 comments
Every year
there’s a ring
at the bell –
ten o’clock
in the morning
on a Sunday...
round about
the beginning
of November.
‘Poppy, Madam?’
he asks...I fetch
my purse. ‘Thanks,
for your generosity.
Here...grab a handful,’
he says, with a smile.
I tell him the widow
next door, died last June.
‘I know,’ he tells me,
‘And further down
in the village,
old Ted’s gone too.’
His hands, puffed up
with bad arthritis,
as he walks to the gate –
waves ‘Goodbye’.
I tell him, ‘See you
next year,’ to which,
he always replies.
‘No chance...
this’ll be my last.’
The gate squeaks
on its hinges,
to and fro
behind him
in the wind.
A hymn
to the passing
of time,
and the fallen –
then, and now.
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Comments
Strikes to the heart of it:I
Permalink Submitted by gerardineanne on
Strikes to the heart of it:I know your poppy man,
he lives here too.
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Poppies have to be my
Permalink Submitted by MistakenMagic on
Poppies have to be my favourite flower, Tina. So I am jealous of your poppy man! Love this, the way the stanza trickle down to the final line. Well done on the cherries :-)
Magic xxx
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Hi Tina, have never had the
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Hi Tina,
have never had the pleasure of a poppy man coming
to our front door, but we did get a wooden cross
with a poppy attached to it posted through the door
this year.
I like the way you put this real life situation
into poetic words, something I find extremely hard
to do, always ends up like a story.
Thankyou for sharing this one.
Jenny.
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Hello SSS Tina, As always a
Hello SSS
Tina,
As always a fine piece of work!
Moya
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Indrani Ananda You've
Permalink Submitted by Indrani Ananda on
Indrani Ananda
You've captured this Poppy man's determination to see his mission through to the bitter end here, Tina, no matter how much harder it becomes for him year after year. That last stanza says of him "You will always remember me calling by, every time you hear the gate squeak.... long after I am gone." A lovely poem.
Indrani.
Indrani Ananda
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The rhythm of the poem has a
The rhythm of the poem has a slow-march quality to it, which seems so appropriate. You can sense the dignity of the elderly gentleman. Very touching.
Steve
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I wonder if it is the same
I wonder if it is the same man that sits at the front of the hospital where I work, selling Legacy badges. Sounds the same...
Wonderful, succinct work, Tina.
Mark
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Right up my street, of
Permalink Submitted by threeleafshamrock on
Right up my street, of course (as you probably know) Tina. Wonderfully captured, on so many levels. A character, that not everyone sees; we need more of them. Great write as usual, loved it!
Chris xxx
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Beautifully poignant, I
Beautifully poignant, I loved the final stanza; the visual imagery is so clever and beautiful. Thanks for liking my latest effort. I still am not sure about it; but my feelings are so messy at the moment.
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