The Newspaper Seller Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE
The Newspaper Seller
'Express and Star! '
He calls unto the shoppers passing by,
Peering from his wooden hut
That dwells beside the bank.
The headlines trapped behind the gauze
Lie rippled by the damp,
The ink does run like fading tears
The town does gently weep.
So many years he's been there
A familiar face to all,
Yet carries on within
The fading twilight of his life.
His face is almost hidden
By a woollen hat and scarf,
As he wipes away the raindrops
From the spectacles he wears.
He looks unto the slated skies
Then mutters to himself,
And watches people heading home
And yet he has to stay.
Behind the pile of papers
Stacked upon the counter there,
Beneath a smooth and heavy stone
He uses as a weight.
As still the bitter wind does blow
That offers no remorse,
He calls again with all his strength
Into the evening air.
'Express and Star! '
Yet no one stops to buy one from his stall,
A street of blank expressions 'neath
The vast umbrella crowd.
Confined within that wooden hut
From which there's no escape,
He stamps his feet to keep them warm
Then rubs his weary hands.
The pigeons keep him company
Or else he'd be alone,
To stare into the darkness
Till the shutter does come down.
A very poignant story. Your last stanza is simply superb. 10 for your compassion and insight. Warmest regards, Sandra
I thoroughly enjoyed every line of this poem. You have painted a picture of a man who probably can do nothing else than sell newspapers. As the other readers say, the last line is superb. 10/10 Karin Anderson
The ink does run like fading tears The town does gently weep. .............................................. Andrew, It's wonderful line... Very sad poems, with severe truth... You once again proved readers your mastery to a word... this a familiar- face of the old man looks as live- old newspaper of town... Best wishes, Tsira
This is penned so vividly and filled with much compasion for an old man who still tries to make a dime to sell the papers.... It all most makes you feel like you were there, and wished to go up to him and buy a paper even if you didnt read it... I know I would have, and have done so in the past to similar situations, AND I know you have too, I can feel that.... Very Andrew Blakemore Style...... To the core...... A 10 plus..............
I'm so glad you have immortalised the Express and Star seller, I can't believe he is still there lol, its been 19 years since I left, what a man! 10++ Lynda xx
The relentless monotony of the job, finely examined and reproduced here. No sympathy, no acknowledgement of his presence. Sad really to think about it, one wonders how he feels within himself. Cleverly described. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 10:23:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
the last line in this write is sheer poetic beauty...the expression 'shutter down' is heart stealing...good life story write, Andrew...yet another...10