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An down an dert track ,
Over grown ,
A farmers feild to one side ,
Trees , and bushes ,
'Tother side , backs of,
expensive house's ,
Brick and concrete walls ,
More trees , bushes ,
I came upon a man by him self ,
On his knees , preoccupied , digging ,
I stood behind the man ,
He had not heard me approach ,
I stood behind him fore a spell,
Then I spoke , so startling the man ,
''What you doing mate?'' says I ,
'' Digging'' , say's he ,
'' daft question '' ,
Admits me ,
'' Well it's a bloody hot day '',
'' Me brains boiling , spoke to let off steam '' ,
We grind ,
'' Used to be an old Victorian rubbish dump, ''
The man informed me ,
'' found anything? '' , I asked the man ,
'' Yes '' , he said ,
He pointed to bottles , old tin can's ,
I pick them up , gave them a look ,
'' Worth a few bob'' , he revealed ,
I put them back , when a bottle court my eye ,
'' This looks good ' , says I ,
'' Na'' , he responded with ,
'' Look the top's broken '',
'' Not worth a penny'' ,
The bottle was move or perpole , maybe blue ,
How the sun calt , so amazing to behold ,
I Carest it with my eyes , how the light bounced ,
Of the unusual couler , and shape of the Victorian ,
Bottle ,
Mind , then if I take it , mate?'' ,
''Na , mate , take it , no use to me'' ,
'' Cheers , mate'' ,
'' Good digging'' ,
Saying '' see your , take care '' ,
On I walked , quite happy , with my damaged ,
Victorian purple , move , blue , bottle , that lit up with the sun ,
What is rubbish , trash to most , is booty to other's ,
Or as to me , art and beauty.
The Dyslexic Poet
Ken D Williams
Poetry by ken d williams
Read 490 times
Written on 2010-01-26 at 20:55
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THE BOTTLE
One day I was a walking ,An down an dert track ,
Over grown ,
A farmers feild to one side ,
Trees , and bushes ,
'Tother side , backs of,
expensive house's ,
Brick and concrete walls ,
More trees , bushes ,
I came upon a man by him self ,
On his knees , preoccupied , digging ,
I stood behind the man ,
He had not heard me approach ,
I stood behind him fore a spell,
Then I spoke , so startling the man ,
''What you doing mate?'' says I ,
'' Digging'' , say's he ,
'' daft question '' ,
Admits me ,
'' Well it's a bloody hot day '',
'' Me brains boiling , spoke to let off steam '' ,
We grind ,
'' Used to be an old Victorian rubbish dump, ''
The man informed me ,
'' found anything? '' , I asked the man ,
'' Yes '' , he said ,
He pointed to bottles , old tin can's ,
I pick them up , gave them a look ,
'' Worth a few bob'' , he revealed ,
I put them back , when a bottle court my eye ,
'' This looks good ' , says I ,
'' Na'' , he responded with ,
'' Look the top's broken '',
'' Not worth a penny'' ,
The bottle was move or perpole , maybe blue ,
How the sun calt , so amazing to behold ,
I Carest it with my eyes , how the light bounced ,
Of the unusual couler , and shape of the Victorian ,
Bottle ,
Mind , then if I take it , mate?'' ,
''Na , mate , take it , no use to me'' ,
'' Cheers , mate'' ,
'' Good digging'' ,
Saying '' see your , take care '' ,
On I walked , quite happy , with my damaged ,
Victorian purple , move , blue , bottle , that lit up with the sun ,
What is rubbish , trash to most , is booty to other's ,
Or as to me , art and beauty.
The Dyslexic Poet
Ken D Williams
Poetry by ken d williams
Read 490 times
Written on 2010-01-26 at 20:55
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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