Poetry Forum

2nd Edit

He sits upon the village bench
handing out smiles to life as it passes,
occasionally resting a smile upon
his walking stick.

His day on the bench begins at nine
and finishes at four. That's a lot of smiles
to scatter, weather permitting.

His eyes, watered down with age
and weathered with stories,
offer a simple truth to life;
the stubborn lament for all things
beyond the present.

Satisfied with his day's quota he stands,
takes off his smile, and leans his hand on his
walking stick. Homeward bound he plots
his course, becoming just a passerby.

What remains of the day is cheese on toast
with a cup of tea.

Followed by a friendless night waiting
for the dawn to break and the future
to surround the present once more.


1st Edit

He sits upon the village bench
handing out smiles to life as it passes,
occasionally resting a smile upon
his walking stick.

His eyes, watered down with age
and weathered with stories,
offer a simple truth to life;
the stubborn lament for all things
beyond the present.

His day on the bench begins at nine
and finishes at four. That's a lot of smiles
to scatter, weather permitting.

Satisfied with his day's quota he stands,
takes off his smile, and leans his hand on his
walking stick. Homeward bound he plots
his course, becoming just a passerby.

A green door, much like any other, holds
the lock to his key and the changing
heartbeat to his day. No cat, no dog,
no smiles returned.

Gone are the returned waves and precious
smiles, no more 'How are you's?' and 'Have
a nice day'. What remains of the day is
cheese on toast with a cup of tea.

Followed by a lonely night in a bed that's
ready for the scrap heap. Waiting for
the dawn to break and the future
to surround the present once more.

Original

He sits upon the village bench
handing out smiles to life as it passes
by, occasionally resting his smile upon
his walking stick.

His eyes, watered down with age
and weathered with stories,
offer a simple truth to life;
the stubborn lament for all things past.

His day on the bench begins at nine
and finishes at four. That's a lot of smiles
to hand out, weather permitting,
and feel good in the doing.

Satisfied with his day's quota he stands,
takes off his smile, and leans his hand on his
walking stick. Homeward bound he plots
his course, becoming just an ordinary passerby.

A green door, much like any other, holds
the lock to his key and the changing
heartbeat to his day. No cat, no dog,
no smiles returned.

Gone are the returned waves and precious
smiles. No more 'How are you's' and 'Have
a nice day'. What remains of the day is
cheese on toast with a cup of tea.

Followed by a lonely night in a bed ready
for the scrap heap, all the while waiting
for the dawn light to break. To face the day
once more with smiles and waves.

Hi Trobbo,

Congratulations on writing a very moving piece of poetry. You brought the reader into the heart of this man's loneliness without ever stating that he was lonely. You also showed his courage and persistence without making it schmaltzy. I think that the truth he offers to life is more akin to, "stay in the game," or "make the best of what you've got." The poem doesn't show him lamenting all things past.

There are one or two places that I would make a different choice, but these may or may not objectively improve the poem. I'll just throw out my impressions.

Waiting............perfect title.

He sits upon the village bench..............................good specificity and simplicity to start.
handing out smiles to life as it passes....................."handing out smiles to passersby as life passes"
by, occasionally resting his smile upon
his walking stick.............................................bit of a heartache here.

His eyes, watered down with age
and weathered with stories,................................you've captured the picture of his eyes physically with these slightly abstract phrases.
offer a simple truth to life;
the stubborn lament for all things past.....................is this congruent with his character? He may lament the past but is making the best of his present?

His day on the bench begins at nine
and finishes at four. That's a lot of smiles
to hand out, weather permitting,..........................smiles to scatter?
and feel good in the doing.

Satisfied with his day's quota he stands,
takes off his smile, and leans his hand on his
walking stick. Homeward bound he plots
his course, becoming just an ordinary passerby.............another heartache image. Do you need both "just" and ordinary here?

A green door, much like any other, holds
the lock to his key and the changing
heartbeat to his day. No cat, no dog,
no smiles returned.............................................strong picture of absence.

Gone are the returned waves and precious
smiles. No more 'How are you's' and 'Have
a nice day'. What remains of the day is
cheese on toast with a cup of tea..........................drop the period.

Followed by a lonely night in a bed ready
for the scrap heap, all the while waiting...........................for the scrap heap. All the while he waits
for the dawn light to break. To face the day
once more with smiles and waves...........................change this a bit? "for the dawn light to break so he can return
..................................................................to the day of smiles and waves" or something else. The end is not quite as strong as the rest, imo.

Great poem.

Grace

Hi Grace, thank you so much for an exceptional critique. I shall take into account and make some changes where applicable. Regards Terry

WOW!!! What a wonderful portrait you painted of this elderly man. As Grace said you manly showed this man's loneliness without telling us constantly. I love how this man, even in his loneliness, gives out smiles like candy. I know a few elderly men and women like this in parks who are like that. They're ready to give you a smile, say how handsome your child or your dog is. All they ask in return is a few words in return, an acknowledgement that they exist. I get so angry when people pass them by, as if they don't matter, paying more attention to their donut than to a human being saying "good morning" to them.

Luce

trobbo44 wrote:He sits upon the village bench
handing out smiles to life as it passes
by, occasionally resting a smile upon
his walking stick.

Love this line - "handing out smiles to life as it passes". I would put it in the active tense though. Life, in this case, are the passerbys. I would cut "by" though. It makes L2 & L3 stronger/b].

His eyes, watered down with age
and weathered with stories,
offer a simple truth to life;
the stubborn lament for all things
beyond the present.

Love the description of his eyes.

His day on the bench begins at nine
and finishes at four. That's a lot of smiles
to scatter, weather permitting,
and feel good in the doing.

Love this stanza. So much to like in this poem. I would cut the last line though. You don't need it and it waters the stanza down.

Satisfied with his day's quota he stands,
takes off his smile, and leans his hand on his
walking stick. Homeward bound he plots
his course, becoming just a passerby.

I like the chain of movements. Would put "work" instead of "quota". Work can infer that this is "his life's work" now". I like how he takes off his smile - maybe put it in his coat pocket? Maybe "puts" instead of "lean" his hand on his walking stick. I like how he blends into the crowd - becomes invisible in a way.

A green door, much like any other, holds
the lock to his key and the changing
heartbeat to his day. No cat, no dog,
no smiles returned.

Not crazy about this stanza. Would pick a more drab color than "green" unless "green" is a pretty common color for apartments/houses in England. Maybe cut the lock/key section. I'd make the stanza more active. I don't know about smiles being returned from animals. Would expand the list to include humans (wife, children). See below for revision suggestions for this stanza:

A green door, much like any other
changes the heartbeat to his day.
No cat, no dog, no wife nor children,
no smiles returned.

Gone are the returned waves and precious
smiles, no more 'How are you's?' and 'Have
a nice day'. What remains of the day is
cheese on toast with a cup of tea.

I'd stop the poem with the stanza above but would include the lines below.

Followed by a[s]lonely[/s]night in a bed that's
ready for the scrap heap[s]. All the while[/s]
he waits for [s]the[/s] dawn [s]light[/s]to break.
[s]Waits[/s] for the future to surround
the past [s]present[/s] once more.

Luce, thank you for your comments and suggestions. I have used some but not others. As for the poem, it refers to an old chap in our village who does exactly that, sirs daily waving at the passing cars or talking to passersbys. The rest is poetic licence I'm afraid

That's a lot of smiles
to scatter, weather permitting.

That's a lovely light touch there to the situation. Much to enjoy in the poem Terry, especially in the opening three stanzas.

Also liked the defining of time spent in...

What remains of the day is
cheese on toast with a cup of tea.

best

mac

It's a nicely achieved portrait, Terry.

Macavity wrote:Much to enjoy in the poem Terry, especially in the opening three stanzas.

I like the first four, but I would stop there. I don't think is much added by the remaining three. They're a bit heavy on the pathos pedal, while being already effectively implied in the first four.

Cheers

David

Hi Davis, thank you for your insight and suggestions. Hopefully, the latest edit fits the bill. I'm happier with the final draft. Regards Terry

Hi Trobbo,

I like your revisions.

The only thing left that sticks out for me is that the period ending the second to last stanza should be a comma so that the last stanza is not a partial sentence. Maybe that is just my particular preference, however, because I didn't see any other posters complaining!

Best,

Grace

Hi Grace, thank you for your comments and suggestions, I shall give them some consideration. Regards Terry

I like your theme but here's another way much of what you wrote could be formatted. It's just an example of an alternative approach of succinct rhyme..

He sits upon the village bench
handing out smiles to passers by
then rests his smile upon the ground
when no-one’s there to catch an eye

Age watered stare signals the cry
that voices simple truth unchanged,
each day’s lament for life flown fast
leaves him from all he loved estranged.

Upon that bench from early morn
with parcelled smiles that won’t impose
on daily routine to stay sane,
‘return to sender’ at the close.

This reminds me of Mr. Parkinson - a neighbour of mine. He was a lovely, old lad who'd lost his wife a long time ago, had no children to care for him and whose house had gone to rack and ruin. He was ''The Nice Man With Sweeties', which he offered to children as they passed by.
Sadly, in this day and age, nice men aren't allowed to show affection towards children. Mr Parkinson would be suspected of all kinds of ulterior motives.
I'm so pleased that I grew up in a more innocent, less cynical/paranoid world and a world in which the neighbours made sure Mr Parkinson was ok.
I'm pleased he never lived to see the 'Every Man Jack for Himself' world we're all accustomed to. I'm sure, under present circumstances, he wouldn't have had an innocent 'smile' on his face.

Here endeth the rant which your poem has elicited. Beautifully sad. x