Empty Bottles Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE
Empty Bottles
The empty bottles stood
Upon the edge of the doorstep,
A little handwritten note beneath one of them
That read: 'No milk today.'
The milkman came at his usual time
And collected the bottles in one hand,
And placed them all within a crate
Then climbed inside his float.
The blue tits had gathered in the trees
And there they waited forlornly,
For their daily meal of cream
Then flew away so far.
The milkman's note blew on the wind
Along the path to every house,
And every street upon his route
Until he came no more.
Bravo Andrew. I really enjoyed that poem. It has a simplicity about it, with an intriguing/fanciful message. Personally, I think it's got more to do with the inflated price of doorstep deliveries. Tee Hee Best Regards Steve
It is so big poem... Such monotonous dynamism.... There is no milk - there is no prospect... not here, not there, not for them, not for milk-man.... 10 x10 for this Andrew... Best wishes, Tsira
A note blowing in the wind is a strong message of lost hope for the milkman and those that could not afford the milk delivery. We don't have milk deliveries now as supermarkets have taken over. I like the concept and of course, the birds suffer too! It does become a vicious circle. Great poem as usual.....10 Karin Anderson
A sad fare thee well and only the birds remembered the him..a ten from me..
Andrew, you have managed to bring forth so much/many charactors in this one poem, you have delivered so many people struggling to make their ends meet, by showing how, maybe they cant afford milk today, or maybe home deleivery is so very expensive compared to the local supermarket. Showing how many many little business are falling trough the cracks by the changing of time with growth of bigger businesses. Very well constructed, and I have given this a ten... A typical Blakemore quality within a small picture that says oh so much..........
I hate all these wonderful characters leaving our streets. Somehow you felt a comfort having them around, doing all the normal things that people do, moving through life. It is sad to see such a few crates on the back of those still working. I love these nostalgic poems. Thanks for bringing this to mind. Lovely read. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
The milkman, like the blacksmith, is no longer part of daily life. He is part of a slower time when women gossiped over fences and looked forward to afternoon tea and tales of indiscretion. I well remember the Clydesdale and his jingling bell, not to mention his regular and steamy deposits in the gutters. Thanks for reminding me - beautifully. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Quite a sad tale Andy, I still have the milkman (excuse the pun) and its nice on a winters morning to get the milk delivered, well penned as always 10 Lynda x
This one of tose read it over and over poem and come up with a different senerio after each read TEN
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/15/2024 10:53:45 PM # 1.0.0.1119
poor milkman. no more milk........ i saw everything.