"tins" poems
Keys. Shoved through the letterbox
before I got up-
in an envelope with a note:
Could I (please) feed the cat…
Gone away? Good for her!
Car on the drive. Took a taxi. I think.
To the airport? Didn’t say.
******* with rain-
still, had best leave my shoes on the step just the same.
Obsessed with cleanliness and hygiene-
that’s why he left.
Who, in their right mind, puts cream-coloured carpet in a…?
Door. Not locked. Nearly fell through it.
Strange. She forgot?
Kitchen. Freezer’s empty, switched off.
No cereal. No tins.
Utility room. Spotlessly clean-
twelve! two-kilogram bags of Go-Cat Complete.
Planning to be gone quite a while. I think.
Playroom. Packed up. Kids staying with Nan.
She wants to redecorate before they come home?
Great. A fresh start. I think.
Bedroom. Suitcase on the wardrobe.
Bought a new one? Smaller. Lighter perhaps.
Makes sense. After all- she is travelling alone. I think.
Bathroom. Pristine. Almost empty.
Almost. Macleans and a toothbrush,
in a glass on the sill.
I didn’t think about that.
Until now.
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 4:17 AM UTC
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn ****** our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
8k
Leafy ferns and little frogs
Toads live in the garden
Weeds and grass and daffodils
And poop...I beg your pardon
Yes **** is in there from the cat
That roams around the houses
Just pick it out or grind it in
It should be full of mouses (meeces or mice)
There's ceramic figurines in there
Little deers and little dogs
To go along with little stones
And plastic little logs
But, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at
There's ******* blown from up the road
Candy wrappers and old tins
The neighbor kids are lazy so,
They never throw it in the bins
The cat lies sunning lazily
Beneath a summer sun of gold
With it's job of chasing meeces down
For a while, put on hold
There's ivy, climbing everywhere
And things you can not tell
They got there from the squirrels
But you keep them for the smell
But, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at
You tend the garden lovingly
Moving figures in and out
You never move the gnomes too much
Too much trouble, I won't doubt
You transplant flowers, move some trees
Cut the weeds back, till the soil
You head inside, the whistle blows
The kettles on the boil
While you are gone, something goes on
The gnomes attack the cat
You come back out, and wonder why
The gnome has lost his hat
yes, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see he's looking at the cat!!
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
Look into my eyes and you shall see
The innocence and solitude in me
I am all alone in this massive ball
No one to pick me when I fall
Touch my body and feel
The absence of countless meals
I have dug into several bins
To find a morsel from trashed tins
I have slept on cold hard grounds
A better place, still not found
I was soaked by the pouring rains
And disturbed by noisy trains
I have played with broken dolls
Drawn with charcoal on overfilled walls
I have prayed to all the gods I know
Their love makes my soul glow
I am a child too
Don’t deprive me of you
Cuddle me in your arms
A little crave for love means no harm
I know I am an orphan
And might not even get buried in a coffin
But don’t shoo me away so recklessly
Where is your humanity?
Don’t throw that money and walk away
Please hear me out or for a while just stay
If you know of an orphanage, take me there
I no longer want to live in despair.
-Zainab Attari
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
(For D. M. C.)
The little man with the vague beard and guise
Pulled at the wicket. "Come inside!" he said,
"I'll show you all we've got now -- it was size
You wanted? -- oh, dry colors! Well" -- he led
To a dim alley lined with musty bins,
And pulled one fiercely. Violent and bold
A sudden tempest of mad, shrieking sins
Scarlet screamed out above the battered gold
Of tins and picture-frames. I held my breath.
He tugged another hard -- and sapphire skies
Spread in vast quietude, serene as death,
O'er waves like crackled turquoise -- and my eyes
Burnt with the blinding brilliance of calm sea!
"We're selling that lot there out cheap!" said he.
5.8k
Where are you Paul?
I'm in Cyberspace Mum.
My Pentium processor has broadbanded me
Into this wondrous realm.
A pixel powered virtual landscape
Peopled by avatars
Speaking Internet Slang.
FFS, *** are you talking about?
She asks.
In so many words.
I **** and ROFL at her incredulity.
It’s full of danger, that Internet, says Mum.
That’s true.
It’s full of paedophiles,
Spammers and trolls.
Hackers.
Chat-rooms and forums
Plagued by flame-wars
And spam enough to fill a trillion tins.
Sites full of viruses, Trojans, malware and spyware.
Cyber-bullies and loons abound.
But I just Love it.
A ****** addiction
Needing every fix.
A realm indeed of quantum singularities,
And imploding nebulae.
Paul Butters
(C) PB 3\9\2011 in Yorkshire.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 11:09 AM UTC
Preach poverty and patience to the poor,
When snarling winter packs hunt down the old;
Push them away and shun them from your door
Feed hungry souls with sermons and rapport,
Old shepherds, keep your flocks unto the fold;
Preach poverty and patience to the poor
When heaven's snow attests to hallowed floor
And beggars plead for mercy from the cold,
Push them away and shun them from your door
When hungry children cry 'a little more'
And clamour forth with rusted tins they hold,
Preach poverty and patience to the poor
When brothers, plague and famine, reach the shore,
The weak and dying seek to be consoled;
Push them away and shun them from your door
When paupers come with frosted feet to thaw,
And fill the hall to hear kind words unfold:
Preach poverty and patience to the poor,
Push them away and shun them from your door
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
I’ve never understood the pull of the nightlife.
I was always content to hang in my cave and enjoy the homelife.
Every now and then I do wag my tail and purse the trail of the pack,
Always lingering right at the back of the queue.
I follow their scent when they descend into the night,
While they ascend the social status stairway.
From my perch at the bar I watch the social sheep dancing to the beat of popularity:
The girls show off their twirls and brunette curls,
Inviting you into the funhouse down under that never shuts for festivities.
The boys weigh up their options with the biceps on display and perfect quiffs held up by ten tins of hairspray.
Hunting through the flocks of feet trying to find themselves a piece of meat for an all night feast.
When he finally finds his muse he bites her lip and grabs her hair, pulling her in without a care about those who stop and stare.
They kiss for seconds and he whispers in here ear,
“I think we should get outta’ here.”
She giggles grabs his hand and leaves through the exit at the rear.
His friends give him a clap and cheer, whilst his jealous rivals sulk and sneer.
After a few too many drinks I leave through the front, holding my head low to avoid a fight.
Bearing the brunt of another unsuccessful night with no young light to take home and ignite.
I fall on my floor with a case of helicopter head as the room spins in circles and squares in front of my eyes.
My lasting thoughts are of the day ahead; hanging dry and feeling as if I’d rather die.
It's just another day in my nightlife.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
The earth is slowly dying
To save it we have to try,
We need a solution to
Deal with polution
But it's too big a problem
We sigh,
So if we all join together
Everyone woman, child and man
Recycle our tins
In green wheelie bins
And we'll save the world
Yes we can.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Time has moved so fast
that we're not living in the 80's anymore
And all the friends I've gathered
along the way
have slowly started to disappear
One...by...One
And this old pattern
of moving from job to job
Is becoming a bore
So turn up the radio
and drive another 1000 miles
I'm still filling up this old backpack
with silver tins of sand
Each one labeled
from all the beaches I've been to
...So many different places
If you asked me where home is
I'd tell you I don't know
'Cause I've been to Albuquerque
Japan, and everywhere else
around this globe
I am a wanderer
My home is the road
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
1
We're not in darkest Africa
and jungles don't adorn,
this little bit of overgrown
that wraps around our lawn,
2
Plants of pretty colors
sit comfortable in there bed,
and about two dozen footsteps
find us at the potting shed.
3
Our potting shed has seen better days,
some parts have been rebuilt
and it's suffering from subsidence
for it's slightly on a tilt.
4
The walls desperately need painting
because the wood has got some rot
but a boring place to come and sit
it definitely is not.
5
Odds and ends adorn the shelves
and the places spiders tread
where the dust has piled on the weight
and the woodworm may have spread.
6
Smells that we first come across
carry the scent of damp,
foul stinks from half empty sacks,
paint tins that have gone rank.
7
An old oil lamp expel the rust
like dandruff from my head
reigning down golden crumbs
that looks like toasted bread.
8
We think that we have found some proof
of what might linger around
footprints so large and evident
that a Tigers walked upon this ground.
9
So while we have been sleeping
and resting through the night
there's been a Tiger in our shed
but he keeps out of sight.
10
We've sorted through many boxes
we've moved some things aside,
looked into shadows with a torch
but we can't find where he hides.
11
Perhaps he's gone out hunting
for an evening meal,
eyeing up the neighbors dog
with energetic zeal.
12
Perhaps he's out sunbathing,
sitting somewhere in a tree
camouflaged with all those stripes,
that's the reason we can't see.
13
I don't know if he's Sumatran,
Siberian or Bengal
and he doesn't ever show himself
or come to me when I call.
14
I believe he stays outside all day
and only hides in here at night
but I won't come down here when its dark
only in the light.
15
He is a wild animal so
one must take the some care
for he could be stalking us as prey
he could spring from anywhere.
16
But we leave the door unlocked for him
and we've made a comfy bed,
and a sign that just reads "WELCOME"
to the Tiger in our shed
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
from a distance, I thought
you might be a wolf
straying from the high country,
confused by the cacophony of scents,
but no,
‘twas my vapid vision, you were
only a mongrel, perched high on the mound
the odors of suburban fast food ghosts
and tuna tins familiar to you
you stood atop the reeking remnants
your right front paw resting on
the shredded files of a grand embezzler
your left rear on the ear of a headless teddy bear
another on an orange rind until you shifted your weight
and found footing on a crinkled crushed water bottle
one of about…33,448,899 in the heap, or maybe
33,448,900
and the last on the ubiquitous cell phone
that heard its final voice a fortnight before,
when its master spoke his last light words
before he tossed it into a dark dumpster
and replaced it with another plastic confessor
whose fate would ultimately be the same
after some sublime texting and sexting
and a few vain words
to other deaf dogs
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
I wasn't sure what to make
of this intergalactic space war.
With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins
and bullets made out of fingers.
I took it upon myself, I suppose
to conscript to this chaos,
upon the fluffy terrain.
Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus,
with a purple top hat
had taken over the bunk bed fort.
I'd made up my mind.
The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww"
into the back of the villainous lizard.
My comrade in arms however,
felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat.
Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;
"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.
I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
She shuffles and scuttles quickly along
beating her way,
through the Christmas throng
The north wind cutting her mottled face
But shes not part of the Christmas race
For things not needed, luxurious, unwise
Her mind fixed on the price and size
Of a winter coat in that Oxfam place,
she prays its still there, she quickens her pace.
The bell dings-a-ling as she opens the door
Not feeling her legs so tird and sore
Like a long lost friend it waits on the rail
she thanks her god its still for sale.
Her hurry finished, her purchase complete
She focuses now on something to eat
To the corner shop she makes to go
happier now , her step is slow
bread and milk ,this and that
two tins of food for her little cat
Home at last her mission complete
She models her coat and warms her feet
She cuddles her cat and locks her door
She makes their tea and she cuddles him more
She dims the light her prayers are said
She thanks her god for her winter coat
that doubles as a duvet for her bed.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 4:08 PM UTC
Stuffed in every drawer
Just in case.
Carrier bags, hundreds
in every available space.
She says they will come in handy
They never ever do, do they?
"Keep it, it will come in"
the usual things she will say.
Candles, that is another one
If we never had electricity again
We would survive,
I am absolutely certain.
We have more tins of beans
and packets of dried up peas
If I ate those I'd have enough wind
to keep us going for years.
Oh and the secret drawer
full of old coins, beer tops and springs.
You never know, you know
when you want bits and bobs and things.
But old supermarket bags,
The elderly save them in case
In case of what I'd like to know
There are bags all over the place.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
~~~
Break the time like the twisted tins
on the shack
which had broken at the time of tornado
Squeeze out of the truth
As the juice of the fruits
The old saying
but the truth
Forcibly changed history
Erase from the mind
understand that false
The poem on the torn page
piece set of words
blowing together as a new blend
Just like the Rubik cubes to match
with wit and strategy
Man I
Still hidden inside
Persist - for defeat - burn and broken
Wrath - dreams breaking tension
Anger - failure to prove myself worthy of
Huff - your aloof exit
Boast - a liking to thee,
love for getting
- The ability to be able to still speak of love
Like to wandering away from the land of Stars
Unjustified
For no reason
~~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
cookie tins and tea
your faded grade school drawings
and her chipped birdbath
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
What is it with some men?
Is this what those nuptials meant?
You are turned into his mother figure,
A holy cow, housework, meals, rigour,
Maybe there's no luck in love,
So much for wedding doves,
"I am not your mother!"
I wished I yelled at another,
Maybe I don't know how to train a man,
Maybe a manual should come in a can,
Then you could have twins in tins,
Fully formed, no ***** pins!
Maybe it is the male gender,
They really want a nanny for their benders,
Is this what those nuptials meant?
What is with some men?
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
People coming by with tins of food and towels
Newspapers, toys and blankets, and little plastic trowels
I don't understand the reason they are coming
We're a charity, we don't need this stuff
But, still they keep on coming, bringing food by the truck
There's tins, and bags and skids
There's enough towels for turban training in British Columbia
And papers, lots of newspapers, tons of newspapers
But, we are a charity looking for donations
This doesn't make sense, all of this animal product showing up
Until I checked my email.....
**** I hate auto correct on the phone
I told people we hoped to increase last years donations
And hit a grand total of 101 thousand
Thanks to my Iphone...we sent out a message
that we had a grand total of a 101 thousand dalmations
God, I hate auto correct
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
I felt your skin
strip away from me-
you said you’d be right back-
as you slipped into foreign bodies,
lips soft with easy dinners,
who forgot the lightbulb burning out,
the lid left rattling on the counter,
a suit of pots dented, stacked,
steam lifting from a rust-ringed drain.
That studio in the Texas Riviera
was never meant to last-
brown carpet, AC rattling,
bass beating through drywall,
neon from the Whataburger sign
bleeding through blinds.
We were two beautiful accidents
in a month-to-month, always paid late,
your sweat a spell pressed into my skin,
ankles grinding on parking lot gravel,
the road outside a forgotten promise.
And when you smiled I held you
like a chipped glass,
rim still sharp enough to cut.
The ember died against porcelain,
the glitter was swept with the crumbs.
Your armor slumped in the pantry corner,
rusted tins, lids unfastened.
You walked away, naked and ordinary,
the light left buzzing in the kitchen-
outside, asphalt slicked with oil-sheen,
my body, also, dissolved
into the shimmer of the road.
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 10:51 PM UTC
Spin spin Sally, spin spin,
Right into damnation, right into Sin.
Topsy-turvy Sally, topsy-turvy in the din.
Let the black wolf in, Sally
Let the carnal win,
Let the madness in, Sally
Remember with a grin;
''Stay thin, think gin.''
And give release Sally.
Fire bullets through the tins
Ride ******** through the wind
**** your karma,
**** your kin,
Spin spin Sally,
Spin, spin.
Topsy-turvy Sally,
Topsy-turvy in the din.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
land of no responsibility
except to give in to that burning urge
that prickles up the back of your neck on waking
to be off out running under sun
barefoot as soon as out of sight
adventures wait and time belongs to you
you fish for sticklebacks in a field of golden corn
where farmers wave in anger at the trail to the pond
and take home tadpoles in glass jars on string
breathless at the sight of legs emerging
pick bluebells in the wood for mother
but then arrange them in old tins
in tumbledown cottage the gangs den
scrumping crab apples in overgrown gardens
never getting that stomach ache all Adults warned of
roaming hedgerows looking for hedgehogs
hoping for signs of any living thing
all long fled at the collective noise you make
catching butterflies to look at their wings
putting crysillis in greaseproof papered jars
to watch them emerge for flight on glistening wings
when you return them to the wild
lifting up old drain pipes to look for slugs to race
not forgetting to put them back at races end so they dont shrivel
basking in hot sun after watching trails of catapillars
whose prickles mother later tweezers out
amidst a small flood of tears because they flame red
having a bath with bubbles then tucking up in bed
drowzy but anticipating tomorrow is waiting
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
2:00am Saturday Morning and his restlessness reclined on his mind
The room was immensely silent but held a forceful amount of chaos
His large feet plummeted to the cold floor; he roamed out of his beguiling room
*
His body was almost bare and every movement echoed through him
The empty foil tins from a takeaway he had eaten at 8:00pm casted a noticeable stare across the kitchen like a coin to a magpie
The fridge was only a couple strides away now; he prematurely stretched his arm ready to grasp the frigid handle
The fridges seal parted and a saintly yellow light radiated in front of him
He stared nonplussed into the fridge for about 3.5 seconds
Celery
Sitting there in the centre of the fridge appearing as tasteless as it would taste
Unappetising.
The light diminished as the door closed.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
At least I would be a poet if not you’re eyes i see ,
Or dance in the twilight when you haven’t given you’re heart to me .
Yet only in darkness do I see you where there is no twinkling fire light ?
The Mail coach approaches don’t let it be late ,
out of the darkness two minutes to wait ,
mail for the court ,
mail for the King ,
the fear of God awaits for those when the carriage runs late ,
for bread and mutton awaits in the morning .
A smile for summer for it has nearly passed,
Oh please don’t judge me for what far tales I tell ,
or if my pen is not swift ?
For the girls in the garden when the roses were in bloom ,
a debt of blood flowed from their veins into the pale light of the moon.
sorrow for a tin of soap .
For in the end in church pews lies ,
can ever cleanse our minds ,
or what we think and do ?
The weary traveller who enquiries at you,re door at night
requires you’re bed ,
and meat soup and broth .
Look,,
the watcher looks ever on ,
casts his lot into the fire ,
scroll after scroll on parchments of peace ,
day after day.
For all the roses and tins the mail coach waits and waits until ,
It’s too late and our souls find eternal flame cast out into hell .
A smile for summer now Autumn is near and darkness its mistress
Scuttles ever near .
Spare a thought for the silver moon and the light it shines when darkness creeps
on it only light is found it’s silver gown ..
For where truth and love abound man shall fill their buckets and quench its flame ,
and Jesus Christ shall reign again .
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”
This Earth upon which you so proudly walk, now it time for the Sun and Her to gravely talk,
The baking Sun’s heat rapidly rises, the melting kingdom of the mighty polar bear is in crisis,
From Pole-to-Pole and all over the green globe, we must beware of pollution’s slimy crime,
The seasons twist and twirl just like a revolving door, nobody reasons to help the thirsty poor.
“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”
Engineers drill into the Earth’s veins causing so much pain, seagulls burn and drown in acid rain,
Pipes **** out black oil from the Earth’s deep core, Her rocky bones and fleshy soil are so sore,
Her life blood is pumped to fuel coughing motor cars, which are soon discarded with yesterday’s tins and jars,
Poisoned are the ocean’s seals and whales, will anyone stop and listen to the Earth’s warning wail?
“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”
There is still hope and time enough yet, if we together get we can halt this grime and threat,
We must do what the students do at my local school, they live by true values and excellent rules,
Environmental projects and dreams here abound, everyone there is very aware of green schemes,
Let us quickly play our crucial parts, we must all commit these important issues to our hearts.
“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”
Plant a tree or flower, keep a bee and honey hive, you must strive to keep Mother Earth alive,
Share a car, walk to the park, care for the grass, plant a green garden, grow peas, pears, potatoes or tomatoes,
Recycle plastic and paper, save your water, turn off your computer, use the wind to dry your Manchester United jumper,
Reduce your carbon footprint, reuse shopping bags and pass the hint, lower the heating sweating temperature.
*“O, we who now know, it’s up to us to change or else we reap Tomorrow what we Today sow,
We must protect this Earth, this is after all our place of birth and our lovely home, a brightly shining rainbow…”*
©Rangzeb Hussain
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 10:12 PM UTC