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Man with cigarette

He sat at the beer stained table, a cigarette in his fingers. Smoke pooling round his cloth capped head, the look in his eyes still lingers. From his rough wool shirt to his DIY tattoo I could tell he was no stranger to labour. From the scars on his face and his broken nose, you wouldn't want him as a neighbour. Yet he had about him a dignity, a rough hewn, no nonsense stance. And eyes that spoke volumes of his life that sparked and mirrored and danced. His hands bore the wear of a life of toil, his shoulders a little stooped and weary. And, whether it was the smoke or memory, at times he seemed a little teary. He sat and sipped his favourite drink, a dark, nutty ale from the cask. What tales had he? What stories to tell? If I'd only the nerve to ask.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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Date: 9/16/2020 7:24:00 PM
Very earthy, so well done - could be a Townes Van Zandt lyric - mm
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John Jones
Date: 9/17/2020 2:13:00 AM
Thanks for the feedback Mark. Never heard of the guy but i’ll be sure to look him up.
Date: 8/19/2020 6:56:00 PM
Great character sketch, John. Appreciate your vision. A very good poem. I wonder who your top authors are, if you wouldn't mind sharing....?
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John Jones
Date: 8/20/2020 12:52:00 AM
Thank you Sigrid. The inspiration for this one came from a painting I did of some random man I found on Google some while back. The image stuck and I felt the urge to put down my thoughts as to who this fella could be.