poetry critical

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The Auctioneer

He said “This survived Hiroshima.”
While applying a handkerchief
to sweat on his head.
It was a hot day.
Displayed among porcelain pigs,
miniatured ladies, faded tapestries,
pewter and jewels, stood a tiny tea cup
with saucer, a Japanese princess,
caught in cool colours, pale pink and indigo.
It was hard to make out her face,
twisted by the flow of melted glaze.
Sightless eyes saw no one.
While inside the cup, last dregs of a tea party
swirled round and passed away.

15 Apr 11

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(947 more poems by this author)

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nice nostalgic piece with an eerie hue towards the end. i like it.
 — mandolyn

larrylark, the last few lines don't really hit me, but the first 11, yes! Love how I think the head is the survivor, then learn he's talking about the cup.  Tom
 — TomRiordan

that means a lot
 — larrylark

Cheers Tom
 — larrylark