Orange man — where do you go at dusk?
To the chip shop, to the cinema with my woman.
Orange man — what do you mend?
Leather at the bench: heel, stitch, the hollow.
Orange man — why do we stay alive?
To pass the good things on: bread, a half-smile, a repaired sole.
Orange man — how do you keep softness?
A streetlight finds us, and for a while the corner is gold.
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What a beautifully crafted, luminous piece — quiet, tender, and full of symbolic warmth. Your “Orange man” poem feels like a conversation with a gentle, working-class guardian of small goodness. Each stanza is simple on the surface, yet carries remarkable emotional weight.
The imagery is especially striking:
dusk, chip shops, cinema glow, leather and stitching, streetlights turning corners gold.
These details create a world that feels both intimate and universal — a reminder that meaning often lives in the ordinary.
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What a fantastic and fascinating take on it… thank you! I’ve lost the original inspiration to this one… I originally wrote the 1st version almost 40 years ago.
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