Antiques Poems - Poems about Antiques

4 July 2024 8:24 AM Visiting folks with well lived lives It helps them remember and to thrive They speak of events long time past Of family and friends and history gone to fast They point to pictures and old worn antiques To them common place but to the younger unique We look and listen as their stories unfold We wonder and compare...

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See dazzling bowls and vessels, pots of brass Old copper kettles, cups of gold, and chiming clock Porcelain statuettes, fake Tiffanies, stained glass Oak storage towers, ivories of High Baroque Stroll down the antiques on Sunday noon I’m fascinated by the scarab sooty bronze I lost my face inside the silver spoon In tapestries of life, with nymphs and fauns We’ve changed,...

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These are antiques the old lady said. All of them? She nodded. Even these? I held up a Fisher Price toy barn. Especially that! She said. I left feeling bewildered. I had just held up my children’s favorite childhood toy. Are my children also antiques? And if they are antiques, Where do I stand? What does this make me? I got into my covered wagon and...

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Outside a quaint town in fair Vermont, by my family’s vacation home, is a small field with fences and sign, in the warm month’s it’s a place to go. They have a flea market on weekends, rows of tents pitched under mountains green, for most people it is just old junk, but it is fascinating to me. There’s a tent that’s selling goat-milk...

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I dreamed I was hanging out with Darroll near the train station. We entered a prison cafeteria and ate lunch. Then we looked in a junk store and I found two really cool vintage iron tools which I gave Darroll for his rusty iron tool collection (which, in my dream, he had). At some point...

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I go about my daily tasks that are necessary to keep a household humming along smoothly like the works of the antique clock on my dresser over a century and a quarter old The little teeth of the gears interlocking spinning, turning to keep accurate time Springs wound taut with a small key The weighted pendulum swinging to and fro like a metronome...

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In the antique store an old physician’s desk, walnut and marble-topped, holding the remnants of a life of service; stories etched in wood, metal and stone. Next to part of an old syringe, a can of ether, half full; it’s lid rusted shut and a stethoscope sporting the cracked rubber tubing, of a bygone era. A clock that once worked, a necessity for any physician or scientist;...

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Within halls that all but speak, Sit elegant objects, very antique; Treasured and valued bits of past, Which care and devotion made last. A museum crowded with sweet memory, Like of dead, red robin's late beauty! The glossy mirror gracing the wall, At ruddy sunset, reflects them all. A china doll; a royal wedding gown, The king's rubied coronation crown. The past is revived in...

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I’m fascinated by antiques, things of yesterday. I search in shops of every kind, near and far away. I gaze into the windows at the priceless treasures there, a china doll, a wagon, a cuddly teddy bear, gently worn old toys that some child loved and kept beside them in the dark of night to comfort as they slept. There’s a...

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In a store that sells antiques, The past is much alive, Including parts that we’d prefer Did somehow not survive. Some creepy dolls and ugly clothes And jewelry I’d not wear Forlornly grace the shelves without Their one-time savoir faire. But other items bring a smile Or memory to bear – A Popeye pin, some Beatles cards And much Fiestaware. Three typewriters with all their...

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Antiques and Curios A collection of Antiques and curios, Covered in dust on a cellar floor. Things once made for a purpose, No longer of use anymore. Record Player with wind-up handle, Once sung out the old Seventy-eights. A music box with broken spring, Film scores of the all-time greats. Gas mask, unused in a chest, A wartime ration book, stained, slightly torn. Hobnail...

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collectible things tweaks our brains and pleasure it brings its odd but still the antiquing bug got me to a thrill...

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Mom has always loved antiques I have never asked her why Perhaps it's the connection to the past Maybe the craftsmanship The smell of ancient wood The curves The fact that they were built to last She turned a passion into a business A few small pieces in her living room A sign on a door Interesting how businesses are born Bob there by her side Together...

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Antiques Road Rage A country joy ride changed in a moment An ancient old car, (older than me), takes me on A simple mission To work on my English The words didn’t come to address my anger So I lifted my fossil like finger….at a gingerly pace…. Out the car window of my turtle-mobile To communicate my feelings to a fool in...

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My parents would be horrified if I described them antique With their laughter lines and wrinkles they really are unique They are getting old now but are invaluable and precious to me I dread to think when the day arrives - my parents I will never see I watch the Antiques Roadshow and they give out a valuation How can...

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