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Open Poetry #47
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For Forgetting (repost from Open#40) for Angel
| Open Poetry #47 |
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For Forgetting (repost from Open#40) for Angel |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
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For Forgetting On the top shelf of the closet, layered with years of dust, I came across the oubliette of faith, and hope, and trust. A coffee canister – silver – with memories inside, And all the emotion proffered that long since should have died. The sufferer’s domain it was, I could not shun the hook. And though the moment gave me pause knew I still had to look. A myriad of objects I once held close to my heart, I sifted them slowly and sighed, not sure just where to start. I glanced upon the high school ring I gave my sweet Jeanette, First love, it struck like lightning, I would not soon forget. The stopwatch with a wild buck under a hunter’s gun, My brother used to hold for luck way back when he was spun… His last possession shared with me, across a bridge once burned, Far better man than I could be, the lesson that I learned. Ironic piece, it seems to give me everything but time, With hands frozen, a poet trapped within yesterday’s rhyme. The Santa Monica sunset, caught in a photograph. No longer tinged with the regret that ripped my life in half. I see it now and recognize it as a need I clutched, The soft white skin and deep green eyes of a dream I once touched. Old pocket knife, a Bear Scout patch, Willie Brown football card. Strange the things to which we attach, next those we disregard. Kiss concert ticket, old chess piece – the image ever drawn Within my mind –father’s caprice, the power of the pawn. One thing leading to another… to the two-dollar bill Given me by my grandmother while money held appeal. Stone arrowhead I pried in kind, from Nevada’s rare earth Buffalo nickel to remind me what my red skin’s worth. Candleholders shared on the cakes of my dad and daughter Count for me in years the mistakes that still muddy the water. Shall I then pass them on again, in some twisted tradition? Or save my grandchildren the pain, and bury the rendition. I throw the trinkets in the can to let the silence hark The trophies of this man mired forever in the dark. Try not to be a bitter man, ignoring the bloodletting, To the top shelf I place the can, if only for forgetting… And walk away, alone and tired, if somewhat compromised, But if I feel less than inspired, well who would be surprised? Though it amazes me how much one little can will hold; How little to my life, as such, is there really? Behold! Michael Anderson |
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| © Copyright 2011 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
Amazing...loved it! Lori |
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Marilyn Member Elite
since 1999-09-26
Posts 2621Ontario, Canada |
Your words have always touched me. Thanks for the re post since I have read so little here the past years. |
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Angel4aKing Senior Member
since 2006-09-27
Posts 1372USA |
Well you inspire me I know that much loved the read!!!! ~~~kingsangel~~~ |
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
A rather painful stroll down memory lane but a learning experience I am sure. Thanks for sharing. Ida |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California |
Thank you all for the kind replies. Michael |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
Strange the things to which we attach, next those we disregard. Isn't it, though? *S* I'm glad Angel's poem prompted you to repost this. Both of you made me think of what I've chosen to keep... and whether it's for remembering or forgetting. *S* Superb write! |
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