Digging down
into the cobwebs and the dust
down past the dead flies and wasps
treasures lie
buried, beneath
below these plastic lids
and useless things
In these unmarked
graves
post card images of happier times
less solemn, faces
sweetened ,innocence
tossed into this hiding place of secrets… grandma H’s
recipes
word s….word s from the past…
inscriptions
of how we used to love
lest it seem all
"Unmarked graves" is an excellent description of all those inscriptions from the past. You have expressed this brilliantly - the way dust covers everything in life like in memory.
I love this... somehow I always say that about your work...
I especially love the ending of this. I love pulling out my treasures now and then and remembering...sometimes I feel foolish or saddened by those memories, but they are a part of me and what has made me...me. My children love sifting through my treasures to hear the stories of my life as well...
All we lack is time--time to enter the deep mine and dig them out again. For those who write, they are even more priceless, evoking precious memories to preserve in poetry or stories to share.
Stan, my friend, you continue to awe me. Your writing has taken on a life of it's own. I simply loved this piece. There is no more to say.
Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader)
Reviewed on March 25, 2008
Excellent writing sweet man,missed ya,glad to be back..stay safe and well...Hugssssss
Reviewed by blue soplain (Reader)
Reviewed on March 25, 2008
. .. .double intendre of 'treasures lie'; all the whispers they do soft speak. ...soemtimes they seem more real than we [or the 'us' remembered, as if, like in your closing, the 'we' in that memory is abrely audibale, barely there at all...wehn you know good and well it was real once upon a time]. .. .
and how those wrods [swords.....] from the past can pierce right through the ribcage, leaving. ...
leaving. ...
leaving those treasures is impossible; leaving with them is sometimes even moreso.
i feel all dusty and worried jsut reading this. ..
> <
When I was moving to this place I ran across some keepsakes and I remember my daughter asking me why I kept such things if they were not good memories... I said 'because they once were'...) Wonderful poem! Myrna
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I especially love the ending of this. I love pulling out my treasures now and then and remembering...sometimes I feel foolish or saddened by those memories, but they are a part of me and what has made me...me. My children love sifting through my treasures to hear the stories of my life as well...
Cryssa
Walt
Connie
and how those wrods [swords.....] from the past can pierce right through the ribcage, leaving. ...
leaving. ...
leaving those treasures is impossible; leaving with them is sometimes even moreso.
i feel all dusty and worried jsut reading this. ..
> <
thanks, ~D.