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memory box

entry picture

 

pulling forward

the dusty

cardboard memory box

from it's hidey hole

beneath pressure deadened springs

the metal framework hangs low

scratching the surface

I carefully lift them out

and tears begin to well

 

they stare at me

unaffected by time

from stages in life

birth

nursery

school

college

then there are no more

 

 

and the box is padded out with bills

statements

old insurance certificates

mortgage updates

 

time has been

time has gone

time now drip ….

drip.....

drips...... away

memories photos box

◄ CONFERENCE JUNKIE'S

if?... ►

Comments

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Elaine Booth

Sun 22nd May 2011 19:06

Such a poignant poem, John. So strange the things we keep and what they record. What is it they say, about 2 things you can't avoid in life - death and the taxman! Think I've more old bits of paper to do with filthy lucre than anything else. Find the end of the photos in your poem very sad. But it leaves me pondering as to who and why and this leads the reader (well, me anyway) to make up stories to fill this space. XX

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chris yates

Sun 22nd May 2011 18:37

OMG !!! I don't want to just drip drip away but sadly I think i've gone down the plug hole but I have still got the dusty cardboard memory box!!

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Isobel

Sun 15th May 2011 18:32

A thoughtful but scary poem John. It is funny how little we start to record our own lives once we have children. It all becomes about someone else and that middle bit of our lives gets swallowed up by all the stuff in the 4th verse of your poem - building a nest for children...

I'm hoping my life doesn't drip, drip away too soon - I've only just kick started it again LOL. I love your observations. x

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Francine

Sat 14th May 2011 21:05

And I just recently went through this experience...

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