H'work for July - I AM A KEEPER
Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2022 3:55 pm
I AM A KEEPER .. Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBarkPoet
In today's modern society where things are thrown away
and replaced with items bright, shiny and new,
I'm a keeper - for it's things that I have loved and shared for years
that are cherished by me now - there's quite a few.
There are the memories, not just mine but those of the family
and I keep these close, and every now and then,
I bring them out to share - to teach the young ones of their past
and the people whose lives shared some links with them.
On a garage peg a mouldy water bag that graced the bumper bar
of Dad's car, its leather straps weathered, and dry,
but it held life giving water and somehow always kept it cool
and on outback trips on it we would rely.
I've a hammer that I use - its timber handle is worn smooth,
the head firmly secured by wooden wedge,
Dad would just make do and mend rather than a penny spend
and a hammer these days isn't cutting edge.
There's a few pieces of jewellery, nothing priceless - nothing rare,
but each piece has a story to be told,
I am currently its keeper - it once graced my Grandma's neck,
thirteen matched amethyst stones set in white gold.
Then there's books - a family bible that my Father gave to me,
has inside its leather cover marked and worn,
the recorded family details - dates of birth and dates of death,
and to keep it in the family I was sworn.
There are albums full of photos - some quite small. When I was young
my old Dad had a box brownie, his delight.
And he took the family snapshots of his family and homes
and there's just a few that have survived all right.
All are labeled with the details so that no one will forget
who they are and where they were when they were captured.
and the pets are named as well because they were important too -
it took weeks to get these photos manufactured.
I've a powder compact of my Mother's - no longer in use
and the lid's engraved with pyramids and camels,
something that my Dad picked up when working on the ships,
a trinket purchased on his many travels.
When you opened it, it played a tune - a tinkly scratchy song,
the Blue Danube I recall - I think that's right.
And the scent of Mother's powder - it still sweetly lingers there,
though both Mum and Dad have passed into the night.
There were animals that others cast aside like detritus,
the old and weak, the sick, or just unloved
who all blossomed with the love that I so unstintingly gave,
sadly all have crossed the bridge leading above.
But I keep them in my heart and in the boxes on the bench,
where their ashes simply wait in quiet repose
for the day that I will join them, and we'll all travel once more,
to wherever the wind sends us I suppose.
Our lives are full of memories, some sweet and others cruel,
we can take them out and view them anytime,
sometimes we see a photograph - our mind travels back years
to when we were younger and in our prime.
Or when working in the kitchen, squeezing lemons in a press
we recall our Mother's hands at the same task,
using that same cut glass squeezer, making homemade lemonade
or perhaps a lemon cucumber face mask.
So perhaps the world needs keepers - those with the stories to tell,
with their feet firmly implanted on the earth,
who can tell the family histories, and recall all the names,
and can document it now for what it's worth.
For doubtless the generations in the future they will ask
about those who went before them - as we do
and it seems that I'm the one now who has taken on that task.
I'm the keeper - a job I'm happy to do.
1.7.2022
In today's modern society where things are thrown away
and replaced with items bright, shiny and new,
I'm a keeper - for it's things that I have loved and shared for years
that are cherished by me now - there's quite a few.
There are the memories, not just mine but those of the family
and I keep these close, and every now and then,
I bring them out to share - to teach the young ones of their past
and the people whose lives shared some links with them.
On a garage peg a mouldy water bag that graced the bumper bar
of Dad's car, its leather straps weathered, and dry,
but it held life giving water and somehow always kept it cool
and on outback trips on it we would rely.
I've a hammer that I use - its timber handle is worn smooth,
the head firmly secured by wooden wedge,
Dad would just make do and mend rather than a penny spend
and a hammer these days isn't cutting edge.
There's a few pieces of jewellery, nothing priceless - nothing rare,
but each piece has a story to be told,
I am currently its keeper - it once graced my Grandma's neck,
thirteen matched amethyst stones set in white gold.
Then there's books - a family bible that my Father gave to me,
has inside its leather cover marked and worn,
the recorded family details - dates of birth and dates of death,
and to keep it in the family I was sworn.
There are albums full of photos - some quite small. When I was young
my old Dad had a box brownie, his delight.
And he took the family snapshots of his family and homes
and there's just a few that have survived all right.
All are labeled with the details so that no one will forget
who they are and where they were when they were captured.
and the pets are named as well because they were important too -
it took weeks to get these photos manufactured.
I've a powder compact of my Mother's - no longer in use
and the lid's engraved with pyramids and camels,
something that my Dad picked up when working on the ships,
a trinket purchased on his many travels.
When you opened it, it played a tune - a tinkly scratchy song,
the Blue Danube I recall - I think that's right.
And the scent of Mother's powder - it still sweetly lingers there,
though both Mum and Dad have passed into the night.
There were animals that others cast aside like detritus,
the old and weak, the sick, or just unloved
who all blossomed with the love that I so unstintingly gave,
sadly all have crossed the bridge leading above.
But I keep them in my heart and in the boxes on the bench,
where their ashes simply wait in quiet repose
for the day that I will join them, and we'll all travel once more,
to wherever the wind sends us I suppose.
Our lives are full of memories, some sweet and others cruel,
we can take them out and view them anytime,
sometimes we see a photograph - our mind travels back years
to when we were younger and in our prime.
Or when working in the kitchen, squeezing lemons in a press
we recall our Mother's hands at the same task,
using that same cut glass squeezer, making homemade lemonade
or perhaps a lemon cucumber face mask.
So perhaps the world needs keepers - those with the stories to tell,
with their feet firmly implanted on the earth,
who can tell the family histories, and recall all the names,
and can document it now for what it's worth.
For doubtless the generations in the future they will ask
about those who went before them - as we do
and it seems that I'm the one now who has taken on that task.
I'm the keeper - a job I'm happy to do.
1.7.2022