Just For Looking At

[Eric Ashford]

A black powder 1868 colt revolver.
Dad's rusty Buck knife.
A few old Zippo lighters.

Ivory figurines haggled over
with an illicit trader in Shanghai,
same for a two hundred year old
silk rug never trod upon.

A tin box with a broken clasp
containing things
I cannot now speak of.

Other keepsakes
that when I look at them
remind me of how I got here,
and how I sometimes
lost my place.

[TrevorConway]

Hi Eric,

Some nice descriptions here, but is there any way you could re-shape it to feel less dominated by the listing of things? There was a glimpse of something else in the last verse, but we need to see something similar earlier, I think.

All the best,

Trev 

[Colm Roe]

Trev, I think specifics would remove the charm in this poem. 
The items and associated exoticisms make me feel envious; my keepsakes are humbled...but no less important to me.
These things are always site-specific, mean more to the possessors than the observer.
Enigmatic, it leaves us to fill in the imagined spaces. For me it's a reminder, a bunch of clues, that remind me how little
we really know about everyone! 
Nice poem, Eric.

[AlienFlower]

Hi Eric,

Two such ambiguous statements: "I cannot now speak of" (for which of the myriad of reasons?) and "I sometimes/ lost my place." To lose your place sounds like losing ranking in a competition; if you were referring to a physical place wouldn't you have said, lost your sense of place?

Such mysterious stirrings. But you assure us that now, they are all just for looking at. Hmmm.

Enjoyed,

Jackie

 

[indar]

Hi Eric,

I have grandpa's old violin brought with the family from Norway, it and a framed photo of him and grandma hangs on the wall behind the sofa. I have grandma's tea table in front of the sofa engaged in holding up a plant. These and many items around my house grow in meaning to me as I respect more and more the memory of my ancestors who actually fiddled old polka music in 3/2 beer joints in Northern Minnesota scrambled through wars, depression, heavy farm work, illness. I feel their presence. "Just for looking" to me, means they may not be in use for their original purpose, but they serve a different purpose now. Enjoyed your personal list poem.

[Mark]

I understand the nostalgia. Strongly descriptive, rounded writing. Good read.

[Gyppo]

'...lost my place', for me suggested someone losing their place in life, not a physical location or even a recognised position within a family unit or social grouping.

Someone who finds himself outside the circle of firelight.  Not necessarily an outcast, but someone temporarily disassociated from the general flow of his life.

Just a thought.

=====

A tin box with a broken clasp
containing things
I cannot now speak of.

This bit struck a definite chord.  I have a sealed up folder, heavily taped, containing letters to and from my ex-wife from when things were good between us.  I could have just burned the lot, but that felt wrong.  They're 'family documents'.  Part of my girls' history.  But I genuinely have no desire to re-visit them.  I know only too well the power of words  The girls can decide what to with them when the time comes.

My eldest saw it when I was moving to the bungalow.  I assured her it wasn't a serial killer's confession, or 'anything like that'.   She seemed quite relieved.  As a writer herself she shares the uncomfortable and unsettling ability to 'think the unthinkable' about her family and friends, and indeed herself.  (The 'dark side' of empathy.)

Gyppo