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The Gray Fedora
There it sits upon on the shelf
battered and worn
once it held the thoughts and ideas
of an intelligent man
Proudly cocked over one eye
hiding the secrets
of it's owner
Given as a gift from his children
That once held him dear
what had changed ,over the years
Only the gray fedora knows
the pain,hurt and fears
it will never show
Thoughts are gone
ideas have died
and it sits within
a grave dark and cold
much like it's owner
thirty three years ago
Style / type:
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words:
Sparked by Ron in Tommi's chat room
Editing stage:
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Region & Country
North Carolina
Favorite Poets
Edgar Allen Poe, James Patterson, Dean Koontz, Leonard Cohen
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Comments
atorn
Sat, 2012-06-16 22:23
what a killer way of
what a killer way of acknowledging the passage of ones own life from the perspective of a fedora. I related all the way through the poem as I read it and had to ask myself "oh what stories could my own fedora tell"
any poem that causes me to examine my own life has done its job and more
China Blue
Sun, 2012-06-17 04:47
Andrew
Thank you for your generous comment
My Dad always wore a gray fedora and it being Father's day I had him in my thoughts
Chrys
Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell(Leonard Cohen)
author commentIan.T
Sun, 2012-06-17 02:39
Chrys
Memories are best kept as good ones, too many people have bad ones that they rotate and all it achieves is more bad days where they sit and cry.
Here we have in an ashtray a pipe that belonged to Anne's Father, it is a thing of beauty to her as it holds all the good things in her life.
Had it held the bad I would have it destroyed with no second thought.
You are more aware than most, what memories can bring to a soul that holds onto them, where sometimes another person has to overwhelm them with love.
If no one else does, I will say thank you for those good memories you have given, that have overwhelmed, I think you will know where..
A mystery for others to dwell on lol, there are many more poems that can come from this theme of Memories, maybe we could have a monthly theme linked to a workshop on form, but this site is so busy at the moment..
You take care out there and know we think of you both, Yours Ian.T
.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..
China Blue
Sun, 2012-06-17 03:23
Ian
So good to hear from you and that you for reading and commenting
Oh I have bad memories of my Dad as well but I remember that fedora with fondness
Chrys
Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell(Leonard Cohen)
author commentIan.T
Sun, 2012-06-17 03:45
Chrys
It is hard for me to see that there are some that have bad memories of their Parent's as Mine must have been Angels They brought up 8 children on next to nothing but instilled in each of them a sense of being part of the whole where love and good manners ruled..
They are both remembered with such love, I lost my eldest Sister in Aussie in 1988 after I was 5 I only saw her about twice yet I miss her so much, four years ago we lost my Buddy Brother, and in the last year we lost a Brother then a Sister and damn it my older Brother lost his wife a month ago..
So that just leaves us four two girls and two boys out of Ten..
Sometimes we wish we had more memories but that is the way of things..
Anyway they are in a lovely place and Sadie tells me sometimes about them if I need to ask..
My thoughts go out to you on this lovely day, it's Fathers Day here to day and I qualify lol, Yours Ian.T
.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..
China Blue
Sun, 2012-06-17 04:49
Ian
Happy Father's Day
Chrys
Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell(Leonard Cohen)
author commentBlueDemon77
Fri, 2012-06-29 23:55
Excellent work!
Not only did it have the visual of a noir piece but it also had that sense of impending danger around then next corner.....APPLAUSE.
Ron
Blue Demon77
Blue Demon77
"What I want is to be what I was before the knife,
before the brooch pin, before the salve, fixed me in this parenthesis:
Horses fluent in the wind. A place, a time gone out of mind."
The Eye Mote-Sylvia Plath
violet
Wed, 2013-11-06 10:23
What a title. You speak of a
What a title. You speak of a 'thing'; a memory of it throughout
the piece, which gives me a feeling as if reading a diary or something as such. Personal, yet neutral; from the perspective of an outsider looking in. I applaud your ability to be able to remove yourself from the piece.
It's the last stanza that does it for me. So final.
Gives me a real sense of that grey-cold end.. like the inner sting of feet by the fire after having walked a mile, bare, in snow.