a journey filled with many familiar paths and some not yet taken... all leading to the ever-changing destinations just waiting to be discovered.


Sunday, February 27, 2011

The Black Royal

The hidden 'trash', the worn out trinkets,
Resting, waiting for us to find them...
Worn out toys, prizes cherished, days forth,
Just beyond the dumpsters, fenced apart.

Bushes keeping them apart from,
The vast space of the yard, darkened,
Lying in the dust of the earth,
Waiting for eager eyes to find them.

These were the relics of our youth,
Left, 'trash' separated for us,
The curtain pulled slightly, eyes watch,
As we discover things special.

Things gifted to youth, ours alone,
Until that darkened day of light,
The ultimate find, Black Royal,
Hidden freedom of stories.

Resting, waiting, the Black Royal,
Hidden between fence and bush,
Holding secrets that only we,
Could key down on it's pages then.

The curtain pulled slightly, eyes watch,
The broadened smile across her face,
She nods from the window, knowing,
As we discover things special.

Petrina Lesko
February 2011

photo by JackAZ

This poem was inspired by this photo prompt over at One Stop Poetry and their Sunday Photography Interview.  This week is part 2 with JackAZ, you can find more of his photography here.


dustus said...

Bit of a twist at the end... One person's trash may be someone's treasure. "hidden freedom of stories" I think that particular line ties the poem together from my POV. Very clean stanzas. Nice writing.

Anonymous said...

"the worn out trinkets,
Resting, waiting for us to find them..."

beautiful lines. great One Shoot. i love it!

Ami Mattison said...

What a sweet poem of childhood and how "treasures" were once found things. I love that she leaves stuff for the children and her smile at the end suggesting that she too finds "treasure." Nice write!

hedgewitch said...

One generation's treasures travel the road to the trash pile, to become treasures for children. I remember playing dressup with hopelessly outmoded bobbed wedding veils from the twenties as a child--now I wonder whose they were and what story they, like the Black Royal, would tell. Nice.

hpicasso said...

I thought of the repurposing phase America is in...how many Black Royals are boat anchors?

Peace, hp

Thoughts Not Lost said...

So much hope I felt as I read this!

Here's mine:

Anonymous said...

It's true, even what you've written that you can't see anything worth redeeming in someone else will find brilliant. Lovely flow here hun, thoroughly enjoyable read.

Jerry said...

Pay no attention to what's behind the curtain...oh, wait a minute...I've been looking for one of those...

Elaine said...

Lovely imagery!

Brian Miller said...

smiles. love the end...isnt it cool how the young can reimage the past in their image, long after we have forgotten..

Margaret said...

Behind every great person, there is another who helped them along the path. Often an unsung hero. Very sweet poem.

Gigi Ann said...

It makes me wonder, where did all those old typewriters go? Probably in the garbage dump. Nice take on the prompt.

Thanks for the visit today.

Claudia said...

yeah i guess - those old typewriters hold many a secret...smiles

signed...bkm said...

A beautiful tribute to this Royal Monarch...and the words typed...they sit now in letters, novels, poetry...that many of us have read...thanks to this typewriter....bkm

Glynn said...

Even with all of the mileage on it, it stills peaks to freedome and release. Good poem.

Pondside said...

I love the ending - lovely!

Richard G. Crockett said...

I would not be surprised to find many old typewriters in the attics of many old houses. They really are fascinating machines. This one was a Royal, but I remember Underwoods as the main machines of the era.

I'd love to find one in my family's legacy somewhere. I love the way you captured that spirit. What a joyful poem.

JamieDedes said...

I love old typewriters!

Very fine poem and excellent for one stop.

Poem on ...

Steve Isaak said...

Wonderful storytelling, good line breaks/flow.