Memory

[Eyes Unclouded]

I really like this poem ( which is prob part of the problem) but i feel just not complete yet.


Memory
Grandma’s miniature piano rests on the table top,
a jewelry box in disguise.
I lift it, it’s heavier than I remember.
Finding the windup, my fingers
beg for the music to begin and twist the song into to life.

Gentle notes seep out of the masked piano.
The melody weaves and then wraps me in a blanket of
magic.

I’m taken to a time and place
where grandma’s kisses are no disgrace.
I remember a simple time of simple pleasures
milk cookies before bed an ecstasy without measure.

She would lay me down to sleep
and we would pray for my soul to keep.
If the wind howled and my sheets rustled,
out of bed and to grandma’s room I hustled.

I would wake her with a child’s desperation,
she used to smile not a hint of exasperation.
Her jewelry box she played for me to hear
knowing its melody could ease my tears and fears.

The song stops, dies, as everything must,
but unlike other things
I can begin the music again,
sometimes that’s enough.

edit 1/8
Memory
Grandma’s miniature piano rests on the table top,
a jewelry box in disguise.
I lift it, heavier than I remember.
Finding the windup, my fingers
beg for the music to begin and twist the song into to life.

Gentle notes seep out of the masked piano and the melody
weaves then wraps me in a blanket of
magic.

I’m taken to a time and place
where grandma’s kisses are no disgrace.
I remember a simple time of simple pleasures
milk cookies before bed an ecstasy without measure.

She would lay me down to sleep
and we would pray for my soul to keep.
If the wind howled and sheets rustled,
out of bed and to grandma I hustled.

I would wake her with a child’s desperation,
she used to smile, not a hint of exasperation.
Her jewelry box she played for me to hear
knowing its melody could ease my small fears.

The song stops, dies, as everything must,
but unlike other things
I can begin the music again,
sometimes that’s enough.

[gordy]

i really like the story but the flow is a little rough........i will have to come back to this when i have more time


welcome to the pages

[frailandfrayed]

Memory
Grandma’s miniature piano rests on the table top,
a jewelry box in disguise.
I lift it, it’s heavier than I remember.
Finding the windup, my fingers
beg for the music to begin and twist the song into to life.

Gentle notes seep out of the masked piano.
The melody weaves and then wraps me in a blanket of
magic.

I’m taken to a time and place
where grandma’s kisses are no disgrace.
I remember a simple time of simple pleasures
milk cookies before bed an ecstasy without measure.

She would lay me down to sleep
and we would pray for my soul to keep.
If the wind howled and my sheets rustled,
out of bed and to grandma’s room I hustled.

I would wake her with a child’s desperation,
she used to smile not a hint of exasperation.
Her jewelry box she played for me to hear
knowing its melody could ease my tears and fears.

The song stops, dies, as everything must,
but unlike other things
I can begin the music again,
sometimes that’s enough.

Hi clearwater poet,

This was absolutely beautiful. It drew me in right away with memories of my own grandmother. I love how you played on the keepsake and how it always brings you back, and the ending brings it to a perfect conclusion. Sometimes it really isn't enough. I always thought that poems should end with a touch of profoundness and a touch of brevity and this one did.

As far as a critique, just a few minor things I might fix:

"out of bed and to grandma’s room I hustled " <-- I kind of stumbled a little when I reached this line in the poem, maybe a slight rewording would smooth it out.

"knowing its melody could ease my tears and fears" <-- Here I would just keep fears, it makes it read better.

I really enjoyed this a lot, thank you for posting.

[frailandfrayed]

Hi Eyes Unclouded,

It seems I addressed you as Clearwater Poet in my above greeting there. Hope you can forgive a newbie.

[bags123]

Grandma's are cool. I loved mine.

[Graeme]

My grandmother was trained to be a concert pianist - chose "drek" - popular music of her time instead (1910's) But this poem brought back the memory of her!

[Eyes Unclouded]

Thank you all for your posts, i have made some edits to deal with the problems with flow that some of you have mentioned.

frail and frayed I'm really glad that you got intentions with the final line.