I get some of my joy of poetry from my Dad who had a little “chapbook” or anthology he compiled, called: “Among My Memories”, in which he had many poems and thoughts. The problem is that he did not say which were his work and which were plagiarize, so I am loathe to use them. One poem was about an “Old Trunk In The Attic” with many memories. It turned out to be very old poem, but I had no way to tell who wrote it. However I did write about his trunk several years back, and it is the following poem.


Let me tell you a story,
a story about my dad,
everything he ever wanted,
he already had,

The problem that we had,
just finding just the right thing,
as for that special gift,
most often ended up sad.

So when birthdays came,
or even those special times,
it always was the same,
sometime it felt like a crime.

Days of looking for things,
something that was just right,
but finding just the right bling,
was always out of sight.

We’d hint and we’d ask,
Daddy, what do you really need~?,
but that straight forward task,
he just never would cede.

Now dad had a trunk,
he kept to his grave.
and in it he always sunk,
everything that you gave.

Now it didn’t really stay there,
The trunk was not big enough,
and because dad liked to share,
among all of his “special stuff”~!

So on special times, or even on a whim,
you were most surely to find,
a present just from him,
of the very same kind~!

I have that trunk now,
It’s empty as you’ll see,
Because it seems that somehow.
He’d given it all back to me.