Do you like this old poem of mine?

Question

*****

My Shoebox

What wondrous things my shoebox beholds
Spilling allover with poems and prose
Napoleon’s there, and Genghis the Khan
Shillelagh, Hockey Stick, Sorcerer’s Wand

I’m riffling through it, you see
I’ve lost something in there, of me
I can’t seem to find it
I know I designed it
It’s probably old…and fil’thy

Close to the bottom, it’s there
Next to a lock of my true lover’s hair
The edges are worn, creasers, torn
A sad look of forlorn
Mom’s mirror reflection,
It’s me

*****

I've missed 'creasers' again. It should be 'creases'.

This one got a new facelift thanks to Father Al. He posted a perfected piece yestreday, so I decided to open the box and fix a few broken ones.

BTW...the fix was new direction for the last two lines. Thanks.

Answer 1

It's wonderful. I love =) it.

Answer 2

As writers and poets, we never really lose anything of ourselves; it's there, even if it's in the bottom of the shoebox (or our subconscious). I've looked into the mirror and lately have seen my mother reflected back at me. It's a startling discovery!
It's refreshing to read literate poetry, filled with imagery, meter and rhyme. Have you considered digging out all that old poetry and trying (at least) to self-publish? At the very least, you might submit individual poems to the market. Cf. the latest edition of "Poet's Market." It comes out every year in November.

Answer 3

I love it, and the last two lines, I don't know why, immediately reminded me of one of my favourite books, Roland Barthes' Camera Lucida. It's the best book on photography but it is also about memory. He wrote it after his mother's death. He is looking for old photographs of his mother, and finds one of her as a child of five, and suddenly realizes the effect of time between the photograph and the present time, and that the photograph itself inherently contains a sense of disappearance, of memory and nostalgia.