My old farm hat wears
its scars on sleeve.
Mended rough and ready
for all to see its heroic deeds,
in tussles with cows, bulls and trees.
Its soaked soft in sweat, mellowed with dust.
Patched with bits of other
old hats that have fallen apart, well passed it.
Sewn with old leather throngs
through holes punched with a knife.
My old hat is as much a part of me
as my skin, burnt leathery brown,
and scarred with age.
-
Author:
John Richard Anderson (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 16th, 2021 00:11
- Comment from author about the poem: Relates to Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. The old hat fits the bill!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Doggerel Dave
Offline)
Comments3
It does indeed fit that very special art/philosophy. The antithesis of our throwaway society.
Simple satisfying read for me. Thanks.
.
I too love the positive mindset behind Kintsugi
and I like your twist, a fun read
thanks for sharing
My husband was a horseman and died two years ago and I sleep with his old hat. Loved this one.
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