Friday, October 14, 2016

Poetry Friday: Golden Boy is Dying

I love's Poem-a-Day. It delivers almost as much happiness as, oh, say, Hamilton. Or my favorite t-shirt.

Campbell McGrath gets that:

My Sadness
by Campbell McGrath

Another year is coming to an end
but my old t-shirts will not be back—

(You can't resist that lead-in, right? I know. Go read the whole poem here, at


Jerry gets it, too:

Golden Boy is slowly dying....



Tabatha said...

Love that poem, Karen. The Seinfeld video led into one of Elaine dancing, which was a nice counterpoint to the bittersweet tone of the poem ;-)

jama said...

Hadn't seen that poem nor that Seinfeld episode before. I sense I will be cuddling all my fave t-shirts this weekend. :)

Jane @ said...

Oh, I think my husband has a few t-shirts like this... ;)

Violet Nesdoly said...

As someone who hangs onto clothes forever, I can feel Mr. McGrath's pain. Here's to our warrior clothes that brave the weekly wash, spin, rinse, spin, and hot whirlwind.

Irene Latham said...

Oh for the love of t-shirts! I am in the middle of cutting t-shirts for a keepsake quilt for my 16 year old son who has been to lots of rock concerts with his father. He can't fit into many of the shirts anymore, but they will make a great quilt! I am a firm believer in repurposing the things we love... though I do hope someday not to be so attached to things. Working on it. Thank you, Karen!

Karen Edmisten said...

Tabatha - oh, yes! Elaine dancing. That does make a nice counterpoint. :)
Jama, I wish you and your t-shirts happiness this weekend.
Jane, my husband definitely does. I just advised him to throw out a Golden Boy the other day. I have a few Golden Boys myself. :)
Violet, so relatable, isn't it?
Irene, you are a good t-shirt mom! I have seen that idea, but it is out of the realm of my talents! Maybe I should try it anyway. My youngest has turned a couple of old, favorite t-shirts into throw pillows. :)

Brenda Harsham said...

Irene is so talented she scares me!! Quilts are like scrapbooks that keep you warm, memories close. I love the poem, and the idea of hiding under a seashell, although the idea of a seashell big enough to hide me is alarming. The poem shrunk me to the size of a baby crab. I am afraid I am the magic disappearer of items worn to transparency, fray-collars, stained, soiled, torn and disreputable. If only I were as confident as Irene in my ability to save the past in plain sight.

Karen Edmisten said...

Brenda, I love the description of Irene's quilt as saving the past in plain sight. :)