every once in awhile
a gathering occurs
of things thought lost
miss-filed
papers,
drafts of poetry,
bills,
junk mail
always.

keys to locks
discarded
forgotten,
unused,
unlocked doors
now
may be bolted
against
the company
of intruders.

the organized clutter
when
two or more
people
"put things into
their proper place,"
and neither can remember
where
is astounding!

material possessions
accumulating
at an exponential rate
seldom
called upon
until
no one
has any
recollection.

i could be robbed
blind
and never discover
any sense
of real loss.

collections
are like that
unless
they are neatly
catalogued
to share with
interested parties.
one man's junk
is another man's
treasure.
we might never
know
what wealth
we may bestow
after
the final audit!

Mr. Cobb is a retired high school art teacher, 
an artist and poet. He and his wife, Lorna, 
have been married for 44 years, have three 
grown sons and five grandchildren. 

He has several favorite poets:  Charles Bukowski, 
Czeslaw Milosz, Philip Larkin, and William Stafford.
 

Poets are nothing

but the reflection

of the reflected

in the mirror

of the reality

and, poetry

is nothing

but the footfall

of the poets heart

in the boulevard

of the reality.