Derby Day.

Today is Derby Day
And I’m off to meet Harry
No prince he, neither unhinged
Nor unkinged
But my fathers brother
55 years on.

First off
We walked in Italian gardens
Sheltered from summer rain
And masqueraded at pooh sticks
Off the under arched bridge.

The parlour
Small but loud
Trinket laden and feather dusted.
A family bible – of sorts –
But no secrets shared
Though he might have dared.

Lunch comes late and roasted
Sunday sundaes side splitting.

African ephemera is offered.
Some small sentiment unmasked.
A bond achieved
Love even

Then walking through Dovedale’s sheltered evening.
Stepping stones conquered,
Pillowed rocks for thrones.
This pilgrimage complete
Well maybe, or possibly just begun.
Makes me wonder if
I am my fathers son?

You suggest,
I might be cuckooed,
At best.
No nest.

As the lazy fat fish
Angle for flies
Trout dappled pebbles flash
In the struggling light
My fathers troubled
But hopefully jolly
Takes flight.

No chance of our meeting
Just yet
A dream too wild
Too fantastic
But listen
The stealthy dreams are greeting
This mature man
This child.
Somewhere beyond the realm of logic
Lies the land of magic.

Dedicated to HCM and to Derren Brown ( who is truly magical)