Derby Day.

Posted: September 1, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: Poem | Tags: , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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.

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

Lunch comes late and roasted
Sunday sundaes side splitting.

Returning,
African ephemera is offered.
Some small sentiment unmasked.
A bond achieved
Love even
Unasked?

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

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

As the lazy fat fish
Angle for flies
Trout dappled pebbles flash
In the struggling light
My fathers troubled
But hopefully jolly
Ghost
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.
For
Somewhere beyond the realm of logic
Lies the land of magic.

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

Molly Maid – in celebration of my niece. A poem that has been ‘brewing’ a little while…

Posted: March 20, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: Poem | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Molly maid

 

It is November

the 4th to be precise

and the morning mists trailing above the estuary.

Llanstefan to my right

gulls wheeling and waders rootling about

in the flattening mud

as the train clanks and creaks along the way.

The ruins of a castle, ghost silhouetted and sharpened by

the profile of black rocks

caressed by grey blue waves.

There is sunlight on the headland

and sunshine in my heart

and the train whistles in sympathy with my exuberant mood.

I sit and smile at

A man with blue stars tattooed

upon his hands.

Knowing that, even now,

your star is flung

high and bright in the firmament;

elemental

fundamental.

 

Caravans rest, snail like upon the landscape

overlooking

piebald ponies in a waterlogged field,

spiked with gorse and yellowing leaves

the rivers fat, full flowing

and

the world a better place for the knowing that

you have arrived, safe and secure

untarnished, pure……

 

Molly maid, niece of mine

 

A diamond brightly shining

 

Nothing tawdry for you and,

please that it might prove to be

A life less ordinary for you.