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Tag Archives daddy

WAITING BY THE RIVER

We were waiting in the car – in a car park

by a river in spate – for mummy, daddy

and grandma to return. Storm driven rain

was tattooing on the roof but we

were snug playing I spy. ‘What next?’ you said.

‘How about singing me a song?’ I said.

You said, ‘I don’t know what to sing,’ I said,

‘So, let that be the first line of your song.’

 

We spoke of rhymes and repetitions.

And she made her song by the rushing waters,

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REMEMBERING…

…watching the circus – breath taken, mouth
open – in the red and orange striped
big top on the Green with Miss Monica
from Budapest high on the silk ropes
then walking on the pier like any mortal…

and losing your splendid red and blue kepi
to a mild westerly on the steep steps
that zigzag down South Stack cliffs, seeing it
whisked just out of reach over the wall
and lodged in a crevice where only gulls go…

and cruising up the Straits to Puffin Island,
seeing the seals,

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THE BELVEDERE

You and I with fifty valentines and

February’s sun pale on the glass!

We count the camellia’s crimson blooms –

and remember, last summer, our grandchild

shivering with ecstasy the day

she chased her daddy with the garden hose.

From here, the house seems sentient, our

remembrancer – the lawns and borders and

parts of neighbours’ houses an urban landscape.

In this wooden hexagon – a half-glazed

gazebo, its blind back turned to a high

Victorian wall festooned with ivy

and clematis –

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