Monday, 8 June 2009

My father

I'm gradually improving at last, and have been very cheered in the past few days by finishing a few half-done projects - two novels (reading, not writing!), a sock, and a shawl. I love a sense of achievement, and I'm not fussy where it comes from!

It's getting near to Father's Day, so I'd like to share a poem I wrote about my late father. He was a huge influence on me - a successful businessman who kept his integrity. His funeral was packed out with people whom he had helped. He was very proud of all our achievements, and I know he would have been proud of me for not giving up when I got ill.

The eccentric lullaby I mention was Mad Carew, his party piece. His soft Hampshire accent made his recital a very soothing and soporific thing - but if we had listened to the words, we would have had screaming nightmares! I recorded his performance on tape once, and I am so glad that I have that still.


I fit beneath your arm

black Sunday suit

or fresh grass and hot cotton
clammy garden-sweated skin
beads on your lip
and your balding head

eccentric lullaby in burring purr
brings back your presence

sharp as grief


Jan Lyn said...

Oh (((Heather))), it is a beautiful poem and sad as well. I'm pleased that you have had a fond experience of your earthly father and good memories.

Good to know you are doing better as well!

In Friendship and Love,
Jan Lyn

Gil S said...

Thanks for the poem Heather and for reminding me of my own father who also used to recite Mad Carew!

Glad you are getting on well!

Mary Sharpe said...

One of my best memories is of my father coming in late and coming up to say goodnight when he smelled of bonfires and his jacket was tweed instead of smooth.


RichardM said...


Glad to hear you are doing well and being creative.

Mary Sharpe said...

Heather - I mentioned you today on the post for HUGH AND CAMELLIA. Hope that was alright.

If not, let me know and I'll change it.

Best wishes. Hope you are doing ok.