I know it's Mother's Day on Sunday, but here is a poem I wrote about my dad. To be honest poetry is a bit of an enigma to me. I want to like it but often the words appear tortured and jumbled? I wrote this poem when I was at a fiction writing course with, Dame Fiona Kidman. She liked it, thought it suitable for a family type magazine, so that was enough endorsement to go public.
If anyone wants to post a dad, or a mum poem, in the comments please do.Go on...
I never really liked the books
my Dad read to me at bedtime
those James Herriot vet stories
all hedgerows and country lanes
but I loved the sound of his voice
like icy water over river stones
and I loved the weight of him beside me
on my bed not my sisters
emanating warmth through those
resonating words falling from his mouth
chapter after chapter
night after night.
* * *
* * *