Held Fast by Roses
Held fast by roses tangled, run amok
I think of Dad’s more military show
And me in yellow frock, hand-smocked by mum
Saddened by mush, where rosy scent should be
So, picking raspberries just before tea
I see her, younger still, that fifties girl
Cramming the lovely fruit, and pea rows too
Eye-height, just tall enough to lose her in
The guileless child lives in the hour, filling
Sweet memory’s store, potato treasure-trove
Unearthing. Digger, discoverer
Eating the peach to the rough-ribbed stone
10th June 2009, Hounoux, for Jude who cherishes childhood
After I had written this poem it occurred to me that it might help Jude to talk to her group of Foster carers about what it means to play with a child.
ReplyDeleteAhh, so this is what you meant when in the vegetable garden you said you felt a poem coming on! you are amazing, it's beautiful.
ReplyDeleteGill x
Thank you Gill. Your garden lifts the soul - and your lake is so magic too. There shall be a Bordebasse poem one of these fine days... or perhaps a drizzly day when the garden is too dank to tackle and I can write with that inward eye Wordsworth talks about ( you know, daffodils etc) Your posse of scarecrows will have to be in there too! The photo is the roses which did hold me fast, and have now been brought into line a bit.
ReplyDeleteWoke up this a.m - Bondi blue skies - and the first line of poem suggested above was in my head. This is the first verse, Gill, - and am painting today so it will go through lots of changes probably before finished and published properly.
ReplyDeleteSomewhat eccentrically attired
The old guys slouch in midday sun
Dress casual you must have said
And be prepared to stand outside
In every weather, summer long
But peace and quiet guaranteed
And oh! The breathless view!
From Jenny G in August,
ReplyDeleteI do love them both. You do transport me effortless back to childhood - you have such a gift! Thank you thank you thank you. I'm very attached to that "rough ribbed stone"!
xxxJenny