Archives for posts with tag: Fathers

Some hands know the soil.
They know what to do with it.
They’re not fine hands, clean hands, they’re rough and thick fingered and calloused but they bring life out of the black and keep a kind of order on the land.
They give firm handshakes.
And hold grandchildren carefully like they hold a china tea cup or a fragile flower.

(For Bob, who knew the land and its people well, RIP).

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Distaff family –

How I love thee so ~ but still ~

I’m glad for the boy. 
 

Distaff family –

Much joy with thee, yet more when ~

Small Man holds my hand. 
 

Father at his place –

As different as equal ~

Yet it must be earned. 

Small Man’s first school day –
Shirt collar stiff on his neck ~
Teacher half my age.

Once, we were hunting –
Two taken down ~ second lost –
Lost in the bracken.

It was down, deserved honour –
Boy, driven mad seeking it.

While rocking the wok –
Children sing and dance ~ the song:
‘An Poc ar Buile’!

Helping a stranger –
No change for his bus, at dawn ~
Wallet full of notes.

He’s from Morava
Trying to visit his boy ~
Honourable Dad.

A chance encounter –
At the deserted crossroads ~
Make a difference.

[Best of luck Larry, hope it all works out. ]

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