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Hello again, Nigel,
I must've missed the link yesterday. I like the light purple letters; they're pretty. And the poem is excellent; what happened with the anthology? I'm taken with the idea of writing against war.
Now, however, for something very peaceful. Before she died from lung cancer in 1985, my gran on Dad's side painted two pictures – one for my older brother and one for me. She had intended to paint one for little bro too, but she didn't live long enough, sadly.
This is my poem describing the first picture. I wrote it in 2013.
Her Picture of Grandad, for Graham
Positioned by his garden gate,
and row of fence-posts, white, tall, straight,
he breaks, perhaps, from planting toil,
his fork wedged deep in Kentish soil.
Beside him, long-furred canine Zak,
in shining swathes of jettest black,
both gazing out, beyond their lands,
to where her tripod easel stands.
Behind, stout walnut trees in ranks,
upon gold-petalled primrose banks,
a hedgehog naps in sunny patch,
her sharp coat tousled into thatch.
Each side, tall frames of runner beans
watch over cabbages, slick greens,
placed deftly in his perfect row,
all open leaf, pale hearts aglow.
Above, his grand parade of beech
swings smooth limbs high as brush may reach,
no branch bereft of crusted flags,
with subtle swirl from cotton rags.
And in the farthest corners, birds,
bullfinches, peering at her words:
'Grandad in Garden, 83',
and her initials, 'D.S.T.'
- - -
Tomorrow: colours.
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