Selected poems, examples of my writing style.
A past so humble for such dignity,
you were raised to uphold morality.
A witness to struggles and dreams destroyed;
East End Labour, Blackshirts, the unemployed.
Your childhood was carefree, your days were packed
to the brim; picnics with mum, with snacks
for the train – en route to sunny Epping.
But shadows fall as the battle begins.
Moorgate, Farringdon, City and the Docks;
panic abounds as foundations rock.
While London is ablaze for 56 days,
your appendix bursts during an air raid.
From Socialist roots to men’s army boots,
a fighter pilot in civic disputes;
losing your comrades a sad consequence
of treading soils of unknown continents.
Rambling; traversing a number of peaks –
your marriage to Gladys, honeymoon weeks,
the birth of your children, Mark and the twins,
the shop that you dreamed of…Yet cloud rumblings
signal a blackness that tests your resolve
– the loss of a battle, loss of a love.
At loss, in debt and in isolation,
yet still you are filled with admiration
for your children, who endured, grew so strong;
life was a challenge best tackled head on.
Comforted by the progress they had made,
but pressured by thoughts of lonely old age.
Time is a healer, or bandage at least;
family and heartache must be appeased.
Trouble and strife, emotions collided;
tears as your kindred spirit divided.
After the storm came a time of repose;
familial duties soon interposed.
Husband to Eileen and father of three,
devoted brother and grandad to me.
So then at last, life was sugar-coated
– filled with your kin, upon whom you doted.
Life is a journey, each day a station;
you stopped at them all; earned adoration.
We listen now for the grandfather clock,
but silence resounds instead of tick-tock.
Through the love and memoirs you left, we honour your life, together; bereft.