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Clocks

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Fifty years of violet fire's

ashes gather in his mind;

once a man and twice a child,

dandelions have two lives.

 

When he was Buck, he stoked the guts   

of battle class destroyers,

all brawn and heft and sweat and musk;

a dandy matelot wanderer.

 

Carousing and careening girls,

forget-me-nots around the world,

action stations, ocean waves,

60 feet or more.

 

Then love lettered indigo travelled on its way;

became a band of gold and plans

to settle down, to stay,

were made on land in hope and glory.

 

To Civvy Street, to factories,

to children counting 1 2 3,

to tender jam jar harmonies

played out on kitchen floors.

 

In early light with pennies tight,

they'd spend the time together.                                                                                           

He’d take her up a cup and kisses,

never thinking days would dim

or clocks would stop for one.

 

Fifty years of violet fire's

ashes gather in his mind;

once a man and twice a child,

dandelions have no wives.

 

 

◄ Just Relax

The Final Haiku ►

Comments

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Laura Taylor

Thu 7th Dec 2017 15:00

Thank you Hannah. Appreciate that.

<Deleted User> (18118)

Wed 6th Dec 2017 20:35

I love this poem Laura. I guessed it was about your father.
The strength and bravery when he was young, then the loss.
Brilliant piece.

Hannah

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Laura Taylor

Wed 6th Dec 2017 13:01

Hmm. For me that doesn't scan so well. Also I wanted it to chime with the last line of the first verse. Thanks though.

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Graham Sherwood

Wed 6th Dec 2017 12:23

I see.

I think I would have finished it......

A dandelion without a wife, perhaps?

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Laura Taylor

Wed 6th Dec 2017 10:43

Thanks Graham.

Ah, as I say, this is in a series of poems about my Dad (to be included in the next book), and this was written when he was still alive and my mother had just died, hence the last line. How does it sit now, knowing that?

Really?? Wow. Which ones? Seriously tough job that.

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Graham Sherwood

Wed 6th Dec 2017 10:29

I really like this piece a lot Laura.
Whether it’s because I don’t get something but the last line doesn’t sit well for me ( the wives bit).

Strangely, my dad was a stoker on destroyers too.

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Laura Taylor

Wed 6th Dec 2017 09:40

This is an edited version of a previous poem in a series. Just wanted to see what folk made of it.

For some reason, the 'together' seems to want to place itself in a weird position. That wasn't intentional.

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