(16/06/19) Father's Day

Today I thought I would share a poem that I wrote about my Dad last year when I was on a 'Creative Writing for Well Being' course. When I read it aloud to the group the Tutor was moved to tears! I read it again at home and it had the same effect on my husband!!

My Dad

He was Hambledon, a quiet, rural, Hampshire village,

Speltham Hill, the vineyard, St Peter and St Paul's.

The home of cricket; Broadhalfpenny Down,

He was the landscape, the history; his family, his home.

He was a toy soldier;

Childhood days spent exploring the field and woodland surroundings.

Brave and determined, committed and strong, for twenty-five years he soldiered on

serving, for fun, with the Territorial Army.

He was a marathon, a club, a collection of medals,

He was fit, he was healthy, an athlete, a "Strider".

His stripes were lime green on a bright red vest,

He was a stop watch recording a personal best.

Pounding the pavements, he never gave in

to the pain; enduring.

Taking pleasure from the moments spent alone in his head.

He was a vintage record player.

On and on he went, round and round, going relentlessly nowhere.

Though bringing pleasure to those around him and music to their ears,

inwardly he spiralled, around and around, deeper and deeper into his own melancholy.

He was a classic motorcycle,

proud of his appearance. Yet always in need of a little more work.

He presented himself convincingly,

his inner turmoil disguised by the shiny veneer.

He was a rich, dark suntan.

A traveller, he saw the world.

He loved the warmth of the sun, it lightened the heaviness of his heart

His heart, forever etched in his beloved Hambledon.

He was a fancy camera

Uniquely capturing the moments of his life.

With tricks and filters he created a magical, mystical reality.

He was a dreamer.

He was lonely.

He was sad.

He was my Dad.

---

I just wanted to point out that the line about 'always needing a little more work' actually refers more to the bikes (than Dad's appearance) because, as I remember it, his bikes always tended to be in pieces scattered around the garage, shed and garden. He could never afford a classic motorbike that was in proper working order but I think he lacked the finances to fully restore any of the ones he could afford to buy! Poor Dad. Maybe keys to a shiny BSM classic motorcycle would have been the keys to his happiness...who knows.