Tag Archives: grandson

Truth from Farley’s Eyes


 “They’re starting – Quick!” I said to him

“It’s the trooping of the Queens’ Guards

Take my hand, and we’ll find a place

in the front where you can see.”

I led him to the palace yard 

clasping palms we chased the parade

hearts beating along to drums,

to soldiers’ feet, and horses hooves

and triumphant marching songs

My grandson and I stood and watched

row upon row of belted tunics, 

scarlet red of Britain’s blood

gold buttons flashed by noon-day sun

black trousers and shoes in scissor-leg moves 

snipping in time, wooden, all as one

Left right, snip snap

Bayonets fixed on sky-aimed rifles

Canadian bearskin-heightened heads

glistening fur bounced and swung

while people jostled, tradition bound

Left right, swish swoosh

“How many?” he asked above the din

“What?” I said, too thrilled to hear

He pointed at the black fur dancing

noble and thick upon their heads

Left right, snip snap

“Grannie” his query pierced the music

Left right, the soldiers passed

I cheered with the crowd but Farley cried

“For the soldiers hats,” he demanded the truth

“How many bears have died?”

.

Submitted to:

  Imperfect Prose Thursdays

    http://thursdaypoetsrallypoetry.blogspot.com/

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Zen Riddle


On the tree-bordered path

an old man and a boy

with long hazel sticks

walked side by side

rain hats and jackets

zipped to the top

pockets buttoned

keeping their maps dry

They shared old stories

and young ambitions

 

The wind rustled up

a twister of  leaves

full branches overhead

added their rain to the sky’s

Beneath, the walkers hunched shoulders

tucked chins down

and collars up

The path grew steeper, darker

and the heavy sky

grew heavier

 

Are you sure you can

walk this, the boy asked

It’s a long path

The old man’s eyes hinted

watery sweet laughter

The path is fine, he said

walking steady

stepping strong

When I was a boy

this path was long

 

The boy wanted to know

if the route had changed

or been shortened, but

No, nobody changed it

the old man replied

You mean the path shrunk

as you grew old?

Is the path your youth?

No, said the old man, smiling

It is just a path

Submitted for One Shot Wednesday        

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