Poetry ● Poet Poem ● Rhyme ● Verse ● Limerick ● Ode ● Prose ● Story ● Anecdote
The story behind the poem ● Free sign-up
Have you written a poem for the world to read?

Poem and Poet
~ From your works shall you be known ~

Animals Dreams Family History Homes Humor Love
Myth Names People Pets Philosophy Places Plants
Real life Seasons Sorrow Sport Travel
Order a poem Advertise with us Submit a poem Respond to a poem Feedback Poetry material Sitemap

My father

It was his voice that crossed the fringe of sleep
Cheerful, routine, a flight of stairs away;
And though the meadow grass is not so high,
Again we go, my hand curled up in his,
To look for larks’ nests, teasels and moon-daisies.
Ahead of me along the sea-wall dip
His friendly back and jaunty shrimping-net,
While my fist grips a spade to stem the tide.
I ride his knees again; again he trims
My wayward fingernails and stamps his foot
To simulate the fall of each huge paring.
The armchair back encurves his silver head;
His crimson slippers stretch towards the fire
That he has built to last until the morning.

by Damaris West

Read the story behind this poem

Vote For My Site!

Visit my Italy blog

All content is the property of either Damaris West or the poem's author as appropriate and may not be reproduced in any way without their written permission.
Home page | Sitemap | Feedback Form | Add to favorites | Submit a poem | Respond to a poem
Useful links | About the webmaster | Privacy promise | Poem and Poet | Favorite poems | Link to me
A brief history of poetry | Day of the week for the date | Advertise with us | Poetry material

Commission a poem

~ Poem and Poet ~