Patrick Ladbrooke Poems
|2.||The Furrow Followed||10/10/2011|
|3.||The Last Glass||5/1/2014|
|9.||Chasing Silver Darlings||10/29/2014|
|11.||Old Men Of The Sea||11/5/2014|
|15.||The Conker Tree||10/30/2014|
|16.||A Navy Man||10/28/2014|
|17.||Colours Of Love, Passing||10/27/2014|
|19.||Abbey Ruin (St Benets Abbey, Norfolk)||11/5/2014|
|21.||The Kissing Gate||12/29/2008|
I remember nights of roaring surf,
The long rods nodding with the pull,
Watching in the hiss and glare of pressure lamps,
Waiting with my father, for the fish to run.
And run they did, made lines sing in the wind,
Smooth muscled silver-green flanked cod,
Gorged plump on shrimp shoaled in the scour.
We cradled them from breaker’s undertow,
Our sea soaked clothes raw in the cold of night,
To marvel as they glistened on the sand.
Next day, served on our plates,
They tasted like they’d swum from seas of heaven.
But time has stolen him away from ...
On the trailing edge of winter, pale light led me
To the cut, where alder and bowed willow stand
Reflected in the greys and browns of long waiting,
While winter burdened boats slack at their ropes.
In childhood days my father’s boat was tethered here,
Firm to the rusty ring upon the quay
And I still see her fine hull cut the water,
As she bestowed the grace of sail upon our lives.