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 ...
The Furrow Followed
A'rear the Suffolks' sure foot gait
And sturdy flank of silent muscle power,
Shining steel of ploughshare cuts a wake,
With scent of earth turned, new and clean,
All held by skills that keep straight
With every corner matched in perfect line,
For the gathered gulls to glean.
And as the father cut the furrow, so does son,