Nostalgia - Dad His Shed And Childhood Poem by Lodigiana Poetess

Today I walked a thousand miles but never moved a measured yard.

Transported by a choir of memories rising in crescendo.

My father voice so still, so safe, so silent ….for so long

talking to my rabbit whilst cleaning cages.

Laying on a grassy bank..anticipating …rolling

down the slope, rotating faster… first grass then sky then grass and sky again;

caught up in a wondrous heap..dishevelled clothes and hair.

The smell of lunch percolating through the summer air,

bathes me in nostalgia- the longing to be there.

A piece of parchment paper, sugar coating rhubarb chunks,

delicious sourness- so sweet.. eyes crinkling in delight.

A creaking swing to fly me high…. my feet DO touch the sky.

Another fledgling fallen from its nest up in the roof

and me the saviour, nursing it with milk and soaking bread.

A shoebox in the garden shed with tissues for a bed.

Next day my dad would always say, ‘all's well he's flown away'

I never knew that ‘flown away' was really not the truth

as ‘Florence Nightingale' for birds was the image of my youth.

The shed that smelled of dads old tools, cane hampers, oily tins,

dust moving in hypnotic swirls and coating old beach chairs,

a rusty bucket with a spade, a tangled kite, old bikes,

a pair of roller skates, a hula hoop and dried up tins of paint

Today I walked a thousand miles, through memories in my mind;

remembering warm and sunny days and pink anemones,

and when it rained, the smell of dusty pavements filled the air.

The autumn winds would cut like whetted blades through trees still bare but

Vigorous with life…..

And chiseled snowflakes landing one by one on frosted panes.

Is memory a forgotten sense we like to locked away?

And just bring out to fill our hearts so full of yesterday…..