It’s D in my April A-Z of poems so here are two poems about my dad.
My father Jack Cook died in 1999. I miss him…
Dad
I dreamed of Dad last night
and when I woke I looked for him,
so real was my dream
it seemed he must be here.
Several minutes passed
before I knew that dreaming
was all it was.
I dreamed of Dad last night,
dressed in the red cardigan I loved,
reeking of his favourite soap.
I’m sure I could smell him here.
Several minutes passed
before I knew that dreaming
was all it was.
I dreamed of Dad last night.
He kissed me in his wet-lipped way
and when I woke it felt as though
his kiss was on me still.
Several minutes passed
before I knew that dreaming
was all it was.
I hope to dream of Dad tonight
that he may speak my name
or laugh in his deep rumbling way.
And I will ask him why he cannot stay,
and if dreaming is all there is.
Photo taken in the walled garden at Broadfield ( Crawley , Sussex) where he was head gardener and caretaker 1945-1979
The Walled Garden ( Broadfield House)
My father’s life was in that garden,
where he grew vegetables
for the people in the ‘big house.’
He spent winters at his desk,
planning each new season’s crops
with quiet anticipation.
In the spring he was in the potting shed
pricking out seedlings –
the smell of compost clinging to the air.
Then he dug and raked clay-clod soil,
unwound hessian twine to mark out furrows.
In the greenhouse he dusted
pollen onto cucumber flowers
with a rabbit’s tail.
I went back to the garden.
The greenhouse and potting shed
are derelict – the earth wreathed in weeds
And dandelion’s seeded clocks
journeyed slowly past.