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Below is the poem entitled FURTHER FAMILY STORIES recited which was written by poet Brian Strand. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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He loved,but could not say
such words,he could not find;
He loved,but could not touch
such warmth,was just too much;
He was proud,but could not praise
such sounds he could not raise;
He supported,but not with words
such feelings,witheld unheard;
Sentiment,tight reined close within
banished, unvoiced by him,
embittered by his own hurt,
a scarred child 'neath his hairshirt.
In that distant past,crippled emotions lay
imprisoned,unsaid,'til his dying day.

Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,
 a pillow puffed up on her knee;with daughter
 Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their 
homespun ware.In such humble women,dwelt 
a rare and dextrous art.Fashioned out,stitch by 
stitch,pillowed  patterns ,so rich.Tinkling bobbins ,
 bewildering skill,inch by inch grew the intricate 
frill.Twisting threads  in pairs and groups,knitted
together as interlocking loops.Their  town craft
then, of world renown .Plain or old point hand 
made  lace,lost foever with  no longer a trace

We left our abode in old Cowfair,haggled
a price for an old shire mare.Onto the 
landlord's canal boat,lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat.Farewell to our Buckingham
birthplace ,a meagre living from old point 
lace.Dawdled up to Cosgrove,  meals around 
a blackened stove.This  moveable house 
painted castle and rose, a life we would not
have chose.Eighteen fifties harsh and mean,
cargo of coal, nothing stayed clean.Doff your
cap,touch your forelock at the gatekeeper's lock.
Food scarce except for or fish,perch , roach a 
staple dish.Clothes drying  on a line,home for a time 
whilst the toddlers were young.As  numbers increased 
and grew ,places to sleep, all too few.Family life
became impossibly hard ,so back again to a 
tied cottage in Aylesbury's Anchorage yard.

Listen to me read these poems at youtube under the name ichthys

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