THE SERGEANT MAJOR
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeve
No collar,braces and rolled up sleeves,
Leather buckled trouser belt;
Number forty-six with Gran he dwelt.
A curled up moustache,
His manner stiff and harsh;
Horse artillery in a younger day
A shilling a day his rate of pay.
His hens roamed at the end of the patch
Each day free to root and scratch;
Collecting eggs from his homemade coop
His aging back acquired a stoop.
Fresh,brown and range free
Daily for breakfast or tea;
He killed a chicken as a special treat,
Plucking now a forgotten feat.
A waist-coated old stager
Known to all as the Sargeant Major;
Old fashioned,a bit of a tartar-
Made my Gran a domestic martyr.
repost fro m Year Posted 2007
TRUE GRIT
He
liked a drink
did granpa
Shreeve
Sergeant stripes
still on his
sleeve-
Victorian born
buckled belt
boots,trousers
braced
strong
silent,twirled
of moustache
rigid
upright
no ceremony-
faded
sepia grey
in
memory
TRUE GRIT
He like a drink
did granpa Shreeve
Sergeant stripes stayed on
his sleeve- Victorian born with
buckled belt ,boots,trousers braced;
strong silent,with twirled of moustache;
rigid of back,upright no ceremony allowed-
a legacy faded sepia grey in memory
GRANPA
He loves action,with few words
by example,his guidance heard,
a barnabas,he unfolds
encouragment,to be bold;
Strong-minded,solid some say,
stability,day-by-day,
reliability,his creed
to satisfy,family need;
Each day stepping outside the box
what you see,is what you get,
once encountered,none forget,
a boy,beneath it all
aged now,but standing tall.
A MOTHER’S LOVE
She lives her love day by day
with all that is so feminine,
a touch, kiss or knowing look,
concern, red-lettered in her book;
Particular to detail self-sacrifice
a routine,as she walks the extra mile,
ever ready with a smile;The days
news eager to hear,her wise counsel,
stills a fear as open arms her love brings
near,a warmth to dry a child's tear
ready to give herself,time and again
so soft and beautiful and feminine
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under the name ichthys chiro
He
like a drink
did granpa
Shreeve
Sergeant stripes
still on his
sleeve-
Victorian born
buckled belt
boots,trousers
braced
strong
silent,twirled
of moustache
rigid
upright
no ceremony-
faded
sepia grey
in
memory
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeve
at Eaton Road,where he+Gran dwelt,
a wide thick trouser buckled belt
no collar,braces+rolled-up shirt sleeve
He kept hens at the bottom of his patch
his soldier's back now bent to stoop,
collecting eggs from his home-coop,
each day letting them out to root+scratch
Organically grown,fed as range free
a pullet killed as a Christmas treat
each day a fresh egg for dinner or tea
Old-fashioned,a bit of a tartar,
far-off days..Gran was his domestic martyr
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeve
At Eaton Road,where he & Gran dwelt;
A wide thick buckled trouser belt,
No collar,braces & rolledup shirt sleeve.
He kept hens at the bottom of his patch
His old soldier' straight back bent in a stoop,
Collecting eggs from his home-made coop,
Each day letting them out to root & scratch.
Organically grown,fed as range free
A pullet killed as a Christmas treat
Plucking feathers,a now forgotten feat,
Each day,a fresh egg for breakfast or tea.
Old fashioned and a bit of a tartar
His ways made Gran into a domestic martyr.