My Father
The story behind the poem

My father had a tremendous feeling for children, maybe because he was so childlike himself in many ways. Sometimes, when he was happy, he would skip - literally skip - and he was the best storyteller I have ever known. When I was a small child he could get me to sit absolutely still while he was cutting my toe-nails or finger-nails. Of course I knew the loud bump was him stamping his foot, but I held my breath to listen all the same.

All those things I've mentioned we went to look for in appropriate seasons, and I can see him now with the wooden-framed shrimping-net slung over his shoulder, brushing through the marram grass of the Norfolk coast on his way down to the sea.

When he died, which he did from cancer at the age of 63, I was absolutely bereft. We had had our differences - who doesn't - but he embodied my childhood and gave me my roots.

by Damaris West

Read the poem
 

All content is the property of either Damaris West or the poem's author as appropriate and may not be reproduced in any way without their written permission.

Home page | Sitemap | Feedback Form | Add to favorites | Submit a poem | Respond to a poem
Useful links | About the webmaster | Privacy promise | Poem and Poet | Favorite poems | Link to me
A brief history of poetry | Day of the week for the date | Poetry material | Tuition

~ Poem and Poet ~