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The Grandfather Port

My grandfather was a concreter. But he felt like the ship captain of my family, and my youth.

By Phil LovellPublished 4 years ago Updated 4 years ago 2 min read

My Grandad built foundations

He poured concrete and a good glass of port

Wanderin’ Star was his heartsong

He was a strong but cheeky sort

*

Idols are meant to wield tridents and fury

He commanded a chrome trowel and shovel

Made no demands and gave with both hands

I was named for the man, Philip Lovell

*

In canal waters that break up his island

I search for him in my reflection

I imagine him steering our family

Like a captain on seas of connection

*

Sailing the seas held such promise once

On course toward rich ports

My respect for the captain set in cement

In awe since my earliest thoughts

*

I’m thankful for every drink that we shared

Aboard his proud family ship

When we alone were left on deck

He grinned and poured us a drip

*

Rich red liquid full of history

Shared in our cups and our veins

Each drop brought warmth and mischief

His wisdom will remain

*

Listening close I might have heard

Waves crashing down below

Beating the chest of the vessel

God’s envy began to grow

*

I never dreamed it could be the last time

The captain raised a glass

The Christmas plunder was merry

But fortunes at sea change fast

*

How is it just that time is a liar

Yet it would claim an honest man

The captain was taken over overboard

And a terrible shipwreck began

*

A deluge of tears hit the deck like concrete

With awful tidal wave fury

I thought he might be the only man

Who could withstand a body’s mutiny

*

His port barrel rolls across the wreckage

Empty now it lies

He’ll never see me lead my a crew

That share their father’s eyes

*

No more battles worth the struggle

I can’t impress him now

No glass raised for fights well won

I feel too stern to bow

*

But upon the rusted barrel hoops

The sunlight brings suprise

A stubborn twinkle in its mettle

The same sort lit his eyes

*

Gleaming from the iron

His light ignites a flame

And I’m grateful to remember

I carry on his name

*

The honour carries painful weight

But in thanks for all our drinks

I’ll steer his ship til our next port

And make sure it never sinks.

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Phil Lovell

As someone who never really connected with poetry, I have been suprised to discover how much I enjoy writing it. It gives me an avenue to explore the philosophical side of my thinking, and explore my creativity a little. I hope you enjoy!

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