Patrick Ladbrooke

I remember nights of roaring surf,
The long rods nodding with the pull,
Watching in the hiss and glare of pressure lamps,
Waiting with my father, for the fish to run.
...

There is a five bar gate,
white, by a woodland track
where, half a century back,
we talked till evening late.
...

On the trailing edge of winter, pale light led me
To the cut, where alder and bowed willow stand
Reflected in the greys and browns of long waiting,
While winter burdened boats slack at their ropes.
...

Thompson took the crease;
with broken pallet plank in hand,
tapped at the cracked concrete.
Smith bowled, right arm over dustbin
...

A'rear the Suffolks' sure foot gait
And sturdy flank of silent muscle power,
Shining steel of ploughshare cuts a wake,
With scent of earth turned, new and clean,
...

The Last Glass

It was agreed;
one last drink at Peggotty's.
...

Who would be bound
By such small world,
Of mystery,
And lily curled?
...

These useless hands
That once could sharply fret
And stretch and bend and hammer on
And play all round the note,
...

A place of beauty,
So it seemed,
But I shivered
I realised,
...

The places where we once met
Once loved
In love,
Stand empty, desolated.
...

The pain of pride and ache to cry, ​
For those old soldiers, marching by, ​
Now fragile in their marching pride, ​
Whose age worn faces cannot hide​
...

No black is blacker than the darkest night,
Without star or moon,
Or guiding light,
Of love.
...

A stranger he will be
The sailor home from sea,
To child left in the womb
An infant now he's home.
...

When autumn came, the sea would swell
With the harvest to deliver,
And the air was filled with herring smell,
From quays along the river.
...

When I last walked down this lane
I was just a boy
Short trousered and muddy kneed.
The puddles were much deeper then
...

Smiling from their cosy nest,
two puppies rise and fall with her every breath,
bursting to escape, they taunt
' You'd like to feel our peachy warmth? '
...

Old men on a shelter bench,
With newspapers and sticks,
Each day the same as yesterday,
The morning tide, the ships;
...

Tall the abbey tower,
Now with no bell to call
Through a perfect arch to nowhere,
But a crumbling abbey wall.
...

I tread the leaves,
Which rustling, fly;
Life's steps I've gladly taken
Blackened lie,
...

I thought the grass was greener,
On the far side of the hill,
I searched in vain,
Found only pain,
...