Wednesday, 17 August 2022

A POEM FOR MY GRANDSON, OSCAR, NOW 16 MONTHS OLD

 


GRANDSON

(for Oscar)


I sit on the sofa beside

My one-year-old grandson

Watching midsummer showers

Speckle the window pane


His warm hand in mine

I think of Kavanagh’s poem

‘Every old man I see’

And know I’m one of them


I show my face on the mobile

To the offspring of my son

And then show him his own.

He slips my hand and is gone


Taking me through the rigours

of a mad merry-go-round

He’s a yacht out on the bay

I’m a hulk that’s run aground


But the foc’s’le of the spirit

on the wreckage of my hope 

still boasts a live transmitter

towards which my fingers grope


And from perdition’s shell

Till the channel disconnects

I’ll sing him songs of culture

and its enlightened texts.


Copyright Ciaran O'Driscoll 2022 

1 comment:

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