“The Father I Loved”, “Canopy of Protection”, “Aggression”, and “Melbourne Cup”

By CM Pickard

The Father I Loved

wrapped in blankets, 

shrouded in dusk’s weaning light 

swallowed in sorrow’s hold;

like a lighthouse’s beam 

shrouded in fog

where haunting memories

of conversations past

echoed in my mind 

camping on golden sands 

in the spring of youth,

before age decayed bones

crawling like a shell-less crab

and our last summer spent 

on Rosebud’s pale shores

watching a seagull’s last flight

I blinked back tears,

propped on rocks, recalling

too late to reclaim time;

that lingual stage

where words once danced

replaced by cascading tears

while I remembered

the man, and the father I loved.

---

Canopy of Protection

Memories linger of strong arms,

and songs whispered near my crib

encompassed in warmth, 

anchored amongst twisted 

limbs curled around my cradle

like deep-rooted red river gums

shaped by fire and flood 

a weathered, sturdy canopy 

erected as protection

to keep adulthood’s icy winds

and the world outside at bay

---

Aggression

Aggression shown—the clenched jaw ticks.

vinegar laced voice berates the cashier

wincing under the hissing serpent’s spittle, 

a weapon sharp as any sword

words draw tears like crimson droplets

spilling from a gaping battle wound

void of shame, a growling voice rises 

while a chest-pounding ape demands his due

until scattered by the lion’s noble roar,

for no natural beast resorts to such malice

curses echo and hands cover innocent ears, 

glass-doors wobble in the creature’s wake 

and light shines on a young woman’s smile,

a winding line cheers—aggression trounced

---

Melbourne Cup

Your breath ceased in a silence

tears scorched my cheeks

while beyond pristine walls,

screaming crowds stood

before the sea of yellow roses

and eager punters placed bets

on ‘the race that stops a nation’

until ‘Rekindling’ raised hope

—a prayer unfulfilled,

for there’d be no revival,

only rose petals that droop

while you’ll soon lay buried

where embers turn to ash,

beneath spring’s green earth.

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