Uploaded March 2018 | Updated September 2026, 26 minutes ago
11 March is Mother's day in the UK.
I found this poem particularly touching so thought I would share it. A hospital in which Brian Patten's mum was dying was very close to a park she used to take him to as a kid, and there's a big boating lake in the park. A poem called 'Armada':
Long long ago
when everything I was told was believable
and the little I knew was less limited than now,
I stretched belly down on the grass beside a pond
and to the far bank launched a child's armada
A broken fortress of twigs,
the paper-tissue sails of galleons;
the waterlogged branches of submarines -
all came to ruin and were on flame
in that dusk-red pond
And you; mother, stood behind me;
impatient to be going,
old at twenty-three; alone;
thin overcoat flapping
How closely the past shadows us.
In a hospital a mile or so from that pond
I kneel beside your bed and; closing my eyes,
reach out across forty years to touch once more
that pond's cool surface,
and it is your cool skin I'm touching;
for as on a pond a child's paper boat
was blown out of reach
by the smallest gust of wind;
so too have you been blown out of reach
by the smallest whisper of death,
and a childhood memory is sharpened;
and the heart burns as that armada burnt,
long, long ago.
poetryarchive.org/poem/armada
Mp3s can be downloaded here:
soundcloud.com/robin-homer
*Donation Links*
Paypal Tips: paypal.me/RobinHomer
LTC: LiGdYH9mdVVKEKLTL9oxBNgBm5SLFFuAzQ
BCH: 1DDtkdSGwYpaXoLtnuyWRWsaFXAJwphKBf
ETH: 0x7b2d7B45BA8bc229F4487bB05Bbeca6A8a000698
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11 March is Mother's day in the UK.
I found this poem particularly touching so thought I would share it. A hospital in which Brian Patten's mum was dying was very close to a park she used to take him to as a kid, and there's a big boating lake in the park. A poem called 'Armada':
Long long ago
when everything I was told was believable
and the little I knew was less limited than now,
I stretched belly down on the grass beside a pond
and to the far bank launched a child's armada
A broken fortress of twigs,
the paper-tissue sails of galleons;
the waterlogged branches of submarines -
all came to ruin and were on flame
in that dusk-red pond
And you; mother, stood behind me;
impatient to be going,
old at twenty-three; alone;
thin overcoat flapping
How closely the past shadows us.
In a hospital a mile or so from that pond
I kneel beside your bed and; closing my eyes,
reach out across forty years to touch once more
that pond's cool surface,
and it is your cool skin I'm touching;
for as on a pond a child's paper boat
was blown out of reach
by the smallest gust of wind;
so too have you been blown out of reach
by the smallest whisper of death,
and a childhood memory is sharpened;
and the heart burns as that armada burnt,
long, long ago.
poetryarchive.org/poem/armada
Mp3s can be downloaded here:
soundcloud.com/robin-homer
*Donation Links*
Paypal Tips: paypal.me/RobinHomer
LTC: LiGdYH9mdVVKEKLTL9oxBNgBm5SLFFuAzQ
BCH: 1DDtkdSGwYpaXoLtnuyWRWsaFXAJwphKBf
ETH: 0x7b2d7B45BA8bc229F4487bB05Bbeca6A8a000698
BTC: 16zfZQqwtKtBWw9UjJeAfAhEXVbVwfyXD
