By Jenny Middleton
Grandad’s Other Language My Grandad spoke Irish not to us, but with the soft sky thudding piano clouds above pulling wispy cotton vapours thin in their gusts across the sea unknotting rain to fall with his speech garnered and carried with the lulling songs of other isles rich with other airs. Or else he listened, late at night, to a radio’s report relating today’s news with voices from childhood’s yesteryear new sprung with lush grass, buttercups and clovers grown long and pressing damp leaves to whorls trapped under the glassy, musty confines of a London terrace and its red brick moods as he murmured Latin prayers beneath an English service to petalled oracles, crooning untranslated lore from the webbing undulations of Thames Valley’s silt strewn soil till they were a-fleck with meadowy Ballycolgan smiles.
Jenny Middleton has written poetry throughout her life. Some of her writing has been published in hard copy anthologies or on online poetry sites, including ‘The Blue Nib’. Jenny is a working mum and writes whenever she can amid the chaos of family life. She lives in London with her husband, two children and two very lovely, crazy cats. You can read more of her poems at her website https://www.jmiddletonpoems.com
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