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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