The commissioned poems which appear on this page do so with the kind permission of our customers. Please do not reproduce them, they are protected by copyright.
1. This poem was commissioned for a father’s 60th birthday
Dad
by Helen Mort
Someone is driving through the moon-brushed night
contained within it like a sleeper in their house.
This is his element; the close-knit trees, the low-slung
stars, the thought of all the other roads he drove
in France – the taste of Orangina on his tongue,
curled up in laybys til first light. Tonight, there’s music
in the engine’s constant hum, and he is singing it,
humming a melody he’s carried out of concert halls
and not stopped hearing since; music made from spoons,
or voices in the dark, music in the slow percussion
of a laugh, or here, the wind ruffling the evening’s hair
and all the roads he’s driven down in parallel
these journeys like a sentence someone started years ago
which he is finishing, without saying a word.
2. This poem was commissioned as a Christmas gift for someone’s mother
Giving Tree
The crann greens ever in its dark home soil, patient roots weaving the earth,uncoiling through the years. Her branches fill the air with the scent of home: soapy hands, ginger, children’s hair.
She breathes it across oceans, a well-worn siren song. We hear, we gather in the warm shade, her strong trunk holds us up against ourselves. We brace our hands on the earth and feel life, love swelling in the berth of our palms.
Our paths stretch out through the thin landscape, her soft leaves whisper words of encouragement against our backs. She sees across the hills and knows where we will settle. We pull a few grasses to keep in our pockets, to remember the lull of home.
