kite flying fun

i have no memories of my own father taking me kite-flying in local parks. i have always loved the ducking and diving of kites flying in strong winds. i decided to try and leave this memory with my own boys


Kite flying fun, windy the weather,

father and son in park together;

breeze-battered leafless branches,

caps and scarves get second chances.

Bright red boots on small boy’s feet,

oversized coat, photogenic sweet;

spool unravelled from little hands:

shouted out paternal commands.

Wind-filled fabric, dizzy with delight,

gust-lifted, primary coloured kite;

ascended fast, cloud-ward rose,

North Wind’s billow-cheeks blowed.

String pulled hard, ariel-hovered,

faltered then suddenly recovered,

see tail toss-turn, wildly wave,

tree tentacles suddenly enslaved.

High up we looked, quite forlorn:

tug too hard: fabric easily torn;

beyond reach, kite terribly tangled,

gingerly pulled, all known angles.

Break not the heart of little boy,

how to rescue trapped sky-toy?

Tentative tugs, release surprised,

celebratory shouts and smiling eyes.


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