Love Will Bare Us a Heart, Again

Our lives revolve around stories. The narrative of our past, the story we inhabit right now, and the tales we imagine for the future.

It’s not love that makes the world go round…it’s stories of love.

I have only ever gone in for two poetry competitions. They are an expensive luxury, with masses of entries and inevitably subjective judging panels. I entered a national competition on a whim and just before Christmas, when I had forgotten all about it, I received a congratulatory letter, a cheque for £50 and the news that my entry had won second prize.

“Oh happy day, ‘calloo callay’ he chortled in his joy!”

Here is the poem.


This Is Where the Story Really Starts


As soon as I saw you

I knew I had to change my story,

knew it would change anyway.

The tale I was telling to the world

would need to move closer

to the truth.

Most of all I wanted

to be with you, nurture you,

sustain you

whilst you grew your own story.

Listening to your first breathing

holding your gristle bones

smelling your warm crown

love entered in the way it always does,

through the senses,

but this time, through the heart too:

for this child gave birth to the father,

delivered the man.

At last, without wondering if it sounds right,

in this poem, where stories connect,

I can use the word love.


Happy New Year to everyone and thank you for your warmth and care in reading.

Ted x


  1. Lovely pome, Ted. I especially like the ‘child delivered the man’ which neatly sums up what I have long believed – that boys (not all boys of course) become men when they become fathers. Happy new year and see you at my 70th xx


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