Felix Dennis

Felix Dennis, Poet, Publisher and Tree Planter

My Grandpa’s Pocket Knife

It lies here now before me,
	A whalebone pocket knife,
Still sharp enough to shave with,
	A cipher of his life.

The faded stamp of ‘Sheffield’,
	And, ground to faintness: ‘Steel’,
Good scrimshaw on the handle,
	A perfect heft and feel.

It speaks to me of Empire,
	Which I was taught to curse,
Yet who would care to argue
	That there are things far worse...

No matter.  My old grandpa
	Long, long since left this life;
He served the Royal Navy,
	And this here— is his knife.

Dorsington, Warwickshire June 22, 2005

This poem is a work in progress. It is incomplete, unfinished and has not been revised. It is meant only to offer a glimpse into the notebook of a poet at work. Please do not post it onto other sites or publish it in any form. Thank you — Felix Dennis

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