Daily Archives: 19 October 2012

Deep in the Forest

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Deep in the forest there’s a dragon in the bracken,
Deep in the forest there’s an owl in a tree,
Deep in the forest there’s a witch in a cavern,
Deep in the forest there’s also little me.

I am frightened of the dragon which lives in the bracken,
I am frightened of the owl which sits in the tree,
I am frightened of the witch who lives in the cavern
But none of them is frightened of poor little me.

Deep in the hollow there’s a camp of Red Indians,
Dancing around their campfire as wild as wild can be;
I wish that I had feathers and could live inside a wigwam,
But what would all the Indian braves think of little me?

Deep in the bushes at the bottom of the garden,
There’s a tiger living in his den behind the apple tree,
And when I go to fetch my ball or dig for hidden treasure,
I feel that through the branches the tiger’s watching me.

Down by the river there’s a scarecrow in a meadow
Who chases all the birds away – he also frightens me,
I wonder why he stands so still on one leg in the moonlight,
When everyone is safe at home in bed like sleepy me.

I am frightened of the scarecrow who stands in the meadow,
I am frightened of the tiger behind the apple tree,
I am frightened of the Indian braves dancing round their campfire,
But none of them is frightened of poor little me!

Welcome

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This blog is dedicated to the memory of my father, Aidan Smith, who died in March 2004, aged 70.  He was inspired by the subjects that affected him most; daily life, his family and events in the wider world.  This inspiration manifested itself in all creative forms, most notably in poetry, painting and calligraphy.

Since I was a small boy I remember that he always had a piece of artwork or poetry on the go.  His creative process was often triggered by the things that either I or my two sisters, Lucy and Beatrice, would say.

Although my father died nearly ten years ago, his presence is still around us.  From the pictures that he painted that hang on the walls of my home, to the hand written notes, now irreplaceable, tucked away for future reference.  His voice comes through most noticeably and not surprisingly in his poetry. His poems are reproduced here, along with some of his photography and artwork as a showcase of his work and for your enjoyment.

Helier Smith