Agoraphobia confined him to the house,
a single street and the wireworks walls,
where he laboured, picking up on the soles
of his shoes shiny nuggets of copper.
A creature of habit, home for dinner at one
and tea at five, he exuded the tang of toil
and lingering smoke of Navy Cut on
his breath and the fabric of his overalls.
A victim of the Blitz, his hands shook,
but in the garden, with a mint-scented
whistle on his lips and sun on his back
he recited flower names like prayers.
He taught me how to dead-head a rose
and sprinkle dry earth with can and hose.
Kim M. Russell, 12th April 2026
On Day 12 of NaPoWriMo, the optional prompt introduces poet Amarjit Chandan, whose poetry often focuses on place and memory. Our example is his poem ‘Uncle Mohan Singh’, which recounts, with a sort of dreaminess, a memory of the titular uncle playing the accompaniment to a silent film.
Our challenge is to write poems about memories of beloved relatives and something they did that echoes through our thoughts today. I could only think of my Grandad, so I took an old poem and reworked it into a sonnet for the prompt.
writing in north norfolk 
Beautiful write Kim 👏
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Thank you, Shaun.
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oh yes, the garden. flower names like prayers. indeed they are!
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Kim, you’ve written a powerful poem. There’s strength in the observed detail: the copper on his shoes, the smoke in his clothes, the steady rhythm of his day. It feels lived-in and real.
I like the restraint too. You don’t explain the relationship, you leave it to the reader to infer it, and that means the final couplet lands well.
I thought the garden shift works well, adding another side of him without changing the tone.
It’s a grounded, respectful poem that trusts the reader. I enjoyed reading it. Several times.
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Thank you so , for your close reading and appreciation. 🙏
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A beautiful tribute to you grandad Kim. I especially like the ‘tang of toil’. The couplet lingers on beyond the page.
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Thanks so much Arti.
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Love this, I can hear his “mint-scented whistle”.
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Thank you, Rachael.
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I loved this poem, particularly these lines “he exuded the tang of toil” and
“A victim of the Blitz, his hands shook,
but in the garden, with a mint-scented
whistle on his lips and sun on his back
he recited flower names like prayers.”
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Thank you very much, Dawn.
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