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Prof. Emeritus Edward Alston Cecil Baugh: Home

Tribute to Edward Baugh

Edward Baugh


The scrunch of the kitchen knife through the long stalks

of ginger lilies I cut for my mother

this leaf-moist morning. Their sharp scent 

pierces me.

                        Way above the trumpet

tree, noisy with the gossip of birds,

improbably far, the silver stylus

of a jet chalks the arrow of my

ambition across immaculate blue.

Even as I gaze it dissolves in puff balls

of vapour.

                        From my school desk, carved 

with the names of the lost, the heroes, I shall dream

on the cobalt sea.

                        By midday it will rain, 

extravagantly, the gutters will gurgle with delight.

These memories define me. I keep them 

against that morning when my eyes

no longer turn to greet the sun.