Almanac Poetry: ‘From The Village to Victoria Park’

 

A Villanelle that is an ode to my Father

By Phil Dimitriadis

 

From dodging bullets in World War 2,
to stepping on broken bottles of Abbott’s Lager.
Ah, the relative peace of Turner Street in 1952.

 

While Communists and Royalists searched for prey,
The slums of Collingwood seem like heaven.
The wounds were still raw, but a world away.

 

The crowd was passionate, yet held no fear.
No one put a gun to his face demanding loyalty.
The noise seemed playful to his hardened ear.

 

In The Village teenagers were forced to bear arms,
At Victoria Park they were encouraged to play.
No minefields to negotiate on a Collingwood farm.

 

Safety is relative, depends where you are.
Footy provided escape, friendship and calm.
A house next to the ground, a family, fewer scars.

 

Phonse Kyne was coach, Lou Richards was skipper.
He watched them train until it was dark.
With a kick of the footy Dad’s journey was complete,
from the Village to Victoria Park.

 

 

More from Phil Dimitriadis can be read Here

 

 

More poetry from Almanac Poetry can be read HERE

 

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