Grandfather frequently paced the floor
before the paper boy delivered it
unavoidably damp and rolled to fit
the wide-grin letterbox. In the door
like a stuck-out tongue, the Broadsheet hung
till pulled from the grip of stiff, chrome jaws
unravelling to our silent applause.
Two huge pages flung
across the table, broadcasting even stop-press news
freshening each day. Over coffee it spilled
ink print headlines and copy, brim-filled
with politics, events, murders, reviews,
Old papers kept, re-read and used for shining
shoes, and silver spoons. Made wraps for ash,
peelings, waste, and a small neat cache
of crumpled balls that set the coal fire roaring.
In flames went Grandma's crossword clues
(she'd almost always solved but one)
the well scoured 'Notices' too where anyone
could post their gladdest or their saddest news.
"never believe what you read in the paper" they'd say,
I trusted it only twice, when each had passed away.
For today’s Poetics: For the Love of the Broadsheet, Punam is challenging us to bring the Newspaper and all it might mean to us into our poetry.
PoetryPix 
What a well-drawn portrait of a newspaper’s life in the hands of one family, with the ending like a dash of cold water. Beautifully wrought, Laura.
many thanks Dora – yes we were brought up to distrust the papers yet pored over them daily. The ending highlights this.
I still remember all the space the newspaper occupied before it changed to tabloid format.
never touched a tabloid now I never touch any papers
This is fabulous, Laura! Each household had a different newspaper ritual and yet so much was common. Love the title and the rhyming.
I do not usually rhyme but it began naturally in verse 1 and so I had to continue on – thank you for this prompt which took me back down the years
I know you don’t like rhyming much. You are welcome.
it feels like wearing a corset 😉
😂😂
I am engaged in a long-form story told in sonnets with Melissa so I am getting to love rhymes – mostly…
that sounds epic, Andrew
love looking back at the rituals of the past. I could here the sound of the paper being unfolded onto the table.
thanks for listening then even without onomatopoeia
Not sure I’ve ever read a poem so steeped in atmosphere, heavy with nostalgia.
Stunning rhythm scheme, leading up to an unbeatable finish…quite astounded frankly. Poetry transcends sometimes…it just goes that one step further, as it did here.
thank you so much Ain for delving deep here into the past and yet not losing sight of the poetry itself
Wow – the impact that final line has! And I love the personification of the letterbox too interjected with so many gentle and visual reminiscences
thank you Catherine for reminiscing here with mine and your history!
You covered so much in this poem that is an issue these days. There’s the nostalgia, the mistrust and how newspapers were recycled in the past. A wonderful multi-layered poem that also has a heartbeat.
am especially glad you felt that as I struggle to keep a heartbeat within a history poem
What a fun memory shared here. I love all you uses of the newspaper. Nothing was ever wasted back then.
indeed Dwight
nice one Laura. a clear picture painted. I can imagine your grandfathef pacing before the paper arrives
much♡love
thank you Gillena for seeing so much here
I enjoyed these vivid memories and the way they went up in smoke each evening. The obits. on the end are heartbreaking. I do miss the snap of the paper. The way I was left to wonder what my grandfather was thinking behind the black and white.
it was a different world when they believed but did not take it all as gospel
Oh My, this is a delightful poem and a delicious reminder of ‘papers thru mail slots / the myriad ways we reused / recycled back in the 40s and 50s / when I was a girl.’
a delightful comment – thank you Helen
Funny, that your grandparents had such a fixed and loyal habit of reading the paper even though they didn’t take the news to be true … Great eye here for the varied afterlife of the daily news in their kitchen.
thank you Brendan – that generation took a lot of blindsiding and looked at everything with a helping of doubt whilst still enjoying it
I love your description of the letter box and the newspaper like a stuck-out tongue. Could be facetious, could be malicious, depending on the day.
personified almost because it had a place then within the family’s day to day
Speechless. This is a masterpiece. The last lines… OMG
oh Kim that is such high praise – ❤
A wonderful account of the place that newspapers once occupied Laura…
thank you – when journalism was taken with a pinch of salt but now it needs a pillar