Small child, Thank you for showing me the world through your eyes For making it important to watch insects For giving me many excuses to inspect Berries and bicycles and people passing by For finding entertaining bees or butterflies
Because we are never waiting
We need no help to pass the time With my hand in yours or yours in mine
Because with you I have a new excuse to sing
It’s legitimate To dance in the street To watch closely each others feet
Splashing in puddles and rustling through leaves Laughing madly breathless and free
I have every right when you are with me, To play with sticks, to scream a bit To look up at the sky Count cars driving by
At ducks we quack back At birds we tweet We don’t even try to be discreet
In the morning sun we linger With shadow puppet fingers Hiding snacks for squirrels on the path And pulling faces that make us laugh
You don’t talk yet and so I’m fluent In how to do all the talking while we play truant
The day you first pronounced that word You crowned me, Giving me the best title I'd ever heard
'Grandma', You say this with some passion Sometimes in almost desperate fashion As if you need to be rescued
When this word is most used, You're waiting to be scooped up And may have recently refused To comply
You and I A new duo Me and Juno
When I go out of a room I hear you 'Mam mar' Not wanting to be left out Of whatever adventure I'm on
Because yes, when we are together Every small thing we do, whatever is a special occurrence a big new experience A happening With you, thereareno little things
In the sandy shadow of the beige fronted buildings I pass Sometimes lost in a shady labyrinth, of narrow paths A confusing shortcut making a wrong turn Spilling me then into crowds of Saturday shoppers Newly trendy vendors selling specialities in street art squares Places to be where freshly brewed coffee perfumes the air
Born again quarters named after new tram stops Ushering in gentrification with organic food shops
Despite its many changes of direction This street map holds on to my affection
Only I can see the tracing paper layer of where I see the traces of moments of our lives in places
The cartography of my memories overlay Coordinates that my heart strings play Etched in the air, as I turn that corner there As if sketched on a layer of see-through paper The image of a memory’s trailing vapour Of a moment, years ago, at this exact location
Sharing books with one you love, talking of books you have loved and lived through their characters now in you.
The rifling through colourful covers almost coveting their re discovery
That one, takes you back always a girl when inside those pages, the person you were whatever your age was when that story first inhabited you, as it still does now
Making you up made of that book, now it takes one you love into it’s embrace its story never to be erased
This one, stirs your heart with an almost love sick yearning to be turning back time to be the one first opening it’s chapter one but knowing now, it will capture one you love, who will follow your footsteps down this path to you, getting closer.
You
Why do you who,
Makes flowers grow from words
Why do you who,
Shapes graceful gardens
in paragraphs
Why do you whose,
majestic rivers of rhyme
Flow, Just so
Why do you,
landscaper of ideas, hold on
To your feelings, and fears
As the breeze blows in on the air
So we grow from worries shared
To free your mind from many cares
Let go of your balloon of fears,
And watch it as they disappear,
Dispersing dandelion clocks
Tied up in knots inside and locked,
From outside wisdom closed and blocked,
Your worries start to take control
They take up space they growl they grow.
So open up and let them go
And no more seeds of sadness sew
To grow into weeds of your anxieties.
Instead, favored with air
fair weather
Light as a feather
Cut free
You will blossom
As yours is genius beauty and creativity.
Do small things with great love
Is the key to this philosophy
Using kindness and generosity
To dedicate efforts consistently
To smoothing our way every day
In each small action
Not token shows of affection
Countless small gestures
Demonstrate the measure
Of a gracious love to treasure
Before yourself put others
Is the motto of our mothers
Finely attuned and attentive
Needing no other incentive
To better the world where we live.
Memories of my childhood
Such as they are
Are delicately preserved
In a mind warped jar
Comprised of scraps
Of shards and clippings
Of disconnected rememberings
Coming home from school
Greeted by the promise of gravy-laden food
Begging for a taste with bread
The sound of the a football match
Drifting up from the TV to me in bed
Family arriving to visit in the lounge
Lingering on the landing to the sounds
Of everyone arriving and stowing coats and hats
Sure of hugs and exclamations to come after that
Jokes over the dining table
Helping to clear up
Much less than I was able
Getting extra credit
For helping in the kitchen
The best moments
The ones spent together preparing
A childhood filled with love, with caring.
With careful choices and sometimes raised voices.
With kisses and terms of endearment
And with all the encouragement
Needed to feed a growing girl
For 18 years this was my world
Safe familiar, secure provided for.
Not videoed minute by minute
No scrapbook with everything in it
No Facebook page coming of age
No instagram feed
No story to read
But strands of every memory
Making up me.
So much of what I can’t control
is what is what makes me anguish or
what makes me whole
what steals away serenity
what ties me down what makes me free
what makes me feel I cannot cope
what feeds my fear what gives me hope
what makes some memories live on
what makes me angry what makes me strong
what makes me lie awake at night
what makes me wrong what makes me right
what makes me know I can believe
what makes me stay what makes me leave
what gives me reason to be proud
what makes me go quiet what makes me get loud
I can’t control each tiny part
of life’s enormous work of art.
Far better then learn to adapt.
You can control how you react.
Muscat sec and a heart to heart
The hazy days of chardonnay lunches
Bright sunlight filtered by branches
Or hidden by sheltering parasol parts
Kids doing kids stuff
Comes back to me in flashes
Snap shots
Clinking cutlery hot to the touch
Cutting their food up
So much to say between courses
Between getting them to eat greens
Red noses, forgotten the sun cream
We share out the ice cubes
Maybe finish their food
Waiting for the waiter
Maybe some flirtation
Or a little impatience
Laughter
Ice cream for afters
Pack up backpacks
And onto the scorching path
Then backtrack
Forgot the sunglasses.
Now a late sweaty rush
Back to the classroom hush
With sticky fingered goodbyes
And see you later cries.
