Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

21.4.16

Moth Menace (Tineola bisselliella)

Getty images

Small with shiny, dusty wings, they look really harmless,
but if moths find your woolies drawer, they'll leave your jumpers armless.

What's worse the little blighters seem to have discerning taste,
so it's not the chunky hand knits that's their favourite nesting place,
No, it's cashmere that's the yarn of choice, CASHMERE if you please!
and when I shook mine out last week it looked like holey cheese.

That wasn't all, they'd had a ball! Made me feel quite queasy,
so I googled how to shift them.

Turns out it isn't easy.

Moth Balls work though not just moths who think the things are lethal,
what's the point in using them if all your clothes smell evil?

But we were well past the prevention stage; way too late, for sure;
can't hot wash my best jumpers, I need another cure.

So I stick them in the freezer, a few items at a time,
and pray it kills the pesky eggs and larva in its prime.

Then I buy a cotton zip-up bag to fill my woolies drawer
and every time it's opened there's a waft of lavender.

Now I smell like Yardley's soap, and finding jumpers is a bore,
But moths I've got your number,
touch my cashmere and it's WAR.

(And if you doubt me at all
just count the smudges on the wall...)







3.4.16

Tyrella


Back to the beach where we played in the sand,
time didn't matter and nothing was planned.

Back to the sea that made us squeal from the cold,
laughing and splashing, no care in the world.

Back to those rocks that are made for adventure,
hands dipped in pools, just never quite sure...

Back to the place with the pockets of treasure,
so many shells all tumbled together.

Back to the beach to watch my kids play
next to the shadows of yesterday.


Linking up with Photolife's My Sunday Photo and Victoria's Prose for Thought

28.12.14

'Present' Danger

I came across this when I was clearing out my half finished posts from ages back - a timely find really, but feel sort of mean, because I got brilliant Christmas presents this year... 



'Hope you like it!' he says and I smile politely,
(thinking that's going to be very unlikely),
and bless him, because I know he tries,
but when it comes to clothes they're never my size...
Jewellery's dodgy,
music's okay,
though I'm more Stereophonics
and he likes Doris Day.

I open my present. There's a torch inside.
'You just wind it with the handle.'
I almost cried
'So useful sweetheart, hope you like yours',
it's Rick Stein's India,
there's a pregnant pause...

'Wow…that looks just great…' He never cooks.
But he does like spice
and he does like books.

He starts fiddling with the torch and I flick through Rick Stein,
everyone's happy, it's all turned out fine.

So, I buy what I want, it's simply stress free
when a gift's from me
to you
to me.

19.6.14

Loom band loopy

Now I realise not everyone will know the joys of loom bands…. but for those who do, this may ring true….



I'd like to meet the Loom Band guy and shake him by the hand,
then cuff him with a fishtail chain made from those stretchy bands...

Yes, I KNOW they help kids concentrate and weave stuff on a loom,
but I'm sick of finding hoards of them in every single room.

They've turned up in the cat's food dish and on the loo brush doofer,
and if my lot want any more they'll find them in the hoover.



Linking up with Prose for Thought


10.4.14

Ode to Croissants

Beaming crispy crescents
lying in a pile,
Hard resisting something
that looks like a smile )

The flaky bakey loveliness
sets many tums aflutter,
Possibly because they're made
with half a ton of butter.

Try not to look, to catch a smile
and focus on the bread,
But it's no use, I leave the shop
with five croissants instead.



(no prizes for guessing where we are at the moment…enjoying some sunshine and frequent visits to the Boulangerie :)

9.11.13

Revisiting Day 115: Two Minute Silence

I can hardly believe it's almost a year since my husband came home. The time's gone so fast - a hell of a lot faster than the year he was away…funny enough.
The 18th November: that was the day. Especially significant somehow, being so close to Remembrance Day. 
The countdown seemed to go on and on and ON, and then, there he was, standing outside the door, as if it was the most normal thing ever. Exhausted; thin; with a few more grey hairs. Such an unforgettable moment. 
Such a wave of joy and relief.

I've been looking back over a few of the posts I wrote during his Afghan tour. Some still choke me up; not because of the words, but because I remember how I felt at that time. Emotional. Tired. Holding on.

This poem is from roughly a third of the way through the year. I'd seen a notice in a local shop window about plans to hold a 2 minute silence for 6 young soldiers killed in Afghanistan. The meeting place was by a bus stop in the middle of the village, so I took the kids along. 
Apologies if you've read it before, but with Remembrance Day coming up, thought it was worth revisiting.  
Lest We Forget.


Day 115 - Two Minute Silence

We join a line at a bus stop
No ordinary queue.
A small gathering of strangers,
all here for the same reason;
to remember six young men 
none of us knew,
killed in a place we can't imagine.

Their pictures pinned to the shelter wall;
smiling, confident, brave.
A quick snapshot
that every soldier knows
might be his last.
The one we see when they are gone.

Two minutes of silence,
Two minutes for them.
I steal a glance at my eldest,
head bowed, just nine;
Half the life 
of the youngest soldier.

I think of the family's grief and pain,
the sadness that must weigh them down
and engulf everything.
 I think of the impossible road ahead;
the gaps that will never close.

And I pray in these darkest hours
there's some comfort in knowing 
they died with friends,
doing a job they loved.

However hard to understand.

The church bell breaks the silence;
time moves on again.
The kids walk slowly to the car,
my thoughts caught in a distant place
as they count the days till daddy's home.



Linking up with Victoria's 'Prose for Thought'

24.9.13

Confession of a Daddy Longlegs

Daddy Longlegs

My legs are too long, my wings are too short,
I fly like a learner that's been badly taught.
My gangly limbs make life really tricky,
and best to steer clear of anything sticky...

For I once had a friend called Lollop McFloutit,
who got his leg in some jam and flew off without it...
But friendships are fleeting, we aren't around long,
Born, Mate and Die; two weeks and we're gone.

So I cling to a wall until there's a Light,
then I hover and bother and give folks a fright.
Round and round until it gets dark,
the same every day, how's that for a lark?

And I know you all wonder what we actually do,
but honest to goodness I haven't a clue.


Linking up with Victoria's 'Prose for Thought' 

30.1.13

Oh Brother!



I took this one without you knowing,
the closeness you're not used to showing.

Much of the time you tease and fight,
shouting and shoving, both always right.

Teasing and playing on each other's fears,
angry words that end in tears.

In truth you're lost without each other,
I know this being your wise old mother.

So I caught this moment to remind you
of the love that always binds you.



28.12.12

Christmas Calories


For a few days over Christmas
Behold! A magic treat,
for calories simply disappear
from everything I eat.

So it's ok to go to town
and feast on festive fare,
because it's about as fattening
as gobbling up thin air...

I burrow into tins of sweets
find ham and cheese to munch,
it really doesn't seem that bad
frying Christmas pud for brunch.

Guilt takes a break this time of year
and self-control goes too,
no tricky choices to be made,
sure, it's all good for you!

And something makes me go and buy
triple what's enough,
so to be fair it's only right 
that someone eats the stuff.

But soon the spell is broken,
it was magic while it lasted,
and something's happened to my tum,
can't see my big feet past it.

23.8.12

Day 284 - Time Out

It's good to be a spectator for a bit,
to slip off to the sidelines
and watch the kids enjoy
time with their dad.

And I like this watching;
not being on watch.
Now I can stop 
anytime
Switch off,
off duty.

I'm going to make
the most of it;
of being the support act.
And when they forget,
my 3 favourite little words
at the moment?
'Ask your dad.'

11.8.12

Day 272 - Mossie Menace


Busy, buzzy, pesky mossie
Zzzz-ing round my bed.

Busy, buzzy, non-stop mossie
dive-bombing my head.

Busy, buzzy, wretched mossie;
don't like it at all.

Busy, buzzy, no more mossie
flattened on the wall.

10.5.12

Day 169 - One for sorrow, two for joy...


...three for a girl,  
my little girl in this case...



My little magpie
loves sparkly, twinkly things,
keeps them in a secret place,
beads and coins and rings.

My little magpie,
always very quick:
sees a penny, picks it up,
doesn't miss a trick.

My little magpie,
sharp and bold and clever:
knows just when I need a smile,
shines bright as any treasure.