October 17, 2018

‘

 

‘I’ve finally dismantled the Greenhouse,

it was practically falling down,

and so many glass panels were broken,

the frost easily gets in’ Moonhead said with a frown.

 

‘I saw a ‘good deal’ in the newspaper-

in fact it seemed too good to be true!

and your Mums been at me for ages

as this one spoils the overall view

 

of the garden, she painstakingly tends to,

planting all my seedlings with care,

and I have some tomato plants waiting,

so I thought, why not, it’ll fit nicely there’.

 

‘Today is the day of the delivery’

( the space measured precisely, as only Moonhead could)

‘He’s like a kid with a new toy’ Mum commented –

‘I can’t honestly see it being any good’.

 

‘Every time a van stops, he rushes to the window,

he’s driving me absolutely up the wall’

‘I saw a lovely one at the Garden Centre’

Mum said. –  this one doomed before it’s installed!

 

It duly arrived an hour later,

as a ‘Flat Pack’,  which he didn’t expect.

And Moonhead spent the rest of the evening

reading instructions on how to erect.

 

His plans to do it there and then thwarted,

as cold water upon them Mum poured.

‘Tackle it with a clear head in the morning’

she so determinedly implored.

 

Once up and working it proved quite successful,

though Mum thought it quite hideous to the eye.

but this summer, it would serve a purpose.

Biding her time, was Mum on the sly.

 

Saving hard, and in search of the right one,

would take her until the end of the year,

but unknown to Mum and our Moonhead,

divine intervention was getting quite near.

 

In the early evening of New Years Eve,

we got a frantic phone call from Mum.

‘Thank goodness you haven’t gone out yet –

over here, you had better quickly come.

 

‘It’s been blowing a gale all day at this end,

and now the snow has fallen too,

and your Dads stuck outside in the blizzard,

holding down the greenhouse with both arms askew!

 

‘A few minutes ago, he let go – his arms aching

and off it’s footings, in mid air, it flew.

He chased it to the bottom of the garden,

now he’s stood there, not knowing what to do?

 

‘But you  know how stubborn is Moonhead,

and how he doesn’t like to see waste,

so he’s out there clinging on for dear life,

and of widowhood – I’m sensing a taste’.

 

‘For crying out loud Mum’ – it’s New Years Eve-

it couldn’t have happened at a worse time’

We’ll buy him a new one in the new year,

as that one’s not worth a dime’.

 

I put down the phone and related the drama,

to my man waiting, complete with bow-tie.

‘Bloody Norah, this could only happen to Moonhead,

we’d better go and help’ – he said with a sigh’.

 

Five miles down the road we met the snowdrift,

and battling conditions, began to pray,

before reaching our beloved Moonhead, 

frozen stiff, but laughing, as was his way.

 

 

July 29, 2018

 

Blacked-out squares

in the Battleship game –

a change from Sudoku

and wotsit’s name.

 

Never a cross word

as general knowledge he knew,

but he needed my help

with a cryptic clue.

 

 

July 6, 2018

 

 

and there he was, threading his way

through Saturday morning shoppers –

his gait recognizable, so handsome,

so utterly masculine, and yet so lost.

Could he find me in a crowd? 

absolutely not!

So I stand on a discarded bus ticket 

to make myself taller, and wave 

my hand frantically to attract his

attention. Eventually he spots me

and moves to cross over the road.

He smiles as he mounts the pavement.

I return his smile and ask him if he

remembered to get some onions, and he

says I never mentioned any onions to him,

so we cross back over the road, and

go into the greengrocers, and buy

some onions and cherry tomatoes,

and then continue on home to

watch Footy on TV.

What Bliss ! 

 

 

May 26, 2018

 

She made Eccles Cakes

and Maids of Honour,

and spiced Tray Bakes

when the mood was upon her

 

She made Bakewell Tarts

and Coconut Squares,

and Vanilla Slices

and Gingerbread Men in pairs.

 

She made Custard Pies

and Raspberry Buns,

and Chocolate Fondants

that gave us the ‘runs’.

 

She made fruity Simnels

and Wedding Cakes,

and Lemon Shortbreads

and Food for Funeral Wakes.

 

She made Brandy Snaps

and Treacle Toffee,

and Banana Bread

long before Banoffee.

 

She made Fairy Cakes

with a cherry glaze,

and Christmas Puddings

that she set ablaze.

 

She made Currant Cakes

out of pastry waste,

and hot Easter Bunnies

topped with Almond paste.

 

She made Coffee Meringues

and the best Parkin in town –

as a top class Confectioner,

she was renown.

 

All this, she did alone,

as well as serving in her shop.

It doesn’t seem humanly possible,

but back then, work didn’t stop.

 

 

March 10, 2018

 

 

Each answer snappy

with growling overtones,

 

that changed the timing

of the household beat,

 

and constant knotting

of pillowcase strings,

 

as angry voices rang out

down below.

 

And unsightly fingernails

chewed to the quick;

 

the dog seeking refuge

underneath the bed.

 

And the hell of knowing

worse was yet to come.

 

The physical sickness

stomach nerves brought forth.

 

The thumping loud

on table’s hardwood top.

 

as trembles forcing

a urine flow.

 

The stress of loyalty

seemingly misplaced;

 

to want to love,

but feelings not embraced,

 

for fear of harsh words

after all was done.

 

No need to have 

it all spelt out,

 

the pattern so familiar

had become,

 

the outcome obvious

set in cold cement. –

 

Grandma’s yearly visit

was now imminent !

 

_______

 

And come, she did,

and settled in,

 

as peace and calm

replaced the din.

 

The dog so sweetly

by her leg,

 

wagged it’s tail

and sat to beg,

 

as the household slowly

did uncoil –

 

the kettle, the only thing

now on the boil.

 

She played Board games,

and made us laugh and squeal,

 

and taught us how

to do cart wheels.

 

She learned about

the things we do,

 

and listened to 

our point of view.

 

Then all too soon

her visit through,

 

and no-one dead –

we all said ‘phew’.

 

Now twelve months had we,

with older eyes,

 

before another

love-torn compromise.

 

 

 

 

October 8, 2017

 

 

Ten years I’ve been without her.

Ten years I have been free.

Still passing her belov’ed Plane tree

that she first pointed out to me.

 

Ten years of  doing my own thing.

Ten years without reprimand.

Still acting as impulsive as ever,

without being slapped on the hand.

 

Ten years not hearing ‘I told you so’.

Ten years of missing unconditional trust.

Still re-opening age’d battle scars,

from the times we did combust.

 

Ten years of heartache and agony.

Ten years it’s taken, til time forgot.

Now at last I’m ready to admit it –

She was right sometimes, but not a lot!

 

Ten years of thinking it could have been different.

Ten years of knowing it simply could not- 

‘We were too alike’ as she said often –

on that, she hit the spot.

 

Ten years without my sparring partner.

Ten years on freedom’s trail.

Still a decade on I so miss her –

Mother Dear, I’m starting to wail.

  

April 28, 2017

 

 

Why go back and seek out ancestors

when living elders you no longer see?

Why retrace steps into the unknown

searching for a lost family tree?

 

Where leaves long since perished

and branches strangled by mistletoe,

and what you may find out anyway,

you’d be better off not to know.

 

Why go back looking for heartache

when living isolation on show?

Why not put right what is possible

before being lowered below.

 

With leaves that long since perished

and where future generations may tread,

so that what they may just find out

will bring them happiness instead.

 

 

 

 

February 27, 2017

 

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s,

she’ll give her something we can’t give.

She’ll spoil her and make her dissatisfied,

and make her hell on earth to live with.

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s,

she’ll only get into her mind,

and give her false hope and aspirations,

that when she returns, she won’t leave behind.

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s,

we’ll bring her up our own way,

scratching each crumb together-

there is nothing more to say.

 

Don’t let her go to your Ethel’s –

but too late our cry of distress!

She’s already besotted with her thinking,

more so than if we hadn’t cared less!

 

 

December 6, 2016

 

 

It’s only me – I’m not stopping,

I really have loads to do.

I shouldn’t even be calling,

but this duty visit I owe to you.

 

So tell me – how are you doing?

Crickey, is it that time so soon?

I’ll drop in again next weekend,

for ten minutes sometime around noon.

 

Just text me if you need something,

as my ‘phone’s always on silent mode.

and I’ll get back to you presently,

when I’ve dealt with my work overload.

 

‘Well thanks for popping in darling;

it’s good to get a glimpse of your face,

Now clear off,  if you don’t mind –

I’m about to watch Bradley on The Chase.

 

 

 

 

 

Our hearts as normal,

ticked away,

as we awoke,

at break of day.

 

A regular day

like any other,

until the phone call –

God help us Mother!

 

Fast forward goes

a beating heart;

the mind a jumble –

where to start?

 

So much to do,

now doesn’t matter.

Alarm bells loud,

disturb the chatter.

 

The laughter that

was yesterday,

replaced by thoughts

in disarray.

 

Then to the appointment,

unexpected.

What had the test

results detected?

 

With baited breath

hands clasped together;

through thick and thin this pair,

seen off bad weather.

 

Then joy of joy –

the gods align.

No need for panic –

all would be fine.

 

Though the call to see

the Doctor  a s a p,

nearly was the death,

of he and me.

 

 

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