Saturday, 25 October 2008



Left-hand small, dainty and feminine, slightly trembling
Thin golden band slowly placed on wedding finger
Strong masculine hand gently lifting smooth white fingers to bridegroom’s lips
There, to softly place a kiss


These hands now a little older fingers not as slender
Nails neatly cut, shaped and painted palest pink
Hands that had raised seven children plus two foster babes
Nursed cherished parents, and crumpled tear-sodden hankies at their deaths
Now deftly guiding yards of gingham through sewing machine
Four little girls aged three to eight eagerly awaiting summer dresses
Seven children experienced those cooling fingers gently stroking fevered brows
Felt the bruising pressure of damp hankie rubbing at grime on faces
Hands that scrubbed floors, lit fires, soothed chilblains and changed nappies
Produced melt-in-the-mouth pastries, birthday cakes and Sunday dinners
As well as Christmas decorations, doll’s clothes little treats and most wonderful stories
They carried, held and lifted heavy bags of shopping
They washed and scrubbed at dirty clothes
Lifted scorching flat irons popping with testing spittle
Hands that had a few more lines but still had many miles to go


The hands, now resting quietly on sheets that are tidily turned down are once again pale and slender
Fingernails now longer, shapelier, and painted coral pink.
But the years have taken their toll

Knuckles enlarged, lopsided, twisting fingers into obscene shapes
Still proudly feminine and bearing the wedding band placed there over half a century ago
Placed there by the strong, masculine, hand that still holds the aged hand of my mother.

The last time I saw those hands they were finally resting.
Arthritic fingers, nails still coral pink, gently holding a crucifix.
But no doubt, somewhere already, they were busily making, doing, or mending something.

And another in a lighter mood about a cat called 'Harris'

GOING TO PARIS (With apologies to Christopher Robin and Alice!)

I’m changing houses
I’m going to Paris
Me and my home and a cat named Harris

I’ve taking my books and my clothes and CDs
Harris is even taking his fleas
To Paris

I’m learning French
‘cos I’m going to Paris
Rolling my ‘R’s and so is Harris

I only hope I get used to the ‘bogs’
But I know that I’ll never be eating boiled frogs
In Paris

I’ve learned to eat garlic
I’d better in Paris
Can’t say the same for poor old Harris

He’s tried it in chicken, and liver, and fish
And hopes it’s not every cat’s favourite dish
In Paris

I’m changing houses
I’m going to Paris
Me and my home and a cat named Harris


Babs (Beetle) said...

These are going up so quick I almost miss them :O)

I didn't want to read that mothers day one again, but I did and it was lovely :O)

granny grimble said...

BABS (beetle)

Every two or three day! I think You saw Sundays before I'd even finished it. There was a second short poem about a cat that I was adding on the bottom. I think you might have missed it!

Babs (Beetle) said...

No, I saw and read it. I came in to read the previous post and found them :O)

Babs (Beetle) said...

Don't forget the clocks go back tonight. Maybe they were a bit previous and that's why it said Saturday.

GoldAnne said...

First one was sad you all loved your mother soo much as I did mine ,you have a super knack of writing and letting the reader --in-- so to speak.
love anne xxx

weechuff said...

That brought back so many memories, but it made me sad:0(

granny grimble said...

I tried to compact Mum's life as a girl, a wife and a mother in just a few lines. I was quite pleased with the result as I felt I had encompassed the great love that went from her to us and visa versa.

Anne said...

What an absolutely beautiful Mother's Day poem - so many lovely memories of a wonderful lady.
Also managed to catch up on all the blogs in a couple of weeks. My goodness you have been busy. Thank you for them all.

Croom said...

Although I have that Mothers day poem and have read it several times, it still filled my eyes with tears that blocked the text of the cat verse for a good five minutes. Thank you for reminding me of Mummy and her many talents.