Seeds of friendship

Most of us know the poem, “To Daffodils” by William Wordsworth.

“I wandered lonely as a cloud … ”

Here is my version – a lighthearted take on the original. I hope you like it.

 

To Hollyhocks

I wandered barefoot in the sun

Having taken off my socks

And all at once I came upon

A clump of golden Hollyhocks

 

I pocketed some tiny seeds

They flew with me on Easyjet

I scattered them among my weeds

And with myself I had a bet

 

Could I get these seeds to grow

Among my dandelion clocks

And if they did how would I know

That these were truly Hollyhocks

 

A few months on a fabulous sight

Hollyhocks of every hue

It looks like I did something right

And then I gave some seeds to you

 

And then as quickly as they came

My flowers disappeared from sight

I looked for them but all in vain

They had just vanished overnight

 

I think my gardener was to blame

Mistook them for some flowering weeds

My garden didn’t look the same

And I hadn’t even kept the seeds

 

Then you and I met up for lunch

And I told you this tale of woe

Ah you said I have a hunch

That I still have some seeds you know

 

You kindly posted seeds to me

Just like the ones I once gave you

When you were here with friends for tea

Such a thoughtful thing to do

 

What goes around comes around they say

It looks like we will prove this true

And who knows maybe come next May

I’ll have more seeds to give to you

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

 

Advertisements

The 7 Ages of Woman

The 7 Ages of Woman

 

 

 

 

 

Noise making

Milk taking

Night waking

 

Friend making

Exam taking

Internet dating

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love making

Love faking

Heart breaking

 

Breakfast making

Children waking

School taking

 

Bed making

Cake baking

Leaves raking

 

 

 

 

 

 

Limbs shaking

Bones aching

Will making

 

Heart aching

Leave taking

Forsaking

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Another year, another birthday

Think my posting this poem is going to become an annual event!

I can remember in my teens longing to be 21. And now I wish that time could go backwards and I could be 21 again!

Another year, another birthday

Something happens

Between 60 and 70

You become a senior

and all of a sudden

you don’t recognise

that person in the mirror

and on the scales.

You shuffle in your slippers

read the papers

and pop pills.

The receptionist

at the doctor’s

knows your name.

Complete strangers

call you my darling

and my dear.

You want to be offered seats

on trains

And flat shoes seem

a better option

than high heels.

You are now

a silver surfer

so you search for

senior bargains online

There must be some perk

to reaching this age.

Hotels offer you

twin beds

and disabled bathrooms.

11 o’clock at night

seems very late to be out

and you find yourself

wanting to nap

in the middle of the day.

Your children ask how you are

but don’t really want to know

and people say you look well

when they mean

you are looking good for your age.

You have become invisible

to the opposite sex

and to anyone

under forty.

People talk about “special” birthdays

and give you soppy smiles.

You wish you were

growing old disgracefully

but just don’t have the energy.

Come upstairs and make love to me

I read somewhere.

I can do one or the other

was the answer

Don’t expect me to do both.

I’ve started listening to the Archers

and the weather forecasts

Doing crosswords

and reading the obituaries

Seeing the names of

people I once knew

Thank goodness Mick Jagger

can still strut his stuff

and Macca too

still performing

whilst others the same age

languish in care homes

uncared for and forgotten.

It’s odd to think

that in ten years or so

I will look back at this time

And think myself young.

 

Age 20

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Remembering

 I wrote this next poem in 1995, about six months before my mother died.

 Role Reversal

Today, I held my mother

sobbing in my arms

Stroking her soft,  fine hair

Her chin nuzzled on my chest

And I could smell

the unforgotten fragrance

of her skin

I held her close

as I have held my children

and felt the frailty of her age

How odd and imperceptibly

the tables turn

And those that you have leaned on

lean on you

Those that you had turned to

turn to you

Now she is the child

And I am the mother

MUM AND DAD BEFORE THEY WERE ENGAGED. LATE 1920S? THEY WERE MARRIED IN 1936.SONY DSCmum

In memory of Freda Hetty Finn.  Born London, December 13 1910. Died 6 March 1996.

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Tribute to Leonard Cohen

The man who has touched all of our lives with his songs is dead. I have been a fan of Leonard Cohen for as long as I can remember. I read his novels, I bought his poetry. I remember buying a hardba…

Source: Tribute to Leonard Cohen


Thoughts on Mother’s Day – 6 March 2016

Mother’s Day has come round again.

It is especially poignant for me this year as it falls upon the day that my own mother died – twenty years ago today.

How I wish I could tell her about all the good things that have happened in my life. Especially that – were she alive today – she would now have five great grandchildren.

The last of these, a baby girl, was born only two weeks ago. Our first granddaughter after four grandsons!

Welcome to the world – Lily Hetty Ross.

LILY BLOG

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I make no apologies for reposting this poem I wrote for Mother’s Day last year:

 

Every Day is Mother’s Day

First smile, first laugh, first sweet embrace

The tender way they touch your face

Every day is mother’s day

 

First sit, first crawl, first tooth, first walk

The joy when they begin to talk

Every day is mother’s day 

 

The fun when they begin to play

The cries when they don’t get their way

Every day is mother’s day

 

The day they start to question why

And ask what happens when you die

Every day is mother’s day 

 

The climbs, the falls, the hurts, the tears

As they learn to overcome their fears

Every day is mother’s day

 

The very first day you’re on your own

You take them to school, come home alone

Every day is mother’s day

The very first time they stay out late

And you remember your first date

Every day is mother’s day

 

And then one day you’re on your own

They’ve fled the nest, the kids have gone

Every day is mother’s day

 

The love, the joy, the guilt, the pain

The more you give, the more you gain.

You know you’d do it all again

Every day is mother’s day.

20160103_180949 for blog

© Andrea Neidle

My Life in Poems


Pearl Harbour

 

 

 


My kind of man

My kind of man

Always knows his way

His sense of direction

Is sublime

All the time

He only speaks

Now and then

And only when

he has something

meaningful to say

He stays calm no matter what

And always keeps his cool

He’s no fool

He never shouts

Or spouts nonsense

Always in control

He doesn’t need to ask the way

Never says I told you so

There’s not a lot

He doesn’t know

Confident

Self assured

Relaxed

Knowledgeable

And above all

Invisible

Yes

Yes

He’s the voice on my GPS

Green light

Red light

I’m going to make it home tonight.

POEM PIC 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

 


Chasing Picasso

Trapped between

glass fingers

pointing skywards

we find the

Chicago art museum

and wander down corridors

lit by Renoirs

come face to face

with a Modigliani

The Chagall windows

are bathed in light

and love

Among the floating couples

and dancing rabbis

I spy the Statue of Liberty

torch held high

Chagall’s homage to America

Ten minutes to closing

and we run to find the Picasso

breathless

hopeful

leaping stairs

two at a time

“We’re closing ma’am”

I’m here from England

I explain

It’s my last day

I must see the Picasso please

Amazingly he lets me through

We have a few seconds

in front of the Picasso

the old man with the guitar

Only time to take

one swift photo

one fleeting memory

We leave

breathless and laughing

I feel as if

I have been

chasing Picasso all my life

confusing

amazing

challenging

witty

audacious

Picasso

Hand in hand

we stride back to our hotel

under brilliant blue skies

and the startling backdrop

of skyscrapers

windows shimmering

and winking in the sunshine

watched by thousands

of office workers

trapped behind their desks

Tomorrow we fly home

Tomorrow

I find

I left

my camera

behind.

Old man with guitar

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Waiting

Waiting

I have never waited like this before

Not for me

Pacing the floor

Instead I find small things to do

Mindless silly things

Anything to keep me from thinking

I walk round and round the garden

Round and round the house

The hours stretch out interminably

I wish I could somehow

Move things along

My thoughts say hurry hurry

I go to the florist

And buy a bouquet

The biggest, bluest, most beautiful bouquet

Now it will happen I think

Now I will get the call

The phone rings

It is my husband

He is also waiting

But while he waits

He has meetings, lunches

discussions, phone calls

He is not waiting

Like I am waiting

He is not thinking

as I am thinking

I am remembering

My first time

How time was telescoped

And what – for those waiting

Was so many hours

For me sped past so swiftly

So amazingly fast

I was surprised when

they said how long it had been

how long long long

I long to get that call

I long to know that all is well

And that my girl has had her boy

8 September 2011

worth waiting for

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Message from the author

 Unauthorized use of any of these poems and/or duplication of any of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner, Andrea Neidle, is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrea Neidle (My Life in Poems) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 © Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Remembering my mother

 

Heart Thumpers

 

A faux brass case of old photographs

None of them good

And yet she kept them

A shopping list

Scrawled and barely legible

But in her hand

A birthday card signed “with love”

A button waiting to be sewn on

A compact that was once beautiful

Her glove

Her handkerchief

Her fragrance

“Heart Thumpers”

It says on the little case

Of photographs

Me squinting into the summer sun

How old could I have been?

Our children at play

Her unsmiling passport photo

All found in the drawer beside her bed

Throw them away, my father said

But I kept them all

The little things that made up her life

Keepsakes in a crystal bowl

That once held her make up

I open it reverently once a year

To smell the fragrance

Of that unforgotten past

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


In bed with Leonard Cohen


leonard-cohen-photo-2-for-blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

I want to be back

Sitting on someone’s floor

at a party I’ve gate-crashed

Listening to some gorgeous long haired guy

singing Suzanne takes you down

And I want to see again

those photos of Elvis

having his hair cut for the army

elvis-photo-for-blog

And I want to be again

sneaking into my first X film

Hiding cigarettes from my parents

Holding hands with someone I’ve only just met

Dancing obscenely close in some Soho cellar

I want to be kissed again

For the very first time

buddy-holly-photo-for-blog

I want to hear Buddy Holly on a juke box

Sip my first coke in a Wimpy bar

My first rum and coke in a real bar

I want to be hearing Dylan for the first time

The Beatles

Buffy Sainte Marie

The Everly Brothers

Leonard Cohen

dylan-albumbuffy-photo-for-blog

eversley-bros-pic-for-blog

beatles-photo-for-blog

I want to be hugged by my mum and dad

I want to be back

Take me back

But here I am

in bed with Leonard Cohen

And his Book of Longing

Longing to be back.

cohen-book-of-longing-for-blog

this-leonard-cohen-pic-for-blog

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Goodbye to the year.

Wishing all my readers, followers and poetry lovers everywhere a very happy, healthy and fulfilling new year full of only good things.

Here’s a poem I posted some time ago. Hope you like it.

Thank you for following My Life in Poems. And all the very best for 2017.

 

Seeing the old year out

Look over your shoulder

and the year has gone

Gone with the tide

and the sea-washed sandcastles

Gone with the rust of autumn leaves

swept up in a heap

by twilight men

Children are sliding

on the frozen park lake

and the gulls sweep

past my window

Look over your shoulder

Tomorrow is standing

in my light

Turn around for a second

and say goodbye

to the sands as endless

as time itself

and the dust that lies

thick upon remembered things

the sun on the bodies

of golden girls

the sky lit night

the shooting stars

that fell upon your dreams.

© Andrea Neidle. My Life in Poems