Mad Men

Watching Mad Men takes me back.  Yes, advertising was really like that once upon a time. Sexism was rampant.  As was sex.

I remember one agency where all the men seemed to be having affairs. And a number of them were at it with one of the secretaries. On the board room table. (Not all at the same time I might add.)

News of this got to the director of the board who sternly said something would be done. Immediately. And it was. He got rid of the board room table.

Making Hate

After making hate

they lay together


thinking lonely thoughts

After the anti-climax


he said, your body is smooth

and smells of summer

She wondered if

he’d be insulted

if she lit a cigarette

After making hate

their bodies all used up

in an orgasm of

frenzied mutual analysis

he said: my wife is expecting me

And then they made love

Making Hate was published in ARK,  the magazine of the Royal College of Art. Its editor was John Hedgecoe.

They also published this poem at the same time:

Cup Final

Tonight was going to be our night

This room was going to be our room

This bed, our bed

Why did you switch the TV on?


© 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

Our New England quilt

We recently visited some very dear friends who live in New England.

This poem is for them.











Our New England quilt

We watch the fall leaves drifting down
Hues of red and burnished brown
The leaves are flying everywhere
And soon the trees will all be bare

And all along the silent street

A quilt of colour lies at our feet

And now we have to say goodbye

I find it so hard not to cry

Instead I’ll take our days with you
And stitch them all together
And make a quilt of memories
Moments we will treasure
And when we’re back to our grey skies
I’ll hide my tears and dry my eyes
And think of us together.


© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems



Recently I lost a very dear friend.  She was seldom happier than when she was in her garden.

I have written this poem for her.


Frankie’s garden


As I walk round her garden

Frankie is with me

She is there in the whispering grass

And the poppies growing so free

Last year, I said, the earth was bare

And now the flowers have grown

Last year, she said, I was still here

But now you are alone

A robin came to say hello

We wanted him to stay

He sang a song and then was gone

Like me he’s flown away, she said

Like me he’s flown away.

grass pic









© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems



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.












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

Thought for today

According to a recent survey, the average person spends 8 hours and 41 minutes on electronic devices.

More time than they spend sleeping. And a lot less time than they spend with their partners!

I thought of the well known quote by the 16th century poet **Christopher Marlowe, “Come live with me and be my love  … ” and have written this 21st century response:


Marlowe and Me

“Come live with me and be my love

And we will all the pleasures prove”










Just a minute while I text

And then I’ve got to blog it next

My friends on Facebook

Need to see

How very much

You think of me

But first I’ll watch that DVD

I’d love to come and live with you

But I’ve really got too much to do.


** “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love” by Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593)

smartphone image for blog






© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

Pearl Harbour


Two years ago I visited Pearl Harbour in Hawaii where on December 7 1941 hundreds of Japanese fighter planes made a surprise attack on the American naval base. More than 2000 soldiers and sailors died that day and another thousand were wounded. It was this that finally persuaded Franklin Roosevelt to enter the Second World War.

I wrote this poem after visiting the Arizona Memorial.

They were doing mundane things




Polishing their shoes

Writing letters home

Getting over the night before

When they’d been on the town

Dancing, drinking, kissing

Making love



They were young

And who knew

What tomorrow would bring

Now here they are entombed forever

In their watery grave

The list of names goes on and on and on

900 men

Taken by surprise

And to this day

Oil still seeps from the sunken ship

And lies there on the water

Like a fallen rainbow

They say it is the tears of the dead


And we who are lucky enough to be alive

Weep for them.











© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems