THIS CANDLE.

This candle I light because we are without power. I nurse our new born son in the dark. 

This candle I light because it is my birthday. Make a secret wish. Don’t tell a soul or else it won’t come true. 

This candle I light just for fun. And because I like its fragrance.

This candle I light for romance.

This candle I light in a student bedsit and listen to the gravelly voice of Bob Dylan for the very first time.

This candle I light in a village church asking for prayers for someone gravely ill. I’ve never done this before. 

This candle I light is a centre piece at our firstborn’s wedding feast.

This candle I light at the opera in Verona. A giant amphitheatre lit by a thousand candles glowing in the dark. 

This candle I light to welcome in the Sabbath. We break bread, drink wine and count our blessings.

This candle I light in memory of a loved one on the anniversary of their passing.

This candle I light to remember all the loved ones we have lost during Covid.

This candle I light for all the dead souls of Ukraine. May their memory be a blessing.

This candle I light as a Memorial for the 6 million men, women and children who were murdered in the Holocaust just for being Jewish.

This candle I light for all the Palestinian people used as human shields by Hamas terrorists in Gaza.

This candle I light for all the families in Israel who were torn apart on October 7^th 2023.

This candle I light for all those who were brutally raped, mutilated, murdered and burnt alive by Hamas terrorists on 7^th October.

This candle I light for all those men, women, children and babies who are still being held hostage in Gaza by Hamas.

This candle I light to light all the other candles on the eight branched Chanukah menorah that belonged to my mother.

This candle I light is a symbol of love and peace and hope and grief and remembrance.

This candle I light today.

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

THIS CANDLE

Yesterday was Holocaust Memorial Day. I did not want to let it pass without some kind of acknowledgement from me. So in the early hours of yesterday morning I wrote a new poem. Here it is.

THIS CANDLE

This candle I light because we are without power. I nurse our new born son in the dark. 

This candle I light because it is a birthday. Make a secret wish. Don’t tell a soul or else it won’t come true. 

This candle I light just for fun. And because I like its fragrance.

This candle I light for romance. Candlelight is flattering in the dark. 

This candle I light in a student bedsit and listen to the gravelly voice of Bob Dylan for the very first time.

This candle I light in a village church asking for prayers for someone gravely ill. I’ve never done this before. 

This candle I light is a centre piece at our first born’s wedding feast.

This candle I light at the opera in Verona. A giant amphitheatre lit by a thousand candles glowing in the dark. 

This candle I light to light all the other candles on the eight branched Chanukah menorah that belonged to my mother.

This candle I light to welcome in the Sabbath. We break bread, drink wine and count our blessings.

This candle I light in memory of a loved one on the anniversary of their passing.

This candle I light for the dead souls of Ukraine. May their memory be a blessing.

This candle I light is a symbol of love and peace and hope and grief and remembrance.

This candle I light as a Memorial for the 6 million men, women and children who were murdered in the Holocaust just for being Jewish. This candle I light tonight. 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

© Photo – StandWithUs

POST #188. REMEMBERING MY MOTHER

My lovely mum died 25 years ago today. 

Sadly she did not live to see our three children achieve academic success, gain work and start their careers.

She was not there when they found partners, married and had children of their own.

She died before I achieved my Master’s in Education and before I became a published author.

She never saw the home we are living in now. 

There’s hardly a day goes by when I don’t think of her.

Last weekend I visited Hoop Lane crematorium in North West London, where her ashes were scattered on the crocus bed.

OH (other half) and I explored the beautiful grounds with their stunning displays of Azaleas, Camelias and other flowering shrubs. 

I remembered this poem I wrote in memory of my mother:

When I see a flower

Or a bud upon a tree

I think about my mother

And the life she gave to me.

My mother loved gardening and liked nothing better than to spend time pottering in her garden.

I can think of no better place for her to be at rest than in the gardens of Hoop Lane.

                                                                                                                             Remembrance Haiku

                                                                                                                              Scattered crocuses

                                                                                                                                                                                     Ashes scattered on the grass

                                                                                                                              Scattered memories

 

                                               In memory of Freda Hetty Finn

                       1910-1996                                                                                                  

© Andrea Neidle. My Life in Poems

© Photos, Andrea Neidle

The Queen sends her condolences

Today would have been my father’s birthday. He and my mother were close to celebrating 60 years of marriage when she died in 1996.

I must be one of the few people in the country to have received a letter of condolence from Buckingham Palace! I had arranged for my parents to receive the customary congratulatory card from the Queen but then cancelled it when my mother died.

So my dad never knew. But he probably wouldn’t have wanted any reminders.

I was remembering how – only a couple of days after my mother died – my father was quite insistent that I came to their home and cleared out all her things.

I realise now that this was not because he did not love her but because he loved her so much.

Remembering

After my mother died

My father did not want

Anything of hers

And asked me to

Clear it all away

He also removed all photographs.

We each have our way

Of grieving

And I did not ask or question

But emptied her drawers

Of the little there was

And stuffed black bags

With her clothes

and gave them to

Her grateful cleaner

Who hauled them behind her

down the street.

All that my mother

Had hoarded

So neatly

So scrupulously

Over all the years

I threw it all away

Strings and ribbons

Wrapping paper

Elastic bands

And carrier bags

All the detritus of life

I kept the knife

She had used

To cut the cakes she baked

And the secateurs she used

To prune the flowers she

Grew so lovingly.

And then

At the back of

A kitchen drawer

There was a paper bag

Inside were seeds

Of what I didn’t know

But put them in my pocket

To take home.

Now every year

A sweet pea blooms

In the corner of our garden

A fragrant reminder

Of my lovely mum.

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems