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

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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


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


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


Looking back

Now I have grandchildren I sometimes wonder how much they will remember the times we have together. Nothing special. Just the everyday things. Reading a story. Playing hide and seek. Cuddles. Bath time. Bed time.

It would be wonderful if we could all remember the first few years of our lives. After all, these are the years – we are told – that form us, shape us into the people we become.

I was trying to encapsulate those feelings when I wrote the poem, “Childhood”. It was written many many years ago when I was a new mum. I have blogged it before but wanted to share it again.

Although it was a very long time ago, I can still remember how I felt. I expressed the same feelings in another poem of mine you might have read – the one that goes …

” I watch my child asleep in bed

what dreams can he be dreaming

the little sleepyhead

I want to build a wall around his cot

Shield him from the world

Instead I tuck his blankets tight

And kiss my sleeping child goodnight.”

I am sure this is how many parents must feel about their sleeping children.

The same feeling still comes over me when I hold one of our four fabulous grandsons.

The years are swept away and I remember this poem I wrote when I was a new mother.

Do let me know if it strikes a chord with you.

Childhood

Is this how it was?

Curtains drawn

Fire glowing

Warm inside

Outside snowing

Little child snug on mother’s knee

Cheeks flushed

rosy

warm, content

Is this how my childhood went?

 

Now I sit

with my own son

whose life has only just begun

He cuddles close

and hugs me tight

And everything in the world

seems right

 

I now yearn for the child I was

The years are swiftly going

I watch my child

and other children

Living, loving, growing.

 

If only we now grown up

could recall how it was then

when all the world was mother’s smile

and begin again.

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Home

I am home from school

I open the unlocked back door

and step in from the sunshine

The house smells of all things good

Mum I’m home

I call out up the stairs

It is 1958

and the ones I love have yet to die

Nothing shakes my world

My life is calm, solid, safe

I have yet to have my heart broken

or woken from nightmares

I have yet to see

people jumping hand in hand

from burning towers

No suicide bombers

haunt my dreams

I am surrounded by love

Goodnight, sleep tight

Sweet dreams

Mum, I’m home.

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day here in the UK.

I’ve added two new verses and some old (and new) family photos to the poem I wrote last year.

Do let me know what you think.

Happy Mother’s Day!

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 

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 

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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

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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.

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems