Posts Tagged ‘mother’


you loved the light entering my bedroom
every morning turning on my light
falling down from the middle of the ceiling
blinding me momentarily
confusing me before i rub the
sleep out of my eyes to see you
silhouetted against the morning sun
holding a curtain in each hand
a saint on a cross
opening the gates to heaven
stepping aside to let
the rays of life touch her son
breath new life into him
and start a new day


my mother and father

would plant vegetables and flowers

in the garden or the allotment

anywhere where earth could be dug

digging through different

shades of mud and clay

planting dull, drab bulbs

that transform into colourful

shapely vegetables too good to eat

tiny seeds left deep underground

turn into flowers creating a paradise

in a corner of nowhere

my mother and father

planted all the colours

seen on earth and beyond

reproducing them perfectly

as nature intended

how i wish i could go back

and watch them dig and plant

all those bulbs and seeds

and learn from their gardening ways

and reproduce nature

as they once did…


you loved the light

how it entered my bedroom

every morning with you

turning on my light

hanging, still, on its own

in the middle of

a pure, white ceiling

momentarily blinding me

i am confused for a second

before i rub the nights

sleep out of my eyes

and blinking see your shape

silhouetted against my bedroom window

holding a curtain in each hand

for me a saint on a cross

opening the gates to heaven

before stepping aside to

allow the first rays of sunlight

to create a rainbow in the

corner of a teary eye

and breathe new life

into her young son

as he takes in the light

of this brand new day


remembering my father who would

fashion a rifle for me

from any old block of wood

carved and sanded down to

look like the Lee Enfield

he fought with in WWII

copper piping for a barrel

a nail for the trigger with a

rusty hinge for a guard

off i would go to fight a

war where no-one got hurt

no-one got injured

no-one got killed and

we all returned with

limbs, eyes, brain intact

no need for crutches or wheelchairs

as we ran through the

valleys and woods that were our

battlefields, hiding behind bushes

climbing trees, leaping streams

jumping embankments before

we conquered the black hill

as we played out our war

with wooden weapons

the only scars we gathered

when we fell and cut our knees and palms

as we ducked make believe bullets

that never fired or hit and we

swore blind we had never been shot

even though we hit our target a mile away

how brave we felt playing our

pretend wars with weapons of wood

that never hurt anyone

and now i look back

and think how all wars should be fought this way

until exhausted from a day’s playing and running

you go home for tea and a telling off from mum

and after a good night’s sleep

you are ready to fight another day

in the only war our young minds understood

and our only fear was the telling off from our

mother’s if we were late home