From The Living Room Window

From the wide open
living room window I see
the shrubs lining the garden path
backed by bright pink roses –
an uncontrolled tide flowing
luxuriantly over the trellis all
glowing in the afternoon sun.

Beyond this flourishing growth
the four year old’s curly head
turns from side to side,
nods up and down as she
works in the sandpit.
She tells her bucket and spade
she is making a vase
for the big green leaves.
She tells her watering can
they will give the leaves water.
She tells the little plastic bear
he will have the shade of
the big leaves to sit under.

The end of a furry black tail
moves to and fro around
her head, her shoulders.
Its tip drops into a hook,
flicks upright, then flicks
into a hook again as
the black and white cat
rubs around her, absorbing
her bright chatter
her earnest play
in the afternoon sunshine.

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From The Living Room Window

Ordinary Poets — English Lit Geek

ordinary poets Carol Allis Is there poetry for ordinary people You know Waitresses and nurses People who clean floors and fix roads And string cable and make sandwiches And sing good-night songs And go off to work every day To pay for groceries and bicycles Just ordinary people Who hear the rhythm and music Of […]

via Ordinary Poets — English Lit Geek

I wonder this myself, and this writer has set it out so clearly.

Ordinary Poets — English Lit Geek

Birthday Book

To Amy……from Grandma……1895

When Amy turned seven in 1895
Grandma gave her a birthday book
for her beautiful copperplate writing.
Earnestly Amy inscribed birth dates
of her parents, grandparents, siblings,
in the approved handwriting style.
In time the the writing became slimmer,
smaller as a busy wife and mother
scrawled hastily across the pages.

Now dates of marriages were
entered, births of children, deaths
of parents, of her own generation
flowing across the pages.

But not her grief at the loss of
beloved sisters, her sadness at the
second marriage of her divorced
youngest brother whom she was
not allowed to mention though he
was awarded a military cross
after the Battle of Passchendaele.

She did not record the death of
the husband who only wanted a
housekeeper while she yearned for
a lively family home. Nor his second
funeral pyre on which she burned
all the photos from his expensive
cameras, from his own dark room.

She recorded her removal
with her daughter to a
newer smaller home.

Birthday Book

After The Horses Bolted

After the horses bolted
they dragged the street tram
higgledy piggledy over its rails
uphill from the town centre.

After the horses bolted
the accountant was thrown from
the tram breaking his femur in
several places. He remained
bedridden for the rest of his life.

After the horses bolted
his eldest son, a new graduate
gave up his Rhodes scholarship
the next son left university.
Both worked to support the family.

After the horses bolted
his two eldest daughters cared
for their bedridden parents.
The youngest went out to work then
all married solid businessmen soon
after their parents’ early deaths.

After the horses bolted
the accountant died a few years
later, then his wife. The youngest
son at sixteen was sent to live with
uncles in a faraway city, worked as
a warehouseman all his life.

After the horses bolted,
after the parents died, the older
sons sailed far, one to Australia
one to India. The sisters stayed
scattered around town, firmly
contained in provident marriages.

After the horses bolted
the youngest brother lived out
his life in his new far off city.

After The Horses Bolted

The Little Pink Tricycle

The little pink tricycle
with its fat white wheels
was given to Chloe
when she started to walk.

After Chloe turned four
she rode the big tricycle
…with pedals.
Now Claire happily rushed
the little pink tricycle
up and down the drive.

At four Claire tried riding
the big tricycle – with pedals.
It was slower than the pink tricycle.
Her blue Christmas scooter
was fast and fun to ride, but
Claire still remembered
good times with the pink
tricycle, still rushed it
up and down the drive.

As time went on it was not such fun.
At last Claire had to see that her knees
would not fit under the handlebars.
The little pink tricycle went slowly
now her knees had to stay
out to the sides.

With some regret she now
leaves it in the garage.

The Little Pink Tricycle

When Mum Went Out

On a wet school holiday afternoon
Mum went out with baby brother
leaving untie Jo in charge of his
sisters’ bathing and hair washing.

After the sloshy business of bath
play with many toys in a well
filled tub they added more suds
as they washed themselves. Now
joyousness became tetchiness as
Auntie Jo washed hair and wriggling
feet poked ribs and tummy.

Auntie Jo’s firm response to the
seven year old’s impatience with
adults and younger sister was not
what the seven year old wanted.

The five year old with thick tangled
hair cried loudly as Auntie Jo
tried to brush her hair to dry it.
So Auntie Jo left her to brush it
herself, dried the seven year old’s
hair instead. Loud howls poured
forth from the five year old who
wanted her hair dried right now !

The black and white cat now tried
his luck for an early dinner while
the parents were out, meowing
desperately to say he was fading
away to a skeleton !  He was not.

Auntie Jo knew children
pushed boundaries, but cats ??
A very strange afternoon !

When Mum Went Out

Baby Brother

Baby brother is dressed up
to collect his sisters from
school at home time.

Great grandma knitted his bright
striped beanie, cousin Paul grew
out of the dashing dinosaur leggings;
little friend Oliver passed on the
jacket with Barney on it. The
tiny tartan sneakers came from
Sarah over the road, she’s at
kindergarten now, nearly a big girl.

Yes the big girls at school
will gush and coo and gasp
over him – he enjoys it already.

Mummy thinks he looks cool too.
Holding him on her hip she
tickles his ribs with her free hand.
He giggles and wriggles
wiggles and jiggles
chuckles then shrieks
gleefully, joyously
grinning from ear to ear
energetically, excitedly.

It’s a happy day today.

Baby Brother