My Grandfather

When I was but a child
I would sit enraptured at the knee
Listening so very earnestly
To what my grandfather would say to me

So many stories he would share
Of life – how it was when he was young
I would hear tales about macaroni shells
And how they grow outside on trees

Stories about children growing up
Silly mistakes that they would make
And I knew to never take most things he said
Very seriously, because he might just be kidding me

For a sense of humour he did have
He could make me laugh when I was feeling sad
Lighten the air with only a smile or hug
And I do so miss him now very much

Not all his words were humorous jokes
For wise thoughts he would also share
Warning me that growing old
Is not for the faint-hearted, one must be strong

People fill our hearts with stories they tell
Infuse our vision with their lives and their love
And one day we find they have been taken from us
Leaving only memories as a faded note

That they lived and we loved them
For a short while they were alive as we are now –
Our own stories will touch younger hearts
As our hearts were touched when we were young


First Crush

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First Crush.”

My first crush was a boy by the name of Paul (middle row third from left, age 8). I was standing directly to the left of him. Not looking too happy in my new school. I had a crush on him from the age of twelve. My mother suggested that since it was now 1986 and not the dark ages (#feminism), perhaps I should invite him ice-skating. (Advice I would never give my daughter, men must take the lead!) So I called him (his older sister was friends with my sister so I had access to his landline). He put me on hold so he could go and ask his mother. She said no. At school on Monday he joked about it with the others in the class. (I asked him out, how dare I!) I learnt my lesson well.

Advice to my daughter:
No asking boys or men out! Attract them if you must, but they must pursue! End of story.



I wrote a letter to my love
And sprayed it all with scent
Poor letter though did not go well
For hand write could not be read
He tried his best, he really did
It’s not his fault at all
So after hours, minutes, days and nights
A phone call I received
To thank me for the letter sweet
Even though it made no sense
He tried to make out all the words
But could I read it back to him?

Remember Me

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “For Posterity.”

Remember me
With a smile on my face
For posterity
Feeling loved and happy
Love me
Through all my struggles and despair
Remember me
For my faith and hope and vulnerability
Forgive me
For when I disappoint
And I will remember you
I will forgive you too
And I will love you with all my heart


Moving Towards The Light

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Be the Change.”

I would like my blog to make a change
To encourage, touch or resonate
In this dark world where all is lost
Where somewhere there may be hope in need

For I have learnt and am learning still
The power of words and how much they have
Words create worlds, and I hope to touch
To somehow build and not destroy

For I have been so low, not knowing what to do
How to escape this agony?
That walks around with me each day
Steals the smile from my heart and face

Dark times so dark no light is seen
In midst of nights, and in sunlight
I wrote The Light, and formed a blog
To help me move towards the light

“When all around is dark
And all you know is night
Feel the hope within
And move towards the light”