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nja Jan 2019
'Put my ice cream in the oven.'
'Apply some lipstick.'
'Stop winning and criticising.'
'I understand everything just fine thank you.'
But she laughs at her own jokes, she misunderstands mostly, she is loved by me.
Another one about my gran. All phrases in parenthesis are fragments of her.
Louise Johnson Nov 2017
I was sitting on the edge of your hospital bed,
thinking about my mother, your daughter,
and whether the smile she was masking the pain with would falter;
when the jagged rhythm of your breath had altered

I jumped to my feet, and let my mother take my place
as we listened to gasps of breath change the pace.
The nurse said it was normal that you couldn't feel any pain
but it was the sound of your death that I was scared we'd retain

I stood in the corner watching my uncle and mother create a wall with their figures,
as if them looking away would put a hand on the trigger

After 10 minutes your breathing got quiet, so quiet we thought you were gone
Then with the whoosh of your lungs, louder than before, it was like you were saying "so long!"
The silence replaced it, I still stood in the corner and noticed that no one had moved,

As if a moment so final needed it's minute to say goodbye to the body it used.
This is a poem describing the last few minutes of my Grandmother's life. We called her 'Babs' or 'Nanny Babs'  because she was the baby of her family so it has always been her nickname. I wasn't close to her. I loved her but we never got a chance to really know each other until the end of her life so I struggled to find an honest way to write about this moment. It may seem quite distant and unemotional but I respected her greatly and wanted to portray the moment as accurately as I could.

Thank you for taking the time to read my poem for the loved Babs
Poetic T Jul 2017
When you were a form upon the image of
my reflections, I never looked into the mirror
seeing what was fading within the moments of
your fluttering wings silent in the breeze/

I held that last moment like a breath never
wanting to expel the words of what were
needed. I could not sew then on a memory,
as they were already fraying on the sides.

She was but a sunrise a beauty that would
have shined upon you, lighting up those
precious  moments before you were like
a sunset never to rise again.

                                      She misses you mum.  
                                             Nanny she knows your gone...
My mother never got to see her granddaughter she died 1 month after she was born
Terry Collett Jul 2016
Janice folds
the paper
as Benny

had shown her
it becomes
a small boat

she could float
in the bath
in the flat

if her gran
allows her
to float it

in water
for bathing
she holds it

between thumb
and fingers
put that down

her gran says
get undressed
for your bath

the water
is just right
(she had boiled

the water
in the old
steel copper)

Janice puts
the paper
made-up boat

on the side
of the bath
and watches

as she slow
undresses
come along

her gran says
don't day dream
or I'll slap

your backside
8 years old
or older

Janice takes
off clothes
and gets in

the water
can I float
my paper

made-up boat
in the bath
Janice says

if you must
her gran says
steely eyed

that Benny's
contraption
I suppose

he showed me
Janice says
how to make

the small boat
as they both
(Janice and Gran)

watch it float.
A 8 YEAR OLD GIRL AND HER GRAN AND A PAPER BOAT IN 1956
To my gran who I have just seen
Who is old
and can't remember things
Who is kind
and asks me the same questions
Who lies in bed
and drinks tea
Who has bought up
four children
And has seven
grand children
And seven
great grandchildren
It was so lovely
to see you.

We had a good chat;
You asked me
where I was going next
about a hundred times
And I loved answering
every time.
Australia.
We drank tea
And looked at photos.
I bought you a soft toy
And you liked him
"A sweet little fellow"
You said
"It's a shame He doesn't squeak"
You said
Squeezing him.
And you put him on your lap
While I showed you photos
Of your great grandson
And we laughed
About things.

When I left
we caught eyes
I said "bless you"
And bowed to you.
You said "take care of yourself"
And I saw you
And you saw me
And that is where we met.
In the eyes
And in the soul.
That is what I came for
What I hoped for
That moment
When we met.
I took your hand
And said
"it's been lovely to see you"
And then I left
Wanting To say more
Wanting to say thank you for everything
Thank you for knitting me the duck
When I was a boy
Thank you for being a pillar
In my life
That even though
I havn't seen you much
You've been so important
To me.
Just knowing you were there
Family.
Has helped me
To be strong.
I wanted to stay
and say goodbye
Just in case...
But I didn't
I got you a blanket
Because you looked cold
And I left
Because Stuart was waiting
In the car park
And I had a train to catch.
And I was worried it might disorientated you
Because we had had a lovely time together.
And I wanted to leave you happy.

I looked back
Through the ward window
D8
And you looked
so alone

And now I'm on the train
To Liverpool street
And I miss you
I think of you
Lying there
And I want to sit by you
And show you more pictures
And get you tea
And make sure your warm
And look after you
Because your so frail
And vulnerable
And I feel sad
Because
Well...grief!
The tragedy of life,
That we must part
From everyone.
But I'm happy too
Because
My bones
feel full
And my heart
feels Warm
And I feel my right
To stand up on this earth.
With a warm heart
And wet cheeks
I wrote this some time ago when I visited my Gran in hospital but I wanted to post it today as I just heard that she died this morning.
If anyone has any spare prayers, please remember my Gran today, her name was Eileen.
The poem is a sequel to another poem "Nannie D8 31" I wrote on the way to see her the same day.
Waiting on. The train to see you
Bored, **** coffee and a bacon roll
There is something hollow. Empty.
Like the Starbucks take out mug.
Of course I loved you, love you.
But we lived so far away.
Sweden, Ireland, Switzerland
And then when we were close
I was at my uninterested awkward years
When you don't want to visit your Gran
Now I see this precious woman
Whom I have not often seen.
She is old, frail, and may not know me
I am a man with a life and business.
Where do we connect?
In the bones? In the skin or in the eyes?
I'll show you photos, I hope you will be interested.
What do you say to an old woman
Who you barely know,
but has played a key role in your existence?
Who you feel a connection to like the  seabed between two islands.
But you know precious little about.
Eileen, yes that is your name.
You used to like Black Magic chocolates,
But apparently you don't these days.
Your hip is broken
But hopefully getting better.
And you knitted me a duck when I was small.
I was the youngest, thats why. People said.
You were my Nannie, my precious Gran
And I have come to give you some love and pay some respect.
I wrote this a few years ago but decided to share after reading today's amazing daily poem. Grandma, by Ber http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1544483/grandma/
Terry Collett Dec 2015
Gran said I can go out,
said Janice, but not to go
on the bomb sites(I probably

will if Benny says so),
not to speak to strangers
(I won't), not to play

dangerous games(I may
if Benny has his bow
and arrows and he lets

me have ago), not to
show my knickers to boys
(I never would), not to eat

between meals( I may if
Benny buys me some chips
or a Mars bar), Gran waves

to me from the balcony,
her white handkerchief blowing
in the wind, don't be late home,

she says, I won't I say, and go
to meet Benny at the end
of Bath Terrace and see what

he is doing, Gran has gone
inside now, her words I don't
forget : You're only 8 years old,

ringing in my ears, as I go out
onto Bath Terrace and see
Benny at the end waving, he

has a cowboy hat on and his
rifle in his hand, where we going?
I say, the bomb site by the tabernacle,

it can be our Wild West,he says,
ok, I say, trying to forget Gran's
commands about bomb sites,

hoping she won't ask where
I’ve been, I cannot lie, taking
a chance, can I have ago with

your rifle? I ask sure you can,
Benny says, so we walk along
Rockingham Street, under the

railway bridge, a steam train
passing overhead, steam grey
and white puffing out and away,

another adventure, another day.
A 8 YEAR OLD GIRL AND BOY IN LONDON IN 1956.
AD Mullin Dec 2014
Aaron: "Hi, I'm Aaron and I'm a (recovering) misogynist"

All: "Hi Aaron. Welcome!"

Aaron: "I wonder how much longer we can **** and pillage the feminine with a clear conscience?"

All: "Who has a clear conscience?"

Crowd: A few raise their hands . . . more than you would think . . .

Gestapo for Good: Furiously taking notes . . .

Aaron: "I don't know what you're gonna do about it, I don't even know what I'm gonna do about it . . ."

All: "You don't need to know, just don't shut out that feeling"

Aaron: "I'll do my best"

All: "Then you are"

Aaron sits down
Bill stands up

Bill: "Hey, hey, hey I'm Fat Albert" *(in a sad clown voice)
An ode to ironing (or straightening things out) . . . you know ~ women's work! Inspired by the Grandmothers and Sharon McErlane and just about every woman and many men that I've known!

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