N is for My Nana’s Hands

Tags

#atozchallenge, family, poetry

So still. Resting gently on the starched, white bed sheets. Her hands, almost blue, the skin paper thin and translucent, barely stretched across bone and ligament. Her hands, finger tips once nicked by sewing needles deftly weaving stitches in colourful patchwork wonders to swathe a newborn or shroud an invalid. Her hands, once calloused, fingernails caked with mud, tending vegetables in a patchwork of soil, or coated with sugar and flour and butter, a patchwork of dishes served to family and neighbours. Her hands, red and chapped from washing soiled bedding and soothing fevered brows, gently caring for aging relatives and growing children. Her hands, scarred but strong, competently filling heavy responsibilities on a farm, in a home. Her hands, young and supple, stroking the hands of her beautiful babies, marvelling at their size, reaching to caress the hand of the man she loves. Her hands, small and smooth reaching to move the checker across the game board, reaching for her doll in the night. Her hands, so small, fingernails like little pearls, resting gently on the starched, white bed sheets. So still.

***

Writing 201: Nana’s Hands

Tags

aging, blogging U, DP, DP Challenge, family, Grandparent, loss, poetry, writing

So still. Resting gently on the starched, white bed sheets. Her hands, almost blue, the skin paper thin and translucent, barely stretched across bone and ligament. Her hands, finger tips once nicked by sewing needles deftly weaving stitches in colourful patchwork wonders to swathe a newborn or shroud an invalid. Her hands, once calloused, fingernails caked with mud, tending vegetables in a patchwork of soil, or coated with sugar and flour and butter, a patchwork of dishes served to family and neighbours. Her hands, red and chapped from washing soiled bedding and soothing fevered brows, gently caring for aging relatives and growing children. Her hands, scarred but strong, competently filling heavy responsibilities on a farm, in a home. Her hands, young and supple, stroking the hands of her beautiful babies, marvelling at their size, reaching to caress the hand of the man she loves. Her hands, small and smooth reaching to move the checker across the game board, reaching for her doll in the night. Her hands, so small, fingernails like little pearls, resting gently on the starched, white bed sheets. So still.

***

The assignment today was to write a poem about fingers in a prose format.

Writing 201 – Day 5: Elegy

Tags

blogging U, DP, DP Challenge, poetry

An old man stands silently along the shore.
His clothes are worn and musty, pulled closely around his body
Against the bitter, salty mist.

The mist, a scent that beckoned him across the billowing waves
To a land where tired gray eyes stare sadly now.
His mind turns back to a day
When the skeleton of the abandoned dock was alive with young men and women,
And parents who aged unnoticed as the minutes ticked away.
The air was thick with voices – crying, laughing,
The odd word from an anxious mother, wife
Who tried to hard to hold the tears inside and failed.

And soon the boat pulled away from the dock,
The faces blurred, the voices muffled
Until the salty mist carried them all away, and accompanied young boys to where…
…to where? To no man’s land where muffled sounds died with another man’s dreams.

The old man’s face grows darker as he closes his eyes.
Shadows begin to invade the creases and hollows that came with the years.

The old man shivers violently against the sights and sounds locked forever in his memory.
Never shared, never fully understood.
His country had called him to serve, to fight for freedom, for peace.
He recalled no glory then,
When soldiers in tattered uniforms and caked with mud, fell lifeless on the ground.

A lone gull cries and the old man turns from the water.
A gull’s shrill cry had accompanied him home to Canada
Where aching arms would cling to loved ones,
And ache to fill the arms of those left behind.
The dead still call to him behind the veil.

The old man shakes his head and wipes a tear from his face.
He slowly limps away down the beach until the evening mist envelopes him.
And he is forgotten.

Wilderness Wednesday: Blue Jays

Tags

birds, DP, DP Challenge, photography, poetry, Wilderness Wednesday

A shadow fills the skies
“Danger”, a blue jay cries
Snow falls, soft and serene
Like a haunting dream
Cloaking the silent spies.

DP Writing 201 Challenge: Water

Tags

DP, DP Challenge, poem, poetry, Weekly Writing Challenge

This weekend, I signed up for the Daily Post Poetry Challenge …I’m not sure what I was thinking other than I need to tackle some goal, some challenge to beat the February blahs! Today’s challenge was to write a Haiku related to water, and if up to an additional challenge, to include a simile with it. We’ll see how this goes… Happy Monday!

 

My life’s like a puddle
Serene, it reflects the beauty around me
I am calm and happy.

Former views are snatched away
Someone causes ripples to distort my peace
I am frightened and lost.

Ripples fade, glassy surface resumes
I feel them keenly, less with time
I am sore and weary.

The ripples are a warning
They will happen when I am unprepared
I am uncertain and untrusting.

They are also a reminder
God created my puddle; God restores peace
I am comforted and safe.

I can survive the ripples
I choose to change, not be defined
I am free and tranquil.

The puddle will always change
But when I pause, I see reflections
More beautiful, I am blessed.

To join the classes, click here.