Day 59: The Twins (again)

I am off to see the one day old twins soon with my mum. First, another poem. It is either this one or yesterday's that is the twins' mum's favourite poem of mine. I include this alongside the other because I need to get used to giving two presents every time I see them - and probably slightly different presents, as each twin, of course, wants to be unique.

Grimblegromp
He grimaces like a Grombit
when he tries to gremb a smile
and his teeth crockle and brockle
like shinebows on the Nile.

As he tockles throfting brickles
which twackle underfoot
the wimbling Wonchglocks
glatter 'bout a gless-plit brook.

Swanterin swontily
he bruzzes srommy shinshom
brenning brop brish-brosh,
brish-brosh in the crawm.

Day 58: The Twins

Today, my younger brother's wife gave birth to twin girls. Thankfully, the whole family are okay and all is well. I plan to visit them with my mum tomorrow - we are both excited. My mother always wanted a girl after having three boys and now, as a grandmother, she has two! To celebrate, I am reproducing another poem from my book as I think it is my brother's wife's favourite poem of mine and one that I made up for her.

Nonsense
I made this oop fer you’s,
‘cos I know you’s like me nonsense stews
an’ the clock was a-slowin’
while the wind-blown door was slammin’
an I’m sure I heard a howl like a Wholin.
No one believes in Wholins but me,
but no one stays up all night lissenin’ like me,
an I swear I heard a Wholin
howlin’ out your name
saying “Nonsense!”

Day 36: A Poem for My Mum

My telecourse went very well. Today, I think a poem break is called for. I wrote this last year when I went on holiday with my mum - her friend was unable to go with her due to a health scare, but the holiday was booked, so I stepped in at the last minute. It was a great time and I feel blessed to have shared the weeks with my mother, whom I dearly love.

Look at the stars tonight

Welcomed by warm smiles
we arrive in the heat of Crete
and swim in the warmth
of the clear blue sea
rippled by a gentle breeze.

Goats with bells on their necks
graze on the hillside
and we enjoy pointing them out
over breakfast on our balcony
surrounded by green hills.

Eagles soar in the sky too
and we are nourished by the view
even before we get to the sea.

When there, we dip and read
dip and read, as lazily as waves.

We eat at a different restaurant nightly
- I try local goat; mum tries white bream.
Always they bring us something 'on the house'.
A slowness in bringing you the bill
is counterbalanced by real kindness.

Before we sleep, the plate of night
offers us a sumptuous display of light
- a low moon on the hill; stars in multitudes.