A Raconteur Girl Production

Posts tagged “flowers

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Lilacs for Lucy

 

Resting Under Lilacs Collage

 

Lilacs for Lucy

 

 

Lilacs for Lucy

Blooming so delicately

Nanna didn’t want flowers

Who wants flowers

When you can have a whole tree?

 

A bouquet may be lovely

But as soon as its cut – it’s dying

A tree is the opposite

Growing, breathing

Part of creation, thriving

 

So it’s Lilacs for Lucy

It’s a tree for my Nanna

A tree for your Mum

A tree for your Friend

A tree for your Great Grandmother

 

When I think of Nanna

I picture a garden home

Messy, rambling, beautiful

Where veggies are planted next to flowers

And where wild nasturtiums roam

 

Green through and through

From her thumbs to her toes

Like a Hobbit from Derbyshire

It seemed to me

Things grow wherever Nanna goes

 

Walking in her garden I hear a canary whistle

Then break into trilling song

I hear the soft shuffle of quails

And the flutter of finches

Chirping and dancing along

 

I see Nanna sitting by a fire

Lost in knit and pearl

Her needles click clacking away

She’s making warm woollen socks

For some lucky little girl

 

Other times I see her wearing black rimmed glasses

Engrossed in a riveting tale

A cup of tea poured

But then forgotten

Growing cold on the table

 

Will I see Nanna again?

Sitting peaceful by her fire once more?

Yes, I know I will

But in the meantime I have my memories

And the stories passed down from days of yore

 

(Ok, so maybe I exaggerate

They’re not exactly days of Yore

More like days of yesteryear.

No? Still insulting? Ok, sorry. I’ll be more specific:

The days of Mom, Uncle Tom, Uncle Mike and Uncle George

😉  )

 

I remember being fascinated by Nanna’s teapots

She collected so many over the decades

She set them out amongst a myriad other memorabilia

Those dusty shelves crowded

In a wrong, but somehow so right, random, bohemian display

 

I remember brown boxes of Cadbury Chocolate

Factory cast offs Nanna had bought

I remember those jars of colourful Boiled Sweets

Those packets of English Toffees

And those bags of Liquorice All Sorts

 

It was Nanna who introduced me to the art of shopping

She took me to “vintage” stores galore

While Nanna searched for second hand trinkets

I discovered clothes and shoes and hats

Eclectic styles from years past, to mix and match, and explore

 

I close my eyes and hear Nanna’s soft English accent

It coloured every word she would say

Her kind and mild way of speaking

“Dook” she would call me

In that unique Derbyshire way

 

I remember constantly asking Nanna: “How old are you?”

And to my consternation and grief

She’d always reply with a twinkle:

“I’m as old as my tongue

And a little bit older than my teeth”

 

But there were times that Nanna was not so gentle

Like when she had pruning shears in hand

I remember her ruthlessly attacking

A defenceless bush in our front yard

Hacking away until only a stump was left to stand

 

Then there was the way she played scrabble

How competitive she would get!

Like she’d swallowed a dictionary

She’d thrash you soundly on triple word scores

And then off she’d go to bed

 

I remember Mom once laughed relating

About the time Nanna had a hankering to buy some Llamas

“You have a big back yard Jean” she said “there’s plenty of room”

I don’t know why Mom said no, it really could’ve been a thing

Lucy and Jean – Kingston’s suburban Llama farmers

 

Then there was the time Nanna got her ears pierced

Long dangly hooked earrings and all!

I remember being so impressed

Whoever had such a Nanna?

It was just way too cool!

 

There are so many memories:

Nanna’s false teeth grossing me out, sitting in a glass

How she called Mick “Mickey” on the first day they met

Her gentle smile, her hair when it was black

Nanna teaching me how to play draughts

 

But mostly it’s a feeling I remember

No matter where I’d roam

No matter where I’d go

Nanna was the place

The place that meant home

 

Memories are a gift

Something no one can take away

They grow richer in the face of sorrow

They grow more precious

They become history that defeats the grave

 

I am grateful that I have these memories

Though right now my eyes tear and mist

I miss Nanna

And I’ll miss her for a while

For now, my Nanna’s gone to rest

 

But I know one day soon Nanna will awake

On that day she’ll be vibrant and strong

She’ll once again plant beautiful, messy, rambling gardens

She’ll get to be that Llama farmer

And she’ll listen as her Canary sings a happy welcoming song

 

I picture Nanna showing her great great great grandchildren

How to play draughts, how to prune a tree

How to knit socks, how not to suck at scrabble

And relating tales and stories

Of how life in the old world used to be

 

Yes, Lilacs for Lucy

Lilacs blooming so delicately

A hardy tree with a beautiful flower

That will grow and thrive

And live to eternity

 

 

Rach

25 July 2015

 

 

– See you again soon Nanna, with all my love, Rach

John 5:28,29 –  Revelation:21:4 – John 11:11-44

 

 

 


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On Sunny Days

 

Black - Mick with windmills 09.10.2010

 

On Sunny Days

 

 

It must be said, has to be confessed

It’s on sunny days that I love the lowlands best

The unending brilliant green where cream cows graze

Off in the distance hanging, the downy soft of a misty haze

 

Standing gazing, the weathered gnomes of yesteryear

Faces lifted to wherever the fickle wind may steer

Thatched coats browning as they warm in the gentle sun

Like creatures from the damp earth, freshly sprung

 

poppies amongst the green

 

Hundreds of little girls dressed in red, peeping

Through green curtains from the beds where they’ve been sleeping

Poppies playful amongst the nettles and the green

Smile and giggle, sing and dance, whenever they are seen

 

Beautiful flirting ladies curtsy to each other

Until they are plucked and taken to the ball by some ardent lover

Gowned in pinks and yellows and purples and every colour in between

Fields of tulips are amongst the loveliest sights ever seen

 

black happy flowers

 

Skies are kissed and left blushing pink

A beautiful canvas stretched as the stars fade and sink

A sleepy morning sun rises slowly to cover the rift

The early riser grateful to be given such a gift

 

black Windmill in the Mist

 

 

Hopping among the flower boxes with which every house is dressed

Little birds are busily feathering their nests

Stopping to trill and sing as they explore, never at rest

Geraniums and roses and daisies, against windows pressed

 

Shimmering leaves of white cloth catch a whispering breeze

As they float, bobbing across meadows like they were seas

Little boats with sails aloft rise above the green

Surreal and tranquil and ever serene

 

Canals are spun across landscapes like silver thread

An intricate maze, a spiders wandering web

Taking the boatman where ever he may choose

Along whose peaceful banks fishermen snooze

 

Through forests and meadows and down ambling lanes

Barrel two wheeled chariots with grandma frames

Along busy cobbled city streets he works and plays

The fiets is king of the kingdom, forever and always

 

black john keats summer days

 

 

The forests are green in the month of June

The scent of the sea drifts beckoning over the dunes

Giant seagulls call in ancient language to their young

Songs that for a millennia have been sung

 

Little princes build their castles down on the sand

Maidens bathe and minstrels play, while lovers stroll hand in hand

Here tired souls come to let go and fly free

Down by the waters of the ever changing, ever rolling, sea

 

black 12.And the sun is going down slowly

 

Waves crashing along the shore

The late setting sun proclaims the summer once more

Fire descends, burning into the sea

And the winds of change are set tumbling free

 

Autumn is a magnificent scene as old leaves fall

Their scent fills the air as trees bare their all

Carpets laid down of orange and gold and red

The comforting rustling sound of joy at every tread

 

Warm and Cozy, so lazy at a summer days end

Companions with whom to laugh and share and lend

Tales are told as bread and bitterballen and pints of beer are sought

Here Gezellig is not just a word, it’s a life philosophy that’s taught

 

black DSC08297

 

But cold winter days can be gezellig too

Outside snow falling, covers and presents a clean, soft view

While inside a fire crackles and laughter fills a room

Wine and merry conversation making every cheek glow and bloom

 

Like a gleaming crystal chain of silver and grey

That some giant plucked from his neck and threw away

The canals are resplendent where frozen they lay

Echoing calls as skaters twirl and play

 

black 10 - Mick skating

 

 

Gentle rain soothes as it falls in gossamer sheets

Knocking gently at the windows through which it peeps

While inside candles burn flickering, long and low

And homes become havens of colour, warmth and repose

 

 

black Mick the guitar Man

 

 

But then when grey clouds clear and golden rays shine through

Suddenly the world outdoors looks fresh and new

Tulips flirt, birds sing, and old gnomes stand tall

And the sea keeps beat, playing along with it all

 

Sails unfurl, fishermen snore

As the webs of silver invite and entrance once more

Seagulls call soaring through skies of blue

And sunshine again turns green meadows to a brilliant hue

 

 

black Texel in April 2011 (48)

 

Such days make it impossible not to admit

So I have to give in, it’s too hard to resist

I have to confess, I have to say

I do love the lowlands just that bit more on sunny days

 

 

Rach

2010

 

– for my lowlands guy… Mickey D

who makes everyday a sunny day for me ~