I Entered a Dark Forest

29/02 – Poem a Day Compilation Bonus Poem



I stood at the edge of the forest

The sunlight barely filtering through

The wind gusted about me

And I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders



The basket I carried was heavy

Full of treats for my grandmother dear

Who lived all by herself

On the other side of the forest



I’d made this trip before

With my mother several times

And know they way off by heart

Even if it does look so very dark



I’d been warned about the creatures

Who live in the forest

And how they might try to tempt me

Away from the path before me



I was to ignore their plaintiff cries

And continue on my way

Straight to Grandma’s house

With no delay at all



As I ventured deep in to those woods

A wolf first howled then cried to me

Begging for some tasty treats

That surely wouldn’t be missed



But I remembered my mother’s warning stern

And kept right along the path

The wolf tracking right there with me

Hoping I’d change my mind



The wolf it was most cunning, though

And it snuck ahead of me

Arriving at my Grandma’s house

Before I was even near



It made its way into her room

And gobbled her up right there

Then lay upon her bed in wait

For me to walk through the door



The wolf did not look at all the same

As my Grandma’s gentle features

The ears, the eyes, the nose, the teeth

All certain give aways



I screamed my little heart up

Until I thought my lungs would burst

And a woodchopper working down the lane

Came running to help me out



He startled at the sight he saw

A wolf bigger than he’d ever seen

And me, a little girl wrapped up

Under the reddest cape there ever was



With one swift swipe he sliced the wolf

Straight down the front as it reared

And out stepped my Grandma

Without a scratch anywhere on her



The woodchopper took the wolf outside

And Grandma had a shower

She said she felt a little odd

From her ordeal inside the wolf



Then we three sat and had some treats

To calm our shaken nerves

And all agreed this story would

Never be believed

My Grandma Kitchen

16/06/2020 – Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

When I’m a magnificent grandma

I’d like to be the sort of person

Whose kitchen is always welcoming

And always full of food.

 

I’d like to imagine my children,

Grown with lives of their own,

Sitting around the table

Just like when they were young.

 

They’d talk about their work

As they used to talk about school,

Gossiping about the people there

And comparing notes as they go.

 

All of their partners would be welcome,

Regardless of gender or sexuality,

All loved and considered family,

Always with a stocking at Christmas.

 

The grandchildren would run amok

And fill the room with giggles and laughs,

Sneaking biscuits behind their parents back

And eating dessert before their main meal.

 

They’d lick beaters and mixing bowls

And fall asleep on the floor,

Or stay up long past bedtime

Watching a movie curled up in my lap.

 

Whether they shared my genetics or not,

They’d still get a story read to them at night

And get an extra little something at Easter

That’d get me a that look from their parent.

 

I’d invite my friends in for lunch

That somehow turns into dinner

And we drink into the wee hours

Reminiscing about our misspent youth.

 

We’d cover the table with photos

And laugh ‘til we cried at our fashions,

With clothes we wouldn’t be seen dead in

But will no doubt come back into style.

 

We’d ooh and aah over pictures

Of each other’s families we have on our phones

Saying how it feels like it was just yesterday

That our own precious children were that small.

 

And though life is never perfect,

(There’d be so many ups and downs)

I’d like to imagine the good times

Far outweighed the bad.

 

So, I hope my grandma kitchen

Is just like the one I knew as a child –

Filled with love and, occasionally, chaos

And the smell of a home cooked meal.

Grandma’s Hands

19/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

I remember my grandma’s hands.

Wrinkly and covered in sun spots,

Worn but so full of love

Every time she touched my face.

 

When I was young, I used to copy her,

Clapping to call my grandpa in

When it was time for his dinner

Because he was a little deaf.

 

I used to hide under the table,

And reach out to grab her ankle

As she walked by me,

Even though she must have known I was there.

 

I remembered the record player

The seemed to just gather dust

Except at Christmas time

When we’d pull out the vinyl.

 

She had a pokey, little kitchen where

I’d help her make toasted sandwiches

In the old, green frying pan

Because she didn’t have a press.

 

I’d sit for hours in the lounge room

Reading all of her books,

Most of which are now my books

Because no one loved them like I did.

 

I remember her doing the gardening

And helping her rake the leaves

That fell into her yard

From the neighbour’s trees.

 

One year I got was playing with a tennis ball

And it disappeared under her house

So I went after it and

Got stung on the neck by three wasps.

 

I’d put on fashion shows

In my sports uniforms and costumes

To many oohs and aahs

And much proud smiling from her.

 

I remember my cousin (well, second cousin)

Playing soccer in her back yard,

Falling after miskicking the ball

And breaking his arm so it looked weird.

 

As a teenager, I’d ride my bike

From my school to her house

Just so I could sneak a biscuit

Before continuing on to school sport.

 

And when I was eighteen, mum said

That maybe we should check on her

So I drove us to her house

To see if she was alright.

 

I remember that her hand was cold.