Front Runner

Today, at my creative writing group, we did a short writing exercise whereby the person next to you gave you a word (any word) and you had to write no more than 50 words, starting with “I love you” and incorporating the given word. All a bit valentine’s day, thought I; I don’t ‘do’ valentines day but, ever game for a writing challenge, here is my offering with thanks to Elizabeth for a lovely word.

 

Front Runner

I love you snowdrop, you peek out when 

all is grey and Christmas is over.

You’re a front runner

the prelude to Spring

 

You don’t announce your arrival with

a fanfare, just shyly say, “hi”.

You are my hope

my dare to dream defender

 

I love you snowdrop

© Liz Mackenzie

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Photograph taken at Hodsock Priory Snowdrop Walk on 17 February 2019

Things I have left behind

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I have left behind the

spring in my step

clambering over rocks

the triumph of hilltops

I have left behind questions

not worth an answer

niggles and annoyances

and petty people

I have left behind memories

that don’t belong in today

and clutter my brain

like too many papers

I have left behind vanity

that made me mind

what people thought

become more me

© Liz Mackenzie 

Great Grandma Day

On hearing the news that his Great Grandma had died last year, my Grandson, then not quite 8, said 2 things; “Is Great Grandad ok?” and “I’d like to have a Great Grandma Day every year to remember her.”

We were all struck by his sensitivity, his awareness of death and its finality, and his concern for his Great Grandad. A year on, I wondered if he’d remember and if it would still be something he wanted to do. My daughter asked him; he had remembered and he did want to have Great Grandma Day. We settled on a small family get together on a Sunday, with roast dinner and a few games. “Great Grandma” always cooked a roast on a Sunday and loved playing all sorts of games. When she and “Great Grandad” were younger they had been avid table tennis players and, given the weather in January, this seemed a better option than tennis or golf – her other passions. So, after lunch, washing up done and kitchen cleared, we were able to play and recount tales of Great Grandma and Great Grandad’s prowess at the game. Meanwhile “Flippin Fish” and a Scotland jigsaw puzzle were ‘happening’ in the living room.

It was a simple day with family; enjoying each other’s company and being together to remember Mum, Grandma, Great Grandma. Writing this, I am humbled, again, by the incredible insight, sensitivity and thoughtfulness of my Grandson; a lesson to us all in listening to our children and grandchildren, and marvelling at their wisdom.

I hope there will be many more Great Grandma Days ahead; times to share, to be together and to remember.

© Liz MacKenzie

Boxing Day

A tongue in cheek poem for Boxing Day.

Bubble squeaking with pigs in blankets

Over- indulgence leaving some

Xanthic (or yellowish if you will)

Invite friends for silly games

Nod off during yet more Christmas films

Go for a walk, brisk and bright

Doze again to TV repeats

And smile at yesterday’s snapshots

Yule, Christmas, Noel and New Year beckons…

©️ Liz Mackenzie

Gu bràth

No one said that forever,

Gu bràth, is not so.

Forever is temporary

As long as is granted

For a time

Christmas will reveal

Less places at the table

More wishing stars

Riding the branches

Of our tree

Memories hurt the heart

Gaps like broken teeth

Punched out

Forever lost to somewhere

Or something

Look back, look ahead

Gu bràth, forever in thought.

See generations new

Alive with Christmas mystery

And breathe ….

© Liz MacKenzie

Literal meaning of gu bràth in Gaelic is “until Judgement”. It is also used to mean “forever” as in Alba gu bràth – Scotland forever

To see you one more time

The good thing about being part of a creative writing group is the challenge to write ‘on the spot’. For me, this gives the chance to go with whatever first comes to mind within a specific theme. Today’s challenge was to write something starting with, “All I want for Christmas …”. I did go with my first thought but couldn’t read it out; too raw. I can, however, post it here.

All I want for Christmas is to see mum once more, and for last Christmas not to have been … the last. Would she speak with dementia wit after Christmas lunch with her party hat on and her plate empty? “What are you doing for Christmas, dear?”

Cheers, mum x

©️ Liz Mackenzie