Day ten and we were asked to write a portrait poem, focusing on the character rather than their appearance – well, at least that’s how I interpreted it!
As I’ve said before, I’m not much of a personal poetry writer so this was tricky for me. In the end I decided to write about my nan, who died about 30 years ago, with a little bit (actually not too much) of artistic licence.
Will try and add a couple of pics tomorrow if I can.
She was a Victorian doll who grew up too soon,
a ‘good girls are seen but not heard’ child,
who quietly took her place in the Family Bible,
hoarding parma violets in a cotton hanky,
scribbling in her prayer book.
Bearing widowhood stoically,
she waved one daughter off
with the weight of a warring world
on her British-Legion-proud shoulders,
dismissed the other, mysteriously.
She was a hat-pin-prickly,
panel round the bottom and down the front,
make do and mend sort of woman,
that cursed and wrote to ‘snoopy thieves’
who daily moved and stole her things.
My patchwork nan was a hoarding nan,
a musty, fusty, out of date nan,
an orange and lemon slices every Christmas nan,
a lily of the valley scented nan,
a hard to love, but I still did, nan.