Thursday, September 15, 2011


You ask us to write about Shame
And my mind is blank!
Have I led a blameless
As opposed to a shameless,
I can recall moments of 
And, even, Unkindness.
But the memories
Are softened by time.
I'm sure I wasn't that bad after all!
At night I enjoy a dream-free sleep,
The sure sign of a clear conscience.
How is it then
That when I rest on the settee
For half an hour
In the afternoon,
And I doze,
Every stupid action surges back?
I'm jolted back to wakefulness
By the reliving
Of each miserable act!
I wake feeling I have only just committed it!
It is
 So fresh,
So bald,
So appalling,
So humiliating
That the thought kills all slumber.
Of course,
I can't recount my sins to you
Because I am wide awake.
Pity about that!



There are millions of blankets like this in the world
But this one is special to me.
It was made, by my Mother a long time ago,
In about nineteen seventy-three.
She made it from scraps of wool given by friends,
So the colours are varied and bright.
 She'd be pleased to know it has kept us warm
On many a cold Winter's night.
for a great prize.

1 comment:

Kay L. Davies said...

My mother made hundreds of those blankets. When everyone in the family had at least one, she began making them for charity.
When she went into care, she made them for the other patients, and for the staff.
When one of my nieces was pregnant in the last year of Mom's life, she made many blankets for her. "Oh, you're going to have a baby," she'd exclaim every time Jo visited, "I'll have to make a blanket!"
We all treasure our "Nana blankets" today.
— K

Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel