Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?

Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.

4 Hudson Avenue

It wasn’t a very big house to start with – just two bedrooms, kitchen, one bathroom, living room and lounge. And a tiny little verandah. But it grew over the years. Granny and Grampa’s flat was added to one side, a connecting door into our house giving them access to the only bathroom in the house. I can still see Grampa’s walking stick advertising his presence in the bathroom. My brother and I shared a bedroom for many years until the last set of additions were done and the tiny verandah became his room with a door into the new dining room and the original front door hidden behind his cupboard. Bizarrely, that door opened into what was to be my parent’s room. I’ve often wondered how he felt about that. (Making mental note to ask him next time I see him).

Probably the best part of the additions was the new lounge. It wasn’t big, it was HUGE!  So too, was the fireplace they had built. The fireplace had to be knocked down and reduced when Mom found she and her whole cub pack could fit into it and the builders had forgotten to build a flue. And how big was that lounge? Big enough for Dad to bring in a motor bike and work on it there after Mom moved out. Big enough for band practice with our friends and my brother’s drum kit. Big enough to have movie evenings with hired reel films watched on a sheet hung from the window. It was home.

Lunch Post 1- written for the Dp challenge.



Lunch eaten
Dishes stacked
You at your computer
I on the couch
Blanket covered
Dog at my feet.

Winter light
Bathes the room
And on the radio
Someone croons
A half-remembered tune

I catch your eye
You smile
And sway
To those
Songs they play.

Posted from WordPress for Android

Goodnight Madiba

Winter’s day.
Pale sun
Fails to warm a world
Colder, poorer, weaker
Because You are gone.

Your spirit,
Twenty-seven captive years
And many more in quiet service
Has left us,
Your children.
We mourn your passing.

We, your children,
Will not forget
Your sacrifice
And your example.
We will pursue truth and goodness
We will broadcast reconciliation
We will sow tolerance.

Rise up, my brothers
Hear the call, my sisters
Let us build
The Rainbow Nation
Build on his legacy
Build on our freedom.

Lala ngoxolo, Tata
Rest in peace, Tata

Posted from WordPress for Android

Poem – Treasures




Here a seppia photograph
Mother’s laughter crinkles her eyes as she
Gazes up at Father,
Careless  of what the future holds.

A lock of hair, lovingly placed
in a brown envelope, folded twice.
mem’ries of golden curls and rosebud mouth.

A card addressed with childish touch
“To Mommy, ‘cos I loves you much.”
Red roses sprawl across the front.

A letter, lined and faded
From years of reading
Bears testament to years of wedded love.

Her treasure chest, a cardboard box
lies on the bed. She packs her life
away, caressing each item. Takes her cane
and turns to start her day.

By M Brizzolari