This month is National Poetry Month. (See the bottom of this post for a link to the Grammarly website and their poetry quiz.) I posted a poem last week dedicated to my teddy bears but this week I thought I would post up one with a far more important dedication.
This poem is dedicated to my dear Mum who passed away four years ago this week. I still miss her very much. This is not one of my better poems. It is certainly no literary piece of work. I wrote it before Mum died and she read it and approved of the sentiment so I know that, even though the metre is a little clunky and the rhyming a little forced, it had my Mum’s blessing and that’s good enough for me.
Mums 1950s Menu
Rationing was boring. No fun food to eat.
My Mum's cooking was judgement to this.
On a Sunday she roasted a joint of meat,
Which she sliced up on Monday with chips.
On a Tuesday we knew it would be shepherds' pie.
While on Wednesday we always had stew.
There was omelette on Thursday, fresh egg, no more dried,
With a fried up tomato or two.
On a Friday I thought that the meal was quite good;
Steamed white fish, mashed potato and sauce
With the yummiest Apricot Sponge for our pud,
Which she got from the Co-op, of course.
The 60s saw Mum spread her culinary wings.
Bolognese that was not from a tin,
Vesta packets of dried, little cube-looking things
Topped with noodles all crispy and thin.
But we still had some order to the weekly food file,
Certain things for each day of the week,
Until Mum launched herself into 70s style
Then we never knew what we would eat.
There was chilli-con-carne and curry and rice,
A big pizza for our Sunday lunch.
Mum's menu was transformed by lashings of spice.
And we even had something called brunch.
Until Mum became lost all alone in her flat,
Too tired to shop or to cook.
So she moved to a Care Home and there she found that
Things were more familiar than they looked.
She had roast beef on Sunday, sliced up the next day.
It all felt really safe and secure.
And whenever the stew was served up she would say
That the day must be Wednesday for sure.
She talked about cooking and how it once was
When a loaf of bread cost a few pence.
She talked of the days when you knew where you were, cause
She knew where she was once again.
This week the Grammarly website has a special poetry quiz to pair you up with your poet soulmate. If you have a go at it then do let me know who you were paired up with. I got Pablo Neruda and his poem If You Forget Me. This is a poem that I have read many times and, although it is a translation and so the wording is not as precise as the original, I still love it very much, so the quiz does, indeed, seem to work.