My Mother


My mother is not an old lady
she is as busy as a bee
driving her car to visit her friends
playing bridge and drinking tea

My mother is not an old lady
she keeps her mind up to date
reading books and watching tv
staying up sometimes too late

My mother is not an old lady
she started to explore the PC
wants to go on the internet
so she can write her stories to me

My mother is not an old lady
she loves to go out to dine
but as she has to drive herself
she won't drink too much wine

My mother is not an old lady
not allways easy, yet very dear
she has a great sense of humor
and she will be ninety this year


 

 

 
 

 

 
 
Born in nineteen-hundred-eleven



Born in nineteenhundredeleven
you can spot her at age ten
pretty girl with ribbons in her hair
little Mouse she was called then


A bit older she took up nursing
she was devoted as they say
Most enjoyed the little babies
cared for people in her way


Married to the man she loved
sharing happiness and sorrow
she was an optimistic woman
always heading for tomorrow


Raising us through war she did
while my father was send away
after us three she got a fourth
died at birth not ment to stay

Lately she did tell me softly
I'm so old but still feel this pain
and even though she did not live
Saskia was this baby's name


She made tapestries on the wall
created puppets and did paint
she was a very busy woman
very loveble but sure no saint

When I worked on the computer
she always watched me wondering
if she could learn it at her age
to comprehend this modern thing


I said well why don't you try it
so she really start computering
and to my own asthonishment
she didn't need much tutoring

In a few weeks she will be ninety
writing tales told us in passed time
and her greatgrandchildren will read
about the adventures of a little dime


August 2001  

 

 
 

 

 
 
My Mom's Internet



You won't believe it, or maybe you will,
my mother has mastered computerskill.
She's writing letters and stories so nice,
and unexpected, with little advice.
She bought a new one with Windows-XP,
and got an account for internet free
You know she is ninety and keen as hell
She's waiting for email, this I can tell
Getting connection is taking some time
I'm telling you all in this little rhyme.
She phoned the company, told them the truth,
to get their buds out and lay off the booze.
That she was ninety and time was too short,
for waiting too long, that she got real bored.
That she could be dead tomorrow or ever,
she wanted internet, now or never.
The man, he promised to do what he could,
he would tell his men, yes indeed he would.
And so she sits there, awaiting at home,
for the moment she is allowed to roam.
She's always refering to your replies,
on her birthday poem, oh how the time flies.
The moment she's able to internet,
she will read all your poems, be sure of that.


 

 

 
 

 

 
 
She was a beautiful Lady


During WorldWar II my parents took a Jewish girl into their house. They all survived and Irma got married to Ernst and they moved to Israël. All those years they kept a close contact, but Irma died recently. I used to refer to her as my First second Mom, because she took care of me in those days.



She was a beautiful lady
And I used to call her Mom
Changing my dipers she did
During worldwar two she'd come

The Germans didn't like her
For she was from Jewish descent
With us she survived the War
After wich to Israël she went

She married a very lovely boy
And settled down in promised land
From that long gone day on forward
It was juicy oranges she'd sent

Not one single time she passed
Every spring for fiftyfive years
There was a knock on our door
When the oranges did appear

Sometimes she came over to visit
And there were memories been told
When she returned to her own home
It was me who'd she close hold

My parents went to their place
And planted a tree for Israël
A sign with my father's name
Kept those memories well

They grew old but not together
Lived their lives in their own way
Yet as soulmates they were bonded
by the grewsome memories that stay

And today I've heard she's gone
That used to be mother of me
Piece of my heart died with her
For she was a beautiful lady


 

 

 
 
 
 
Worldwide © 2001 by Titia Geertman


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