Nana Ollerenshaw: Two Poems

Colouring In

They sit colouring in

bright blues, greens, yellows and reds

in their variations, all within

the discipline of lines,

lines that force a picture,

the sound and smell of crayons,

the possibilities of paper.

His Grandma wonders when

he may give in to scribble,

tire of their easy work,

their closeness,

the silence that they share,

look for something new.

But no, the day shines on,

they sit there just the two

and who could want it better?

Song of the Crutches

Crutches lead the way

his legs follow

one by one swinging through

to interrupt the walk.

Singled out as someone

to be kind to,

he syncopates along

angular and straight

moving to the crutches’ song,

their robotic beat.

Steel and plastic,

moulded hands and tin

support and mask

his soft and yielding

flexibility within,

the song he used to know

waiting to begin.

Nana Ollerenshaw