Mended ways

April 30, 2015 at 6:42 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 20 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This was then.

Mum used to mend our clothes.

When a sock got holed, she darned it.

Her neat stitches lasted long after the rest of the sock fell to bits

in the rag bag.

The darning wool was soft.

Often slightly thicker than the fabric it repaired.

You could feel a mended patch against your heel or under your toe.

At school. On a sleepover. In the park.

A tiny reminder of a mother’s thrift, industry, talent and love.


The years have unravelled.

Now, as I fall to bits, I wish I had one darned sock to keep me safe.

Each time I bin a worn one, I think I should learn to mend.

But not before I wish

with all my heart

that Mum were still here to do it.

Brought to you by The Feisty Empire.






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  1. Amen to that, my friend.

    • 🙂 🙂 🙂

      • That’s very sad and beautiful Paul. Try to remember the happiness that your mom felt knowing she fixed it for you with love.

        • Thank you, Carol. I like that description very much! Mum used to have so much mending, I didn’t see too much happiness at the time! But you’re right; she wouldn’t have made the mends so beautifully if she didn’t give a damn. Kind regards, P. 🙂

          • She sure did give a darn. Lovely piece, Paul.

            • Thank you, Ad. You’ve got me in stitches! 😀

  2. That’s beautiful, poetic and sad. I’m thinking, maybe you got your thoughtfulness from your mum?

    • Thank you for your heartfelt response, Nikki. Dad knew lots of facts, but Mum was wise. With barely 9 years of school, her intelligence transcended ‘normal’ boundaries. What she didn’t know, she understood. Having seen both types of mindpower at work over the decades, I remain in awe of the latter. And I think the fact my wife has it too may be one of the reasons I pursued her – and prize her fine mind to this day, 20 years on. Each time I take Fonnie’s advice, something good happens. I do hope this post was inspired by Mum. For that may mean she lives with me still. Fond regards and thanks again, F! 🙂

  3. I just got permission to reproduce an email thread from one of my benchmark writers – Penelope Trunk. (The conversation begins with me.)

    • Hi, P.
      Do you recall suggesting I read Out of the dust?
      Well, I did.
      And I loved it.
      And I think
      it may have rubbed off:
      Thank you.

      • i’m glad you loved it.
        and the ultimate love is writing like it. fun to read.

        I can’t help noticing the large number of tags up top. And then it occurred to me that with so many tags they are almost functioning as something more than tags. Like the tags make sort of a separate poem that is a summary poem of the real poem.

  4. When I see hundreds of people on the TV news,

    I remind myself that my world view

    – though it seems utterly real and complete –

    is merely one of ten billion facets.


    And then I go and write my own shit anyway.

    Like it’s the only version that counts.

    For if I think about it too much,

    my head will surely explode.

    And we can’t have that.

  5. Hi Paul
    Darning is symbolic and practical – as is mending.
    Did you see the article in the Age today about the darners in India? Rafoogars, they’re called. And the secret of darning?
    ‘Patience. You can’t rush it. It’s a slow craft’.

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