Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “family”

What Love Is

For the young man who says he loves my granddaughter…

rusting her implicitly
Respecting her mind and her body
Evolving as you both grow
Admiring her creativity
Supporting her to achieve her goals
Understanding that sometimes you won’t understand
Realizing that she is every bit as imperfect as you are
Enduring hardships together; as a team
Holding hands, even when you’re not young lovers anymore
Encouraging her to reach her potential
Rejoicing in her successes

…Welcome to the family





Her laughter is infectious,
His wit is slightly snide,
The two of them together are
comedy personified.

They fight like cats and dogs
But God help any schmoe
who might hurt his big sister
or pick on her li’l bro.

They are family, they are siblings
and they’re a joy to have around.
They’re my children and I love them.
They make me laugh out loud

with their quirky sense of humour
(Don’t know where they got that from)
I’m just happy that they love me
and proud to be their Mum.




The Prodigal Child

If necessity is the mother of invention
then imagination must be the dad.
Grandma must have been patience
and the grandfather must have had

a penchant for puttering in toolsheds
and building something from naught
so there might be a few aunts and uncles
who may not have turned out as they ought

(spare parts sometimes being scarce).
Perhaps there are siblings who taunted
invention when she was a child
and made her feel ugly and haunted

her self esteem till she doubted
her sense of her own self worth
so she kept her ideas to herself
instead of enriching the Earth

with her brilliant ideas and advances
bowing instead to her siblings
and inventing them new toys to play with
to quiet their whining and quibbling.

Then one day she looked in the mirror,
saw the person she knew she could be,
saw the dreams that she could believe in,
saw the things that she could achieve.

So at night now, when others are sleeping,
their toys all greedily clutching,
she works on her plans for new improved ways
to save the world from destruction.


The Illustrated Child

Every now and then she breaks out
in tattoo ink.
Her body a shrine to what she holds dear.
Her children, music, even flowers remembered
from her grandmother’s garden – all imprinted
on her memory and on limbs and back.
It’s only rational that someone who wears
her heart on her sleeve
would not flinch at wearing her love
on her skin.

# 85

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