Elizabeth Miller

Elizabeth Miller Poems

Your hands, so skilful then,
Could tie a bow in a heartbeat
Cut the toughest carrots
Hold buttercups beneath my chin
...

Not wanting to worry you, Mum,
I never told you why
Dappled bruises kept appearing on my shins
Why my pens would vanish
...

‘Come straight to the table as soon as you're called.
Punctuality is the politeness of kings.'

‘Don't slurp your soup. Sip it slowly and softly
...

Elizabeth Miller Biography

Elizabeth Miller, author of ‘Penumbra - Poems about Dementia' and 'Halfpace - Poems About My Childhood' is a writer, mother and teacher. The daughter of a librarian, with both parents as published authors, she has spent much of her life surrounded by books. At age three, she announced that her ambition was to be ‘a poem lady and drive round Ireland in a tractor'. Although she has enjoyed writing ever since, she has yet to climb aboard that Irish tractor! When Elizabeth's mother was diagnosed with dementia in 2015, Elizabeth began writing poetry as a cathartic activity but soon realised that her poems could help others if shared more widely. Since then she has continued writing poetry on a wide range of topics and enjoyed giving poetry readings, leading discussions and running workshops to help others find their voice. Elizabeth enjoys being out in the countryside and taming her garden. She loves singing, playing the keyboard and spending time with family and friends. She has a keen interest in genealogy and helped write a local history book for her village in Kent. She has also been involved in amateur film making and one of her poems provided the screenplay for 'Distance' by Mandy Carr. https: //vimeo.com/290548484 Drawing has recently become another passion and she has created her own illustrations for 'Halfpace'. Facebook: Elizabeth Miller Poetry)

The Best Poem Of Elizabeth Miller

Your Hands

Your hands, so skilful then,
Could tie a bow in a heartbeat
Cut the toughest carrots
Hold buttercups beneath my chin
Swing me above the waves,
Brush gold leaf upon a frame
Write fine italics
Prune the wild, rambling rose
Conjure up a landscape,
Use a camera with ease
Sew the finest, neatest hem
Squeeze icing on a birthday cake
Splash whitewash on the walls,

Now, even your hands are weak.
So fragile,
I cradle them gently like baby birds,
Willing you to wake.

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