Richard Macwilliam » Parenting poems

Daughter

admin — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 10:50:32 +0000

The terrible witch
Is a bit of a bitch,
Rude to the crows and the people she knows,
Snarling and scowling and full of bad cheer,
Ready to spit at those that get near,
Stamping her feet and waggling her bum,
Refusing to talk, offensively dumb,
She shouts at the wind,
She muddies her clothes,
Screams at stray cats,
Won’t wipe her nose,
Flies on her broom to the top of the sky,
Dives down at high speed,
Makes her Mum cry,
Walks with a swagger,
Tosses her hair,
Grabs from her brother,
Refuses to share,
Gets in a gang and gossips and sneers,
Reduces her enemies to impotent tears,
Nasty and mean and spitefully rude,
Far too perceptive, disgustingly crude,
She magic’s her magic in a world that seems grey
And surprisingly, awfully, gets her own way.

Daughters are not necessarily always well-behaved.

My companion

admin — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 13:26:58 +0000

The chaos of looking after a baby -
At nought, never more than six inches apart,
He swapped his real umbilical cord for a length of imaginary elastic
And the silence of the womb for a voice pitched to exert maximum pressure
That fractured my concentration,
Drove me to action.

Never at full throttle, I slept when he slept,
Woke when he woke, comforted when he cried and enthused when he sparkled,
Pointing out the world to a silent listener,
Carrying my companion, even in my mind.

Looking after a baby – 24/7 commitment, never getting to go at your own speed

Sleep, sleep the silent night

admin — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 12:55:58 +0000

Sleep, sleep the silent night,
The moon up high and the stars so bright,
A frost on the grass in a gathering chill,
Trees half-asleep and the air so still,
And dreams of the day in your darling head,
Snug and warm in your cosy bed -
Soft, soft your spirit flies,
Leaving this Earth, touching the skies,
Wandering worlds where the day is still young,
And everything’s gorgeous under the sun.

June 2011

Teenager

admin — Wed, 02 Mar 2011 23:40:49 +0000

Slip into sunshine
Between the shrieks and calls of this strange creature
Bellowing for the wild wind
In the moors and boulders of its desolation
Turned to grim night,
Spite,
And the sharp-tongued explosion of its vicious anger
Switched
To unstable -

Pause,
Take a breath,
Remain calm,
Stand at a distance,
Observe …

You do not need to do this.

Re-engage.

A turmoil of bluster
Rocketing nonsense self-justification,
Eternal victim,
‘It’s your fault!’
‘I hate you!’
‘It’s not fair!’

Yawn.

No river could tear so ferociosly
At the gorge walls containing it,
The lakes are up ahead, darling,
And the seas,
But you’re not there,
The river has to be a little wider and stronger before it’s freed.

26/01/2011

With A Scamper of Knitted Legs

admin — Sun, 23 May 2010 19:09:08 +0000

With a scamper of knitted legs
She heads for sanctuary,
Pretends to be busy, refuses first-rate,
Grows wanton, despairing,
Shakes me off in heat,
Shouts and cries, creates a Splendour
(So that everybody looks),
Flings fists and feet, bursts into tears inconsolable
As I lift in my gentle arms her forced weight
And she thumps her head into my neck-crook
With a tight-wrenched arm that buries her face
All flooded and sheened, snot-nose wipe-cleaned
In my hair, there to console her imagined fears
In the smell of Man,
Who comforts as best I can
Her sobbing sorrow all staggered in grief,
A heart-burst exclamation of wild-eyed childhood,
Abandoned, lost,
Deep hurt, deep pain, release -

She tires in an instant,
Peace,
And a half-chattered sigh escapes her lips,
Snug warmth-breath touches a kiss
On my cheeks.

What bliss is this
That she remains so calm ? -
Her storm is done for the moment,
And I look on in disbelief.

June 1999

The hurt of a toddler, running away and then bursting into tears, throwing a tantrum and eventually allowing herself to be comforted. She had lovely little knitted leggings on … cute little sweetheart ….

A Child’s Innocence Beats the Eye

admin — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 15:56:38 +0000

A child’s innocence beats the eye
And claims for all its age a battled cry,
‘Give me this moment! Now!
I most empty cannot, will not, shall not lie!
Don’t hold me to your truths!
I most free of sadness shall not sigh,
Nor told of no uneven
Decry what is!
I, least mortal of you all, most know how to live!’

So then, child, give me your kiss,
Put your spark in my bright eyes,
Remove the curse of age
And promise me then this:
That when at last I die, and you as old as I am now
Feel something missed,
You too will wrap your arms round childish bliss and fly.

16/11/99

Cuddling my toddler and seeing the world briefly through her eyes

See, on this summer’s ripple of love

admin — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 09:03:28 +0000

See, on this summer’s ripple of love
How the wind blows soft through your hair,
And the burnished sands are being kissed by the waves
As you run naked without any care.

See, here’s a kite, and it blows on the breeze,
And the string hangs so still in the air:
And the noise of the crowds is like a vast song
Floating up in the heat like a prayer.

And as you play out your life in its dreams
And the world is at peace all around ,
A whisper of joy controls your young limbs
As you scamper without any sound.

Here, in your hour, that kite’s blowing free
(Sometimes love is too strong to write down) -
Ephemeral childhood, lovely to be
The jewel in this perfect day’s crown.

14/5/00

I wrote this poem remembering hazy, lazy days on a beach, my children scampering in the distance so far away that I couldn’t hear them, and the beauty of a kite held by a string to this earth – just like a child in all its innocence is barely held to the earth.

Here’s a poem that I like: http://www.breakoutofthebox.com/kit.htm

Losing me

admin — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 09:53:18 +0000

I had, inside, a bit that was ‘me’,
That responded to certain calls like a bird in the wild,
Or sensed things on the wind and ran in that direction.

One day, however, I made a choice,
And I walked into a castle, pulling up the drawbridge,
And there – in those four walls – I raised my child,
And ceased to exist.

Sometimes the wind blows, and sometimes the birds call,
But I am brave and turn my head away,
Looking instead at where I should be.

Oct. 2001

Being a parent is a sacrifice – we shut ourselves away within four walls for a few years and cease to exist whilst our children are very young.

I want a nuclear-powered wotsit

admin — Sun, 10 May 2009 07:28:40 +0000

I want a nuclear powered wotsit, Dad,
And I think we should make it now -
And oh dear that’s Martin at the door,
He’s come round to play,
And perhaps the nuclear powered wotsit should wait for another day,

But Dad we can make a machine,
A robot with arms and legs that maybe fires a missile,
I’ll have the scissors and you have the string -
Listen, you can make anything!

Dad, Dad ! I want to go to the moon,
And I know this boy at school that can do it,
Truly, honestly, believe me he said so,
Can we make a rocket Dad,
No, I don’t want to wait ’till I’m older,
And if not can I write a computer programme
(With you, Dad) that’ll speak and teach me things,
You always say the same, Dad,
Maybe tomorrow, lad,

Please Dad please, I don’t want a treat -
Oh go on then, I’ll have one more sweet …

2005

Every parent will recognise the situation where the bored child thinks the parent can do anything …

I am the Guardian of treasure

admin — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 08:48:48 +0000

I am the Guardian of treasure,
Gate-keeper to another world -
Let all who would come near be clean from the inside out,
And all who would pollute depart.

Be warned – my rules are firm,
For I will not bend from rightness,
Nor sway to your winds:
My duty is to the future,
And here will I lay my foundations
That my treasure stays most pure.

Take not, for I will take from you -
But come in peace and joy, and joy shall be your reward.

3/7/00

Every parent wants to keep bad influences away from their children