Tag: children

#PoeticAnswers 87 – How Do I Get My Children To Flush?

Through a vast amount of trial and error,
I’ve found a way to make
My three foot terror
Flush the bloody toilet.

After many tries to be inventive and
Failed offerings of food and cash incentives,
The little buggers now
Flush the bloody toilet.

And though they didn’t react
When I put them up for adoption,
The little bastards now have no option but to
Flush the bloody toilet.

Now thanks to gravity and super glue,
I don’t have to see their number ones or twos.
Now the only thing that they can do is
Flush the bloody toilet.

Question from Kristin S. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 31 – When Did You First Realise Your Parents Don’t Know Everything and Can’t Fix Everything?

I remember being small,
Not emotionally or mentally,
Just in terms of being a child.

When I was sick, my dad
Would make his signature soup.
It was nothing overly special,
Chicken, rice and vegetables,
But it tasted like being better.

When I hurt myself, my mum
Would pick me up and clean my cuts
With the weird white cream
in the non-descript bottle,
Kiss it better and send me on my way.

It was just moisturiser,
And maybe it’s that over exposure
That’s made who I am today,
Soft and gentle,
Not much of a fighter.

But my dad didn’t like that,
I didn’t overly like that
Because boys were tough,
Rough and tumble, branch and bramble,
Carefree cuts and badge shaped bruises.

From boy scouts to black belts,
I tried to earn whatever rank it would take
To feel like I was on my way to
Being the best I can be.
But I wasn’t doing it for me.

Because I still remember
When I was six years old
My dad was rushed into hospital.

A work accident,
He went from tree surgeon
To needing a surgeon
And I was too young to understand
What hemiplegia meant.

Mum’s magic cream cculdn’t make
The pain go away
And he couldn’t get the special soup
Because he couldn’t get to the kitchen
Because the doctor wouldn’t let him.

Seeing this man who’d been
My idol and rock
Suddenly become bandaged rubble,
Putting on a brave face for me
When he knew he might never walk again.

So he would just lie there,
Being strong for all of us.
Like the rock in the river
Just before the waterfall.
Something to cling and climb onto.

Never showing signs of erosion,
Never crumbling to sand to become part of the riverbed.
Fighting time and tide to finally
Find his feet and run and jump the best he can
Because he was the rock on which he built his family.

I never really wanted to fight,
And this pansy-poetical, theatrical life
Wasn’t really what he had in mind.

He might not understand what it is I do,
He might not understand how he’s shaped me,
I’ve got blackbelts and trophies for taekwondo
But he was the one who tought me
What it really means to fight.

We grew up and grew apart,
I learned I am not the people my parents are,
And I might never be what they expected
Because I’m a lot of dirty words to them
But I’m okay with that.

There’s a lot of me that
They might not agree on because
They’re rocks, strong and sturdy,
But they don’t move,
They don’t change.

But to go through that,
They might not like theatre
But it was a performance I’ll never forget.

They’re still the strongest people I know.

Question from Jasmyne M. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 16: When Are You Going To Have A Whole Brain Again?

Child,
I gave you warmth,
I gave you nourishment,
I did not give you my brain.
If I had, you wouldn’t ask this.

Child,
You have your father’s brain,
It’s as plain as the hose on your face.
Which you also inheritated from your father.
I can say you are definitely more like your father.

Child,
Did I give you my intrigue,
Or did your dad give you stupidity?
Why do you ask the most ridiculous things,
I heard you ask why the triangle had four sides.

Child,
It was a fucking square.
Why couldn’t you be a square?
I’m not angry at you sweetie, I promise.
I blame your father. I definitely blame your father.

Child,
You’re seventeen now,
You asked me how to spell DNA.
Not Deoxyribonucleic acid, the letters, DNA.
You make me want to test you to see if you have my DNA.

Child,
I didn’t give you my brain,
I didn’t give your brother my brain
Damn Kenneth, I didn’t give you my brain
But I swear you’re definitely making me lose it.

Question from Amanda P. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 14: What Is A Home?

A home is where the heart is
And the wifi connects automatically.

A home is what we built together,
Because the moment we met, we connected.
There was never a weak signal or
Stone walls in the way of our love.
You had my heart and I had yours,
Our bodies wrapped around each other
Like scaffolding conducting the
Heat and beat of our hearts.

A home is where the walls keep you safe,
Your arms were my walls and
You had my heart and I had yours
The foundation of our love was stronger than
Any form of bricks and mortar,
The fire in our hearts
Resonated through the walls and floors
And the echoes sounded like roars
In the halls of each other.

A home is where I expected us grow old
But all we did was grow cold to each other
Because there were cracks in the walls
That we covered with duct tape and paint
To keep things looking like they were okay
Rather than take the time to
Work together to fix it like we did before.
You put up doors and locked yourself away,
Leaving me wondering what mistake had I made?

A home is where there are no secrets,
But you built a nursery all on your own
And bolted the door to keep me out of your life.
The only time it was open was when you slipped away at night.
I thought we were in this together,
I’d have built you a wheelchair with my bare hands
To give you the support you needed,
I’d have built a crib with my bones because
I would have given everything to keep both of you.

A home is where you left our daughter
And now she’ll never know the value,
Of unconditional love.
Now there’s an empty hole where
Our heart and her bedroom should be
I’d have broken down everything in my way
If it meant I’d know the truth.
Because she would have been the only person
I could love more than I loved you.

A home is what you used to be,
Now your eyes are double-glazed over
And the warmth is already lost.
Now you’re an empty room with
A door I’m afraid to open.
I still keep the embers of our fire going.

Question from my friend and cuddlebuddy, Arzoo.

#PoeticAnswers 4: What Is The Pointy End of a Strawberry Called?

My knowledge of the strawberry
Can only be described as limited.

I know the strawberry is a liar.
That’s not to say the strawberry
Has manipulated or deceived me
On an emotional level,
Because that would be
Fucking mental,
But the strawberry is not a berry.

I know the strawberry is a fruit.
This is not a statement or an assumption
on the sexuality of the deceitful strawberry,
If I wish to get technical,
This fruit is asexual,
Self-reproducing, Self-generating,
Much like… this poet.

I know the strawberry is a female,
Before you start, I am not assuming it’s gender
It’s just empirical, scientific fact.
Before I incite outrage,
Strawberries aren’t human,
They don’t feel,
We do not need “Justice For Strawberries”.

I know the strawberry has a hull,
Unlike a boat and England,
The strawberry’s hull is at the top
Not the bottom or in the middle
Slightly to the right,
However, like England, the hull is
Green, boring and tasteless

Strawberries are the first fruit to ripen in the spring,
Strawberries on average have 200 seeds,
Strawberries are considered to be roses by scientists,
Scientists don’t often make sense but we trust their judgement anyway
Strawberries have a dedicated museum in Belgium
I had to go to Belgium to find out these facts about strawberries
Strawberries are actively driving me insane
The word strawberry and it’s variants are featured in this poem 19 times
I used to love strawberries until I wrote this poem

I know you asked me
What the pointy end of a strawberry is called
But the truth of the matter is
No one knows
And I don’t want to know either.

Question from Laura W. from Facebook