The disembodied radio host asked:
If you could live a past experience,
What would you choose?
I searched my far and recent memories.
What would it be?
Some thought ensued...
Then some more.
A week's gone by. Here's why.
Seven days ago...
I'd like, I thought, to bumper-jump
In four inch snow.
Then six days ago...
The tender, innocent, inviting experience
Of my most amazing, surprising and tantalizing
Then five days ago...
My university years. They happened once.
Then four days ago...
Achieving a pleasing place with my avocation.
Then three days ago...
The first born, second born, third born. Daddyhood.
Then two days ago...
My happy and contented first day of retirement.
One day ago...
A Guiness and a shot of Jameson. Grandahood.
What would I like to re-experience...
Many more days
Sometimes, days are a whirlwind,
Of possibilities, exchanges, people's faces.
Silently observing; energy stretched thin,
The sunlight sinks, leaving only traces.
You close your eyes after the day has decided to die down.
The weight of your exhaustion, so heavy, you could drown.
But before you have a chance to embrace the dreams that dangle above your head,
It's another day, and another whirlwind at the foot of your bed.
As Big Tom soaks up morning sun
Mathilda flirts with everyone
Miss Kitty likes her milk from May
While Sandra's Minnie 'gets her way'
Youg Archie: bound to cause a stir
And Hector: rarely did he purr
But Flashy - he's much like our Son
Big boy entrances everyone
So on this morn - as felines trod
Salute the cats of Westbank Quad!
Father, I remember
Back when I was in the kindergarten
Back when I used to ride your back
I remember filling my timidly tender hands,
With a handful of love for you
I see my hands empty,
With my emptied hands,
And your eyes filled,
I realize, that I have grown different,
Has taken my worries away;
The ones I wished would stay;
Worries, just memories.
I was left with my three,
So they obliged,
Now worries number five.
We know how worries grow,
They start so small, no worry at all,
Then they start to crawl.
From their outset,
I awaken to the world that surrounds me,
Ripped from my dreams,
Not sure what has woken me.
I feel a tiny hand on my arm,
A foot in my rib cage,
These days are numbered,
I know it won't last long.
Already ten and nine,
Where has this decade gone...
I stay quiet a bit longer,
And think of these years past,
There is so much I don't want to ever forget,
I hope my brain remembers it all,
But I find it already getting foggy,
Making way for more memories.
I love them like no other,
They are the best of us,
"Just five minutes more" is the cry.
Playtime has been interrupted by the familiar "hurry up."
Vocabulary common to every parent:
"You've had ten more already. Time to get out."
Why do they insist? My needs never win the battle.
Why is my fun spoilt with this never ending list of demands?
"Oh, it's not fair" is yelled in anguish and responded to by further rebuke.
The severity of consequence based on their ambiguous countdown is increasing;
a thread of the "Thinking Spot" will no doubt soon follow.
A few grumbles are followed by silent protest,
albeit underpinned with a threat of childish tantrum.
It's time for the family meal and this standoff has but one resolution.
Isolated relaxation time is over.
The timetable of the young child at the door demands no less;
the parent must vacate their ten minute bath.
Ribbons of pink, ribbons of blue
Signal change and spread the news
Tie the lace of tiny shoes
Teach them well the “don’ts” and “do’s”
How to win and how to lose
But some things we don’t get to choose
Like when they laugh and when they cry
the time we let them try to fly
If they fall or if they’ll rise
Predict hurt or joy upon their eyes
How they live or how they die
These things should come as no surprise
Newspaper clippings in a drawer
Pictures, trophies, shelved awards
The wall holds all- he’s keeping score
Each mark the place where ship left shore
it all has happened once before
My soul will search forevermore
When they are born
it's hard to know
what your children will grow
up to become
The sad fact
for some parents;
their children will grow up to be scum.
Nasty little cowards
who swan around
a tiny town
and pretend to be Ronnie Cray.
Perverted sexual predators
who creep around the beach
on a beautiful hot sunny day.
Dickhead little waste men - waste of spunk
who think they run the place
then throw pathetic insults
when you stand up to their face.
They might be from a broken home,
I do try to see the best
But their father would have done us a favor
if he came on their mum's chest.
So when I become a father,
I don't want a rude little runt.
I hope that it's happy, hope that it's healthy
and I hope that my kid's not a cunt.
I was there when you arrived….
You took my breath as I watched you shine
I heard you gasp for air and cry
My heart beat for you
And then your wandering eyes
Found my voice
My precious child….
Oh, how you have grown
You danced through life
Before us all,
And I followed each beautiful step
With my aging eyes…
You were God’s gift to me…
Though you were never mine
Daddy’s little girl you will always be
I knew this day would finally come
But I was not ready
To let you go
© gmw '09