Parenthood has certainly changed
since I was a young father. Today
if you raise a hand to your child
it had better be to ask a question.

Edinette Jan 22

In the ground we marry
the seeds of an oak tree.
Where it grows
in graveled ground
breaking the soil to sprout
raising its hands
to the clouds.

We worry about storms
and we worry about lightning
wanting to protect our little sapling.

Afraid that the leaves
of our growing tree
will fall to their knees
like a child
that is crawling.

Sometimes you have
to let go and let
the leaves free fall away;
Nothing stays blooming
every single day.

Come next year your sprig’s
twigs will bud again.
Wanting to branch out
from the roots
sown in the ground.

Trust that you cultivated
your seedling with care
for soon a little bird will sing
in the branches of your sapling
where it will marry another
seed from an oak tree.

Francie Lynch Nov 2017

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
First Kiss.
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.
And today?
What would I like to re-experience...
Many more days
Like today.

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.

I wrote this a couple years ago - when my youngest child was a newborn. I felt that as soon as I had laid my head on my pillow and closed my eyes; it was morning, and I would have to start another day. Luckily, I get more sleep now.
David Mac Oct 2017

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!

Bibek Oct 2017

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
And today,
I see my hands empty,
With my emptied hands,
And your eyes filled,
I realize, that I have grown different,
From you

I wish to learn more from him,
Give him back the worlds of love that he lent me
Francie Lynch Sep 2017

Death,
So cruel,
So kind,
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.
We beget,
From their outset,
Worry.

DZ Aug 2017

Silently,
Quietly,
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,
Thank God.

D Holden Jul 2017

"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.

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