we love our parents
but we must not be our parents
we honor our parents
by having our own identity
better to be the apple
that falls far from the tree
better to live your life
your way

what did i ever do
to deserve a woman
as cruel and heartless
as you?

I am afraid
That when he grows up
He will be someone who can’t accept No
Someone who won’t compromise
Who will take what he wants
If he can’t win it with lies

I am afraid
That he won’t learn how to be gentle
Or when to be gentle
And when to play rough
I want him to know
When to give in
Gracefully
And when to be tough

I am afraid
Of the day he realizes
Superheroes are rare
And people in disguises
Do not always embody
The clothes that they wear

I am afraid
For him
For the things I can’t control
For the doors that close
For the opportunities
I can’t bankroll

These counted fears
And those too ugly to be declared
While they are substantial
I try to remember
Fear and Hope travel paired

NCL April 2019

My mother, just the mother.
Not only a mother, but just my mother and me.
My only confidant. My only support.
My only defender and play pretender.
The only bread winner, my only cook for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Only my mother and me.
My mother so much more than a mother.
A teacher, my lecturing preacher.
A caring and compassionate one of a kind go getter and my best friend until the end.
Only my mother and me.

“daddy, i want to be an artist when i grow up”

“no dear child, you can’t be an artist
you won’t make any money and will struggle”

“but daddy, i love to paint
why can’t i make any money?”

“because artists are poor
haven’t you heard the term starving artist?”

“ok daddy, if that’s what you think is best
maybe i will do what you do”

“that’s my girl”

“i love you daddy”

i watched as your mother
screamed at you for
being unable to choose between
berries or sweets
berated you for your pickiness
and demanded your love
after giving you a treat
you never asked for
i hope young girl
you grow up to be
as indecisive as me
because who says you can’t have both?
who says it’s anyone else’s decision
but yours?
besides
who compares chocolate to vanilla
anyways

When I have a daughter,
I feel I'll have to make some decisions.
For the sake of simplicity,
Let's equate them to poetry.

Limericks are one way to live,
With structure, but fun left to give
Though we'll love each other,
I'll still be her mother,
And that part, I hope she'll forgive

Or we could live like haikus,
Simple and structured,
With emphasis on order.

Why don't we live freeverse?
No rules, no rhymes, no reason.
We don't need those things to be happy.
We'll have each other, after all.

This is simply speculation,
I'm not especially certain
What I'll do when I have a daughter.

The orgiastic abandon,
I had seen that face.
And, at last, perforce
The guilt, the disgrace,
It was not new to me
Though I had never seen
What the source of it
Had ultimately been.
Later I would know it
As the fulfillment of ***
But the child saw it as
Some mad kind of hex.

And if the first one along
Is like I was at the start
The child of another
There is no room in the heart
Of the adopting parent
Who sees in the bearing
Of the child of another
The source of swearing.

And even the birth child
Is not immune from abuse.
Good behavior and love
Simply has here no use.



This is the sentence
Of men and women
Who acquire offspring
When they don’t like children.
They set their minds up
To repeatedly bear them
To avoid askance looks
And any open criticism.

So they suffer and complain
About what a heavy burden
It is for them to have to
Put up with their children.
And if the first one along
Is like I was at the start
The child of another
There is no room in the heart
Of the adopting parent
Who sees in the bearing
Of the child of another
The source of swearing.

And even the birth child
Is not immune from abuse.
Good behavior and love
Simply has here no use.
If a soul-deprived mother
Never felt love of her own
She has none to spare,
No patience to condone.

The woes of these parents
Is of not having any peace,
No time of their own then,
No feeling of surcease.
It’s as if a child born
Has a few years to grow
Before turning into adult
Who will automatically know.

They will know how to parent
This sick, twisted adult one
Who doesn’t seem to like them
Or anything much they have done.
This is the sad tune of those
Who made many awful choices
But still have no use for any
Of the warning, advising voices.

Brent Kincaid
4/26/2019