Children playing games.
Imagination runs wild
With empty boxes.
Children playing games.
Imagination runs wild
With empty boxes.
Good morning, Kitchen.
A hive of activity,
Even on Sunday
So stubborn and rebellious,
Broke almost every rule,
He never got to bed on time,
He acted like a fool.
Proverbially, he was the one
That if he’d have been the first,
There’d be no other children, for,
He really was the worst.
Mixing in bad company,
He made his parents shiver
With thoughts of what those substances
Were doing to his liver.
But then, at last, he met a girl
Who was up to the task;
Who captured both his mind and heart;
Who saw beyond the mask.
They settled down and had some kids
And learned what troubles are;
And wanting, now, to meet their needs,
Began to raise the bar.
And now he knows the daily grind
Of bottles, diapers, meals,
He wouldn’t change it for the world,
Or anything on wheels.
He changed his life and learned respect,
Responsibility.
And though he still likes to have fun,
No more does he run free.
He sits at home, now, of an eve
And contemplates his lot,
And sometimes, yes, he misses it,
The alcohol and pot.
But then he looks into the room,
Sees children fast asleep,
And realises with a smile,
This joy he’d like to keep.
For after all is said and done,
There’s nothing in this life
More precious than the loyal love
Of children and a wife.
**********************************
My last post looked at the sad side of life and parenthood; how disappointing it can be when children don’t acknowledge and act on the wisdom of their parents. It was probably a bit depressing! So I thought it would be nice to look at the other side, this time.
So often, we focus on the bad things in life, but the reality is that, if we look for the good, we will, inevitably find it. Although I lament the mistakes that children make when they ignore their parents’ advice, I am also keen to acknowledge the fact that many young people can turn their lives around. To such young ones I say, “Well done. This poem is a tribute to you; and to your parents, who never gave up hope.”
She doesn’t know
The pain we feel when we see
The sadness in her eyes
That ought to shine so bright.
She doesn’t see
The tears we hold back,
The worry that racks our minds
Whether she is near or far.
She doesn’t understand
Why we should be concerned
About her welfare,
About her happiness.
She only feels
The anger deep within
That stems from knowing
She should have listened.
She only knows
That now there’s no way out,
Unless she finds the strength
To accept the help we offer.
And maybe, then, she’ll know
That all we said and all we did,
We did with best intentions,
For her protection and benefit.
She won’t accept
That we could know
The consequences
Of a life thrown away.
So now she cries
An endless stream
Of tears that will not wash
The sorrow from her heart.
She only knows
That there’s no going back.
Her path is set
By pride’s compass.

Take my hand.
Walk with me along life’s path,
Through fields of grazing sheep,
Toward the summit’s splendour.
Loaded down with picnic hamper;
Basket full of snacks and treats
That we can share along life’s way;
Our onward, upward hike.
Rest for lunch upon the peak;
Gaze out from the summit,
As far as eyes can see,
And look toward our future.
Wait until the crowds have gone;
The tourist walkers leave;
Then you and I shall rest, alone,
In private solitude.
Our peaceful idyll,
Under bright blue skies
With dappled shade from clouds on high,
Calms our troubled hearts.
You and I, finding peace,
Sitting, resting, talking, thinking,
Of philosophy and poetry,
Of life, and what we’ve made it.
Descend as evening starts to fall,
With shadows growing longer.
Walk with me, along life’s path,
And conquer hills together.