Mini-humans converge
drawn but not defeated by routine.
So much colour,
movement,
noise -
so much future in one place
cannot be discreet.

Suddenly
I understand.
Quarts trapped in pint-pots!
Spirits simply too big
to fit still-growing bodies.
So much lifeforce
escaping -
shouting,
rough-and-tumble,
temper tantrums -
excess leaking from
unfinished containers.

Later, on the tra...

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Preamble: for this week's Rhymers theme "first", here is my first attempt at a villanelle.

My son, it fell to you to be born first

You turned a couple into Mum and Dad

You sometimes had the best, sometimes the worst

You changed our lives when into them you burst,

And for that day I ever shall be glad,

My son, it fell to you to be born first.

Our parenting was w...

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School swimming lesson

The hell of nineteen wet kids

To get dried and dressed

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Preamble: In honour of this week's Rhymers' theme "children", here is a poem written in collaboration with my 7-year-old son.

Some people say they don’t like children

But they are wrong.

We aren’t the ones dropping the bombs.

We aren’t the ones firing the guns.

Children don’t kill other children.

The guy on the ground, he’s just doing as he’s told

The job that he’s paid f...

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