Always her fascination
with me
shaving.
This her early morning ritual
observing each action
as if it were
holy.
I hide my face
in foam.
“Santa Claus! Santa Claus! ”
she chants
winces with delight
as the razor
(she gulps)
goes over my bump
without slicing it off.
The shaving uncovers the me she knows.
“Soft…soft! ”
“Mr. Daddy Soft Soft! ”
she gurgles
in a lather of laughter.
“Me now…now me! ”
she pleads with me.
I take the brush
coat her reflection with foam.
I shave her
with the tip of my little finger.
Her reflection sniggers &
she sniggers too.
Later, in the early evening
she appears
bearded in fresh cream.
She shaves herself
with a lollipop stick.
“Me... Daddy now...see! ”
I cha cha cha her
on the tips of my toes
as she clings to my
fingertips
dancing around
the living room.
One delighted
half shaved little girl.
One delighted
soft soft Mr. Daddy.
*******
STICKS.
She clutches
her “sticks”
two twisted twigs
she just picked up
but which
to her
are
precious.
All her other toys
just loll around
forgotten now
as the dinosaur
gazing out the window
where she had placed him
to look at clouds
& clap her hands
&
laugh.
A rag doll
throws herself across a chair
weeps & tries to
remember
the touch of her hand
the smile that never ceased
to surprise her.
She prods herself
with her twigs
chortles with glee
as the twig sinks in
& the flesh gives way
leaving little designs upon her.
It amuses her the way the skin
reasserts itself & becomes her again
whether it be thigh or belly or knee.
“Me drawing on me
with sticks! ”
she announces proudly.
After investigating her own skin
she investigates mine & Mummy’s
delighted with our
ows & ouches
that she “draws” out of us.
“Oh...ouches! ”
she smiles fascinated
that it also
elicits sounds.
And now our little explorer
falls
(still clutching)
asleep
(her sticks)
these
her
most
precious objects.
She
our
most precious
object.
*******
6 O’ CLOCK SHOCK!
Our sleeping
naked bodies
nothing but
mere landscape
hills & dales of flesh
to be tramped across
by the tiny patter
of your little feet
as they trample
upon my balls
sit on Mummy’s
left tit
we both come awake
in total shock.
“Want a cuddle! ”
you announce
in your imperious tones
& despite our
obvious pain
we acquiesce at once
drag you in
slaves to your love
wrap our warmth & our flesh
about you
And soon
all 3 of us
snoring now
as if we were
The 3 Bears
of the story I had read to you
sleepily
the night before.
*******
BOX OF MEMORIES
The years
cover them
as much as
this rich earth
her memories
we dig up
& there
they are
good as new
all the things that
used to be you
buried
in a box.
Even the calligraphy
survives the years:
“TILLY’S MEMORY BOX.”
Your teenage self
takes your 3 year old
left blue shoe
cradles it
in your hand.
You have no
memory of it
only us
telling you
the story of
the memory of
“it”.
How the right blue shoe
was irretrievably lost
on holiday
floated out
to sea
by a so curious you.
Somewhere before the horizon
sinking out of view.
But you wouldn’t
relinquish the left
(and what it meant.)
How you
wouldn’t go to sleep
without it
clutched in your grasp
for a year or more
until we
buried it in this
box of Tilly
things.
A broken rattle
wrapped in silence
a chipped glass heart
wrapped in pink & blue tissue paper
a magnetic elephant
clinging for dear life
to the bottom
of the box
labelled
“TILLY’S MEMORIES.”
I watch you
cry for you
(and I cry too)
for your forgotten self
big unreal
tears plashing
into your open palm
as you
retrieve from Time
the things
that were yours
your frail body
sobbing against my shoulder
like you used
to do
when you
were my little girl
a left blue shoe
clutched in your hand
now
&
then
as you attend
the resurrection of the you
you
never knew
until now.
*******
GIRL SQUIRREL
I wait
for your awakening.
And yes, there are
things I could be(should be) doing.
But.
Now I find
I can’t do anything
without you
and your constant
interrupting of my known world
with the simple fact
of yourself.
I wait
for you to wake
so you
can exist me
bring me
into being.
You stumble
towards me as if sleep
were a net
that still entangled you
placing yourself
against my shoulder
name me
to make me real.
I heave you up
against my shoulder
the little heft of you
the perfect weight of you
like a dream
that has come true
dribbling my name down the back
of my open necked shirt.
I attempt to
dress you
in the necessary clothes
that constitute a walk in the park
but to you
clothes are playthings.
You wear
your pink teddy bear knickers
on your head
big bunches of hair
sticking out where
the legs should be
as you wee wee
over my hand.
“Oh naughty wee wee! ”
you chastise yourself.
I take
an age
amazed at what
Mummy can do in a minute or two.
Finally
with only your eyes showing
I strap in
my little Ninja
& we go
visit the trees & squirrels & swings.
You want to know if
it is a girl squirrel.
I can’t tell
but tell you that it is.
A bird sits
on the swing
beside the swing
you swing upon.
You accept it
not as a bird
but as a fellow
traveller
learning the ways
of this alien world
& how
to control
a Daddy
so he does
exactly what you
wish him
to do.
*******
NEWBORN.
I love
the lullaby of you.
Your voice
cuddles me.
Your laughter
swoops like a swift
little bird
alighting upon
my attention.
Your name
comforts me.
Your words
drip like a honey
I can almost
taste.
Your smile
caresses me.
My name
trickling across your tongue
explodes like fireworks
from brain cell to brain cell.
Your beauty
catches my breath
as if you blew gently
across my face.
I am lost
in a sea of you
caught up &
swept away
by everything
anything you do.
I only
a new born father
just getting
used to
the wonder
of you
being
my little girl.
*******
MY LITTLE SAPLING!
A strand
of light blonde hair
gently blown
back & forth
across your amazed face
by your own breath
held now
in wonderment
as you watch
in the tiny compact world of the pot
the first little
green hair
sprout tentatively
from the black earth
remembering the time
we too
planted it
not knowing
the when or how
it would grow
into oh...
...such wonder
turning your baby blues up at me
barely capable of speaking the words
your mouth
full of awe
you explaining it
back to me:
“It growed...oh...it growed! ”
******
ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND
She takes an old broken cracked conch shell
a dried up Corsican starfish
sand from her backyard sandpit(slightly damp)
dumps them all on her nice clean new sheets.
“I’m bringing the seaside to bed! ”
she announces
her creation
(like a little God) .
Hours later I peeped in
to find her
asleep by her seaside
Dreaming it...for real.
I tuck her & her seaside up
gently
against the coming cold
tiptoe away
trying not wake
either.
*******
I am debating as to which I love more...the beauty of the child's mind...or the beauty of the mind of Mr. Daddy, who can write it all down. Both, in my mind, near perfection. Thank you, Sweetheart, for this 'song of delight! ' Scarlett
One delighted soft soft Mr. Daddy...writing delightfully about every form of love!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My first visit to your site. I enjoyed my first visit. Poem(s) to MyPoemList. I may return later with more comments. I DID read them all. I especially enjoyed tales of blue shoes and seashore to bed. Are poems drawn from your experiences as a dad? ? One omission i think in 2nd to last line. Bri :)