Monday, 28 January 2019

Three more for my Grandchildren

These poems were published in October Verse-Virtual.

James, Astronomer.

For James Creighton.

He’s less than two
when his blue eyes light up 
with grand adventure.
He lifts off with a slight wobble
and an air of determination.
Soon he is waylaid by flowers,
freesias, cream-coloured 
and heavy with scent.
“Stars,” he says,
bending down his little nose.
Then he’s off again 
to undiscovered galaxies
between the orange globed fruit trees
and the prickly melaleuca hedge.
Soon he is negotiating
an asteroid-littered way
behind the henhouse 
inhabited by clucking aliens.
Finally he returns
and sets down safely.
He has a look of triumph.
Mission accomplished.
And why not?
He’s just traversed the universe.

Captain Baby Man.

For Max Wolfe Creighton.


Captain Baby Man, 
you wave your little arms,
smile and laugh, 
make sweet sounds.
The circle of your world 
is growing out beyond 
mother’s breast 
and the warmth of touch.
A wider world is registering:
bird song, love, forest light, 
tears, water’s sparkle, joy, grief.
Grasp it, not recklessly, 
but richly, deeply, wonderfully,
dear, sweet, little 
Captain Baby Man.


Captain Baby Man, rise on imagination’s wings
high above dull, mundane, fettered things;
roll, glide and play in realms of joy,
touch hearts, bring happiness, be a wonderful boy;
let dullness and stupidity be things you abhor
as, Captain Baby Man, you rise, glide and soar.


For Eleanor Miette Creighton.
Hush, tread quietly and don’t disturb
for here is a moment to always treasure.
Eleanor Miette, though she’s less than one
is looking at books and chatting with pleasure.

Hush, tread quietly and softly retreat,
tiptoe so gently from this place.
Who for a moment would ever disturb
the look of pure joy all over her face.

Hush, tread quietly and don’t disturb,
yet linger a moment for one last little look,
for this little girl, though she’s less than one
is lost in the world of a wonderful book.

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