Poems for parents and other superheroes

[I’m taking a blog break at the sea. Thought I’d re-share these parenting poems – mostly from the desperate, wondrous baby years when I wrote a lot of poetry. To marvel, and to survive.]

Overwhelmed at 3:00 am

These are the secret hours of the night
When neighbourhoods are dark and sleepy and safe, mostly.
But here we are
Wide awake
Brewing desperate tea
Because we’re just kids
Raising kids
Who won’t sleep


Night stirrings

He cries into my sleep

And my feet find




Dark stumbling passage



Bending down

Smooth sheets warm fleece grey elephant hugging



Now soft sighing tiny snores

Eyelids small pale placid lakes in the half night light

Closed on a smooth angel face

Little heavy warm body

Part of my arms

Swaying silent night


No more crying my love

Mommy’s here.


Two pairs of eyes I love

Blue eyes

Quietly drinking life

Deep gentle stirrings

Swirling in bright sea blue


Brown eyes

Brilliantly staring

At happy-coloured shadows

Laughing in molten chocolate brown


And, some haikus…

But for the grace

Parenting is the

Slow erosion of sinners:

We are grace-junkies.



So versatile! They

Write on windows and floors and

They are edible!


Worms in a box

At last their silkworms

Are hidden in rough spun homes:

Waiting for splendour.


What’s the point?

Post-bath and pj’s

Boys splash in sloppy mud. Sigh:

Don’t sweat the small stuff.



Scott takes off his kit –

Runs wild through party sprinklers:

Oops. Well. He’s little.



We just-just make church –

Scott’s Sunday teeth are unbrushed –

But worship freshens.



Knee-deep in crazy

We long for the thin places

Where heaven meets earth.



Scott has flying ants

In a marg tub by his bed:

The wonder of life



Scott is saying things –

Miraculous pathways form

In his brain: ‘Doggy.’



Our five-year-old son


Gotta love SA


Don’t be cool

Boys, don’t fold your arms

And say, ‘Nothing gets to me.

I’m too cool.’ Rather:


Live with both strong arms

Outstretched – to catch the blessings

And hurt. Really live.



Scott – proud – food spilling:

‘Look! Chewing wiff my mouth closed!’

Cute contradiction.



God, let them see you

As I work shop cook drive talk

About your glory.



Why do boys think that

Burping is funny? Who tells?

It’s like they just know.



The house is quiet

Except for crickets. Mozzies.

And soft slow deep breaths.



God, I’m bruised from weeks

Of snot, fever, and no sleep.

Slowly, life settles.


Scott, you’re ONE

We celebrate you!

Despite your raging fever

We eat ice-cream cake.



We recognise us

In DNA outworkings

Of our little ones



Being a parent

Equals knowing I will fail.

I just keep praying.



Our lives changed colour

When God made you, and graced us:

You’re a miracle.

. . .

Thanks for hanging out here, friend. This week, may your heart-eyes be opened again to bright Easter truth. Like, that Jesus was obedient even to death. That God was pleased to crush him. That by his stripes we are healed. That even in his agony he had compassion. That he understands our suffering and temptation. That death has lost its sting. That when this blink-of-an-eye life is done we will spend eternity with him. That he nailed our filth to the cross. That the tomb is empty. That we are free indeed.

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