Poem for my Daughter on her Eighth Birthday


daughter-at-8-yearsold

Where did those eight years go?
When did our time spent together seem to move at the speed of light?
Vanishing so quickly that the present rapidly becomes memory.

When did you grow so much?
So my back creaks and arms ache when I pick you up,
Remembering when I once lifted you with ease.

When did we start to like the same TV programs?
Laughing like drains at the Cartoon Network.
Yet I used to flee the room if you put on “In the Night Garden.”

When did you become such a sponge for knowledge?
Devouring books and enjoying historical stories.
Making me rack my brains at your questions before I resort to Google.

When did you become so graceful?
Twisting and pirouetting while watching Strictly,
While I with my leaden feet look on in awe.

I know where our eight years went.
They passed quickly because enjoyment always will.
Time never stands still when a father is with the daughter he loves.

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Baby Gym – daughter inspired poetry day 3.


Welcome to the third and final day of looking at my poetry that has been inspired by my daughter.

Now you may have noticed an underlying theme of worry in the posts of the last two days, while I feel that is a natural state for parents I wanted to end the week with something a bit more upbeat so here is a poem I wrote probably around the time my daughter was six months old.

If you’re feeling down or low,
If you’re feeling quite depressed.
Don’t write your life clean off,
It’s easy to cure your stress.
Put a baby in a jungle gym,
Watch them bounce up and down.
Put a baby in a jungle gym,
And play its tunes and sounds.
Then as the baby enjoys themselves,
As they smile and gyrate.
You realise it’s simple pleasures,
That can make any blues evaporate.

Growing Pains, daughter inspired poetry day 2


Yesterday I shared my thoughts on my young daughter, the big changes going on in her life and how she inspires poetry. Today here is another poem which continues my  theme of being a bit worried about her !

On the window sill sits a plastic cup
Which holds a solitary sunflower seed
Planted in the well-thumbed potting soil
By my seven month old daughter.
Though I suspect she had some help,
From her ever patient child minder
As the plastic cup bears her name
Neatly written on a  peeling sticker.
And just like her the seed grows
Struggling to stand up straight
Requiring constant attention
And quite often worrying us all.

Starting School, daughter inspired poetry day 1.


It’s been a busy week here with the promise of it only going to get busier because today my daughter started school and next week she is four years old.

My daughter as well as being the light of my life and a constant bringer of joy has also inspired a fair few poems some of which I’m going to share with you over the next few days.

Lets start with one written shortly after she was born

 

I think about our future.
As I wrestle you into your vest,
Will we be battling some more?
Will I be allowed a short rest?
Will your octopus like wriggles,
That throw off  the bedclothes.
Turn into octopus twists of logic,
Bringing us to mental blows.
How can I say no to a tattoo,
When I have two of my own.
Will it break my heart as well,
If that boy never phones ?
Can I be the cool father ?
The one kids all thinks great.
The one who buys you beer,
And lets you stop up late.
I think about our future,
As I wrestle you into your vest.
As long as I spend it with you,
I don’t care if I never rest.

 

If you enjoyed that heres a few more daughter related poems and I will try and post another tomorrow.

threenager

portrait of my daughter at nearly three years old

the sheet

Three-nager


I wish I could take the credit for the title of todays poem but it came to me via my wife from a friend of hers.

A well skilled user of the silent anti-daddy protest,
Performs Oscar-winning tantrums at a moments notice.
Mistress of any kind of tactic that causes delay,
Every morning in bed you just want to stay.
Daughter we’re learning about each other you and me,
And I feel you’re nearly a teenager, despite just turning three.

A portrait of my daughter at nearly three years old.


Duvet kicker-offer,
Fast yogurt scoffer.
Dressing up lover,
Jigsaw puzzle solver.
Crys crocodile tears,
Over bruised knees.
Generous hug sharer,
Never a grudge bearer.
Sometimes patience tester,
100% natural jester.
Always proud of
Daddies true love.

The sheet.


 

An old ripped sheet
In the hands of my daughter
Can be.

A baby, ” shhhh daddy.”
A sausage, ” eat daddy.”
A scarf, ” tuck daddy. ”
An apron, ” tie daddy.”

It is swung when singing,
Flung when cross.
Hugged when tired,
Demanded when lost.

More often than not
It is thrown over
Daddy’s head.

Who after enjoying
It’s milky smell
Delights with a simple,

Boo !

 

 

As I watched my two and half-year old daughter playing the other day I found myself becoming fascinated by how she used her imagination when playing with an old sheet ( which she affectionately calls ” sheetie. ) So as we played her various ” sheetie” games  this poem came together.

Writer’s Block.


Children’s TV while much-loved
Can be very distracting
And not very convivial
When it comes to writing.
Olive the octopus
Whilst delighting my daughter
Make me put down my pen
And pick up a cross word.
All the while
Trying to get
That catchy theme tune
Out of my head.

 

When your off work enjoying a long sunny bank holiday and rescuing the garden from the ravages of winter the old creativity tends to take a bit of a back seat. Children’s TV doesn’t help either.

Ode to my Daughter


I think about the future.
As I wrestle you into your vest,
Will we be battling some more?
Will I be allowed a short rest?
Will your octopus like wriggles,
That throw off the bedclothes.
Become as you grow twists of logic,
Bringing us to mental blows.
How can I say no to a tattoo,
When I have three of my own.
Will it break my heart as well,
If that boy you like never phones ?
Can I be the cool father ?
The one all your mates say is great.
The one who buys you beer,
And lets you stop up late.
I think about the future,
As I wrestle you into your vest.
As long as I spend it with you,
I don’t care if I never rest.