Category: Family Poems

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We Three

With all of the vocabulary
In French or English dictionaries
It's hard to find the lexical key
To talk about our group of three

How can a phrase or paragraph
Describe the times that we have laughed, 
That we have danced and gone off script
That we have twirled, or jumped or skipped

The moments when we broke the rules
With meals on sofas after school
The rainy days you stayed inside
And dressed like little princess brides

The stories shared upon my knees
The many menus from our deep freeze
The secrets stored and then revealed
The veggies left after your meals

The homework finished in a huff
Revision time never enough
The songs performed, guitar and drum
Making me a prouder mum.

Friends to stay here over night 
Thus diluting the sibling fights
Clothes to choose, new bags new shoes
Some questions over whose are whose

All these moments that we share
Are answering all of my prayers
A life of love and fun to nurture
I have found and need not search for.

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Peter Newman

In his posh pullover
Uncle Pete, was as ever, neat.
He always had a tale to tell
Wearing that big grin, as well

There with a huge bear hug
Standing on the hallway rug
A starchy shirt a smart new tie
With outstretched arms and sparkling eyes.

Caring about our every progress
Celebrating in any small success
Three generations of us
Lived within his generous love

He shared in times of joy for me
And in the sadder times you see
He never turned away.
With a strength that never swayed.
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The House of Plenty

 Overflowing with life, love and wit.
 The mistress of that house had all of it.
 Bejewelled in a rhapsody of harmonious colour,
 Of warmth, good things, Beauty, 
 It could not have been fuller. 
 Tastes, textures, artefacts, frames, all combined.
 A luxurious love nest In West Bridgford, You could find. 
 All of the details were there, 
 Presented with such loving care. 
 Each year we assembled
 To be treated.In the lap of luxury, we were greeted. 
 My graceful June and twinkling Clive.
 Their love for each-other, So much alive. 
 In sunny weather we would talk together, 
 In a small paradise of garden chairs,
 Tasty buffet wares, 
 Impressive horticultural affairs. 
 Up to date with the latest gadgets, 
 Organised to a 'T'
 A chat with everyone was guaranteed. 
 With such attention to the small details 
 June still made me feel big. 
 My auntie. Interested in me. 
Photo from Shelley Burton.
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The room where love lives.

How many times, when I close my eyes,

Do I go to that room, where love lives. 

My uncle is there, sitting back in his chair, 

A smile, a nod to my auntie Muriel, 

To show such enjoyment at any tale I tell.

All eyes are on me, as I sip my tea, 

As I tell of all of my small victories.

Anything I say is interesting, any explanation.

Met with attentive sighs and exclamations. 

In years to come, with my children,

I re-live the same scene. 

The attention multiplied by ten,

The love, by a thousand then. 

Nurtured in such certainty,

My towering uncle so sure of me, 

A thick warm blanket of adoration, 

Served up with stuffed monkeys, 

To each generation. 

My auntie bustling to refill our plates, 

My dad fretting as we are running late, 

My mum soaking up the moment,

Knowing as she does that it isn’t permanent. 

But to me it was always going to be there,

That room, that table, those chairs.

Everything in its place, everyone. 

The building blocks of who I am. 

I return there now by only these means. 

When I close my eyes or in my dreams. 

To behold my auntie, in all her beauty.

Only kindness, love and generosity, 

As she serves me up another plate of self confidence,

Grown from many a family conference, 

Conducted over afternoon tea.