Saturday, 16 July 2011


A birthday Thursday – Twenty One today,
first son, Andrew, has games to play;
a book of scary masks to colour;
pirate, alien, monster, mummy.

He can’t see any particular point in
all that tedious colouring-in;
choosing pencils, stay in line,
boring like schoolwork, forced inside

until he gets the notion,
a mask lets out emotion;
a roar, a scream, a drama queen,
exuberance burst behind a screen

of moments leaking a tiny dream
not for hiding - expressing truth.
Out, at last, the real deal
behind a mask – a sparkling me – and you.


  1. That one got my heart. Thanks for posting these.

  2. I've been noticing a resurgence of rhyming poetry, most of which isn't done well - this is done well. good write, excellent observation of childhoods aspect.

  3. I love this poem and your site! You are this week's Tuesday Poetry on my blog.

  4. What a beautiful poem. Holds a lot of passion in the words. You sound like a wonderful father by the way.