Poetry – In the morning


Not a huge amount to say about this one, apart from the fact it struck me during work and I just had to write the damn thing down before I lost it, like I have done with so many poems in the past.

I find my poetry comes in spells at times – which is a nice little metaphor because despite myself I cannot help but be enchanted by them.

Very self-indulgent, I know.

Anyway, I guess I was just reflecting on having a child who will be born into privilege. I don’t know how I am going to navigate it – I can imagine that society at times makes it really difficult to engender empathy in kids.

I guess that one of my greatest fears is that my child may not share my love for humanity and all it’s wonderful manifestations and idiosyncrasies. I’m sure that over the coming years, my poetry will reflect how this is going.

And yes, kiddo, your Dad wrote this one for you before you were even born.



In the morning


I’ll never know what it’s like
to walk down the street
and fear the echo of
unseen footsteps
that haunt my

And neither will you.

I’ll never know
the foot on my back;
the baton’s crack
on my skull as I
fall to the ground

And neither will you.

I’ll never know those
hunger pangs,
venomous fangs that
weaken me
’til my head hangs

And neither will you.

I’ll never know the
sideways stares,
those unclimbable stairs,
the unspoken fears
of those unaware of their

And, I hope, neither will you.

And while
I know the searing pain
of a mind untamed
held caged
beyond the stark white page
the rage against myself
age upon age upon
age of acting on this
mortal stage –

I hope I can protect you from that, too.


You and I, we’ll never know.
Not really.
But if we see the world
clearly, even through your bleary
eyes in the morning of your

If we let you be you,
if your love is true,
and you see the pain that can ensue
from tortured difference,

then maybe we can look
them in the eye,

and maybe we can
reach out for that blue,
blue sky,
and walk with them, together,
hand in hand.

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