Monday 4 September 2017

Poetry Monday: Parents (And The Ones Who Make Them Parents)

It's Poetry Monday! Join Diane at On the Alberta/Montana Border, Delores at Mumblings and me, as we write, re-write, gnash our teeth, sweat and swear (or is that just me?) to complete our offerings. Joan (of Devon) has also joined us! She will be posting her poem in the comments here each week as she does not have her own blog.

Other readers have also joined in from time to time and your contributions are always welcome. Leave a poem in the comments on any of our blogs, or if you'd rather post it on your own blog, leave us a link in the comments so we can come trooping over and cheer you on.

Diane has been giving us a topic each week, and you can use it for inspiration or you can write about something completely different. The aim is to have fun and stretch our skills.

This week I thought the topic of "Parents" would be a piece of cake. I have parents, I am a parent, lots of material to choose from, this thing will write itself ...

I persisted in thinking this all week, even though ONLY ONCE has the topic been a piece of cake for me, and as it turns out, this week fell in with the majority.

But persistence finally won the day. Being donkey-stubborn can be good as well as annoying.

For your amusement, may I present:

You Think It's Bad Now? Just You Wait

The story is as old as time:
Boy meets girl and it's sublime.
Nature is what nature be,
And soon the one plus one is three.

For something oh so natural,
It's scarily incredible,
How one small person in the nest
Can make its parents feel helpless.

Feeding, burping, changing onesies -
(Side note: nothing rhymes with "onesies") -
These are skills they never had
But now they need them - need them bad.

Broken sleep makes thinking hazy.
Non-stop crying makes parents crazy.
No time to eat or have a shower -
For such a wee one, oh! such power!

Don't fret too much, new mom and dad;
Baby care is not so bad.
Enjoy these moments, by all means ...
. . . 'Cause babies grow up to be teens.


Let us recap:

Even this sweet baby ...

... will turn into a moody, whiny ...

... or maybe lazy teen ...

... before finally turning into a mature, productive member of society.

P. S. I know many teens who are already more grown up than I am. I am making liberal use of stereotypes in this post, and I hang my head in shame and apologize.

All photos courtesy of Pixabay, with appreciation.


River said...

I like your oh-so-true poem very much and I love the cat photos :)

Elephant's Child said...

Love it.
As a non-parent consider me awed. Such an important job, such a difficult job. And sometimes (at the time) a totally unrewarding job. The dividends come later. Much later.

Anonymous said...

So true, especially the line, "For such a wee one, oh! such power!". We have a four month old grand-daughter and when she cries, boy does she cry and loud, until we work out what it is she wants as it isn't always obvious.
This had me thinking too and decided to go with other types of parenting.


As parents we do our best,
To nurture and prepare our young,
Getting ready for their future,
Climbing a ladder, rung by rung.

A little bird high up in the tree
Is teaching its young how to fly,
But it takes a lot of nerve
For a little one to launch to the sky.

There's the lion and lioness,
Taking their cubs out to dinner,
Showing them the way it's done,
So pay attention and be a winner.

A baby elephant grabs the tail
Of his father who is leading the way,
Deep into the unknown jungle,
To stay safe he must hold on and obey.

A monkey checking her young,
For bugs attached to their hair.
Giving a thorough grooming
And eating what shouldn't be there.

So it is with all parents,
We nurture, guide and teach,
To help them on the right paths,
When for our hands they reach.

PS Over here we call onesies baby-gros, but I think more people, especially the young ones, are calling them onesies because of the onesies that adult women sometimes wear.
Have a good week.

Joan (Devon)

only slightly confused said...

It says it all.......each stage has its own difficulties but at least as tiny babies who need lots of care they are still portable. Once they find their voices, its all over lol.

Red said...

I think I've been down this road! I wouldn' have missed it!

jenny_o said...

Thanks, River :)

jenny_o said...

... and sometimes never, for some parents. Sadly.

jenny_o said...

Wonderful! It crossed my mind to write about animal parents too, but it seemed overwhelming! You did it well.

And - shoot! I could have rhymed baby-gros!

jenny_o said...

I remember as a young parent hearing an older parent say "when they're little, their problems are little; when they get big, their problems get big, too" and it was true :)

jenny_o said...

For all the work, it's an experience like no other, isn't it, Red?

Martha said...

HAHAHA! This was funny. I've been down this road twice and would do it all over again!

dinthebeast said...

Never had or wanted any kids, knowing full well they'd do to me what I (and my siblings) did to my parents...

-Doug in Oakland

jenny_o said...

That speaks well for both you and your kids, Martha!

jenny_o said...

Hah! yep. The acorn doesn't fall from the tree, or something like that :)

Janie Junebug said...

Excellent poem. What rhymes with onesies? Funzies; bunzies; mumzies; nunzies; punzies; I have the runzies; it weighed tonzies; wonzies; I'm donezies.


e said...

This acorn has spent her life trying not to be like the people who made her...Has she succeeded? Only time will tell...

Geo. said...

Excellent and honest poem, Jenny. We raised four to go play an work in the world. I consider it the most important work I've ever been involved in. I wrote a poem a couple hours ago about a larger family --what it necessarily shares-- and how I view the world as a parent and grandparent. I invite you to visit "Gardening With Geo." ---

dinthebeast said...

But on the subject of poetry, here's a poem the Rude Pundit posted on his blog for Labor Day, called "Grease & Salt" by Jeanann Verlee:

-Doug in Oakland

jenny_o said...

I really like that - and it's something most of us don't really think about, or don't think about enough. There are so many people behind the scenes. Thanks for that, Doug.

jenny_o said...

Hahaha! Where were you when I was writing the darn thing? :)

jenny_o said...

Some acorns DO end up far from their parents, e - you're right. Sometimes by chance, but often by hard work.

jenny_o said...

Thank you for the important thoughts in your poem, Geo. Nicely done.

Janie Junebug said...

I was right here in my favorite chair with Franklin and Penelope next to me.

Jono said...

Nature or nurture? Either way it's your parents' fault. Fine poetry abounds.

Terry said...

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
It's so much fun,
When you go to the zoo.

There's green ones and blue ones,
And orange ones too.
So many sweeties,
But what can you do.?

Mummy's in charge,
When you go to the zoo.
She pushes and pulls you in this buggy you feel safe,
You can't stroke the lion,

You'll just have to wave.
Everything is easy and so fun to do,
When you take a trip to the zoo.
There's monkeys and zebras doing all sorts of things,
And then you can play on the swings.

jenny_o said...

I should've emailed you for your input :)

jenny_o said...

True ... true :)

jenny_o said...

Mummy's in charge all right ... until the kids get tired and cranky ... :)

Thanks for joining in, Terry!

Love Affair with Food said...

Well written. Your words evoked thoughts and memories.

jenny_o said...

Thanks for reading!

Diane Stringam Tolley said...

Parents are alike all over. Although I will admit I've never eaten anything I've picked off a child!

Diane Stringam Tolley said...

There's always hope! ;)

jenny_o said...


Yorkshire Pudding said...

You have seen this poem already Jenny but I have slightly revised it now...

A Summer Lament

She slipped away like an ocean tide
- Only flotsam remains.
We feel her passing in our bones
Recall acrobatic swallows
And those bleating lambs
Growing fat upon the sward.
Green she was in those golden days
When dusk and dawn conspired
And gaudy hollyhocks greeted bees
As swans steered cygnets in flotillas
And cauliflower clouds lumbered
Cross the cobalt blue.
Yes. She has gone.
Another season slips in
Like an ocean tide
Quietly concealing all
- Till only remembrance remains.

jenny_o said...

It's still lovely (and I can't figure out what has changed) - thanks for coming over and posting it here, YP.

baili said...

I found your beautiful poem "Incredible" Jenny!!!

wisely and smartly you dealt with topic.

i wish i could have command on my brain for creativity as you do.

Business of life is tiring and sometime exhausting so when i sit i only try to compose myself to get ready to face the battle again

Diane Henders said...

Love your poem! I don't have kids of my own, and I have enormous respect for anyone who's managed to guide their children successfully to adulthood! (But I think I'd prefer the feline version of parenthood - only a few months, and then they're on their own.) ;-)

jenny_o said...

Baili, when I had children the ages of your children, I felt exactly the same way! The time will come when you have freedom to sit and dream, and your poetry brain will return, I am sure of it :)

jenny_o said...

On the other hand, a dog or cat as a pet can be like a naughty toddler their WHOLE LIFE ... whereas kids tend to grow up (finally) and become responsible for themselves! Maybe that's just our cats?

Diane Henders said...

Right, I'd forgotten about that part. I guess I was thinking about it from the female cat's point of view. Wean them and hand 'em over to the humans when they're still tiny and deceptively cute... ;-)