Motherhood · Poetry

When you are a poet’s son

Happy 1st Birthday Charles Isaac Campbell-Reaburn. When you are a poet’s son you are born a muse. I offer a few rough words on this, the day we celebrate your triumphant entry into the world.

One day old


You are star-stuff and gold
– artless words
but a mother’s heart.

I yearn to capture you
to pin down the changing months.
Soft face turning into that impish mouth.
Tiny fingernails forming and
scratching my face.
Those long baby scratches on my neck.

Your eyes scare people
as you stare.
Dark and clear
heavy brown and so bright.

You see don’t you?
What I am –
gave everything I had to get you safely out,
breathing this air with me now.
Learning not to need me day by day.

You defy these small words
and you are so small still.

You overwhelm my logic,
you melt my patience quick.
You catch me speechless  at your antics and
tearful at how you are so wonderful and
so you and
so utterly a person
all on your own.

– A.C.

2 thoughts on “When you are a poet’s son

  1. One trip around the special star
    That lights and heats our earth
    A pound of gold for every day
    Still couldn’t show your worth

    You grow
    You crawl
    You poop
    You cry
    You walk
    You run
    You fall
    You try . . . again

    The year, it started pretty rough
    Your birth was some ordeal
    But now, she told us, love and joy
    Are all your mum can feel

    You sleep
    You wake
    You eat
    You play
    You find
    New things
    In each
    New day

    Your first year in this amazing world
    Full of gadgets left and right
    Has been observed by us thanks to
    The wonders of iPads and Skype!

    You scream
    You gurgle
    You smile
    You frown
    Your eyes
    See wonders
    From sky
    To ground

    So HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY! Price Charles my joy
    I’m so happy that Ashlee and Nick had you, Boy!
    The first time around, you learned how to walk
    The second’s more fun, cause you now get to talk!

    Love, Granddad

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