This poem:
a poem in two parts by Niamh, aged 10 and Clare, aged 45
for the BASPCAN 2018 child protection congress
I
This poem moves awkwardly.
It lives in the sea, near the shore
where the waves crash
and poetry is swept onto the beach.
This poem eats slimy things.
It has one blunt tooth
and its tail is ripped by rocks.
It swims with small poems
and big poems and songs –
the books are far off in the ocean
which looks plain from a distance
but from the inside,
it’s full of life.
This poem is red, like ore.
It is small and wide
and its eyes are sapphire.
They look straight ahead.
I almost caught this poem.
It was on the tips of my fingers,
I felt its smooth skin.
Though I followed this poem
to the shore
it had gone. It had gone
and the sky was grey.
2.
This poem lives in a slow river
where it’s summer and I am seven
and the river is green
and the dark current scares me
it hangs in the shallows
there are pebbles
and low trees
and feet turned the colour of rust
in the sun through the water
and its mouth is a tiny dot
it flickers off on and on
and its eyes are invisible
but it sees
how the universe moves in colour
and a huge sun that simmers
and darkness I cannot describe
and the rocks are worlds
and the currents are storms
and my hand is a shadow
and cage
This poem is by Clare Shaw and her daughter Niamh which they wrote for the BASPCAN 2018 child protection congress in April.
Clare is our poet in residence for the congress, part of our exciting ‘out of the box’ programme.