Macbeth doth murder sleep

Methought I heard a voice cry, ‘Sleep no more!

Macbeth doth murder sleep,’ the innocent sleep,

Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,

The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,

Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

By some strange irony, the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford will be staging their contemporary production of Shakespeare’s darkest psychological thriller with Christopher Eccleston as Macbeth at the same time as our BASPCAN 10^th International Child Protection Congress at the University of Warwick.

Thinking outside the box

The theme of our congress, ‘thinking outside the box,’ reflects our desire to learn and develop, encouraging participants to be creative and reflective, and to interact with each other.

The Shakespeare connection

Shakespeare will, in fact, feature quite prominently in our programme, with a promenade performance by Playbox Theatre company of ‘Shakespeare’s Lost Children’, and an opening keynote presentation from Paul Edmondson, head of learning and research at the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust.

Shakespeare’s Children remain powerful presences today as the emotions, dilemmas, responsibilities and bond between parents and children is brought into sharp focus.

Be inspired, challenged, equipped

Why not register today to attend the congress, and stay on for a day or two to explore Coventry and Warwickshire and treat yourself to a live performance at the RSC?

Check our congress website for more details: www.baspcan.org.uk/congress-2018/

August 19, 2017

You are teaching your daughter to swim

in open waters

though you don’t know the depth

of the lake at its centre; who might have died there,

whether the pike will scare her or bite her,

if the current will pull her down.

At the level of water, the mountains are higher.

The cold is a world she will walk to and enter

where deep mud is softer than skin.

Let the pebbles swim under her feet!

All the darkness beneath her

is answered by birds

and the trees will be tall and kind.

The sun will light up the water above her.

When there’s no ground left to stand on,

then she’ll fly.

Though the cold makes her teeth ache

she can take it. The rain cannot soak her,

the swan will not harm her. No dead man

will reach out his hand. You will watch her

leaving the shore behind

and the current will flow

the right way. That day,

the water will hold her

and take her far from you.

Now let her go from you. Let go.

A poem by Clare Shaw,

Poet in Residence for the

BASPCAN 2018 International Child Protection Congress

To read more of Clare’s poems and to find out more about the Congress see our website:

BASPCAN Congress 2018

and the water holds you

and carries you

it stops you from going down

and occasional sun

Y Living things scare you –

their dark little nudges

you imagine them,

snake-like and toothy and eyeless.

there’s nothing makes sense

but your arms

the rhythm of you moving forwards

beat and stroke

and sun on the surface

ou are leaving the shore behind.

July 22, 2017July 22, 2017

My mother was a verified miracle.

A poem for July by Clare Shaw, Poet in Residence for the BASPCAN 2018 International Child Protection Congress

My mother was church door where millions entered.
My mother was tower where four kestrels roosted –
my mother was hooded, she plunged and she hovered.
She flew at the speed of the wind, oh
my mother had wings and her voice was an organ,
she was seraph and cherub and throne and dominion.
My mother was bright with flame.

My mother was saint and my mother was martyr
and she was the light floating over the water.
My mother was whale and I rode safe inside her –
I was blessed and I came out clean
for my mother was sermon and she was the mountain
and she was the tree and the nails and the Roman
and her rafters were oak and her stone was all golden.

My mother said Let there be light
and she was the light. My mother was fruit
and we peopled the earth in her name
for my mother was sun and my mother was thunder.
My mother would get at the truth if it killed her –
she laid waste to the nations for me did my mother
and I could not run from her love

for my mother was choir, she was every bird singing
and she was the song and will not be forgotten.
My mother was angel, my mother was fallen.
She suffered the children and fed them on nothing.
My mother was bread
and my mother was broken
and she was the ark. She was darkness. The ocean.

To read more of Clare’s poems, to find out more about the congress and how you can participate, please take a look at the congress website:

BASPCAN Congress 2018