For My Children

May you find music and poetry
Wherever you live.
May you love and be loved,
And take less than you give.

May you live your stories,
Not just watch them unfold,
And may they be stories
That are worth being told.

May you feel snow on your faces,
And rain in your hair.
And if your shoes get muddy,
May you not care.

May you always remember
The importance of doubt,
And, when you sit by a window,
To always look out.

May your dreams come ever closer,
Without quite coming true,
And may you embarrass your children
As much as I do.




© 2015 Lucy Peacock

Where have you been all my life?

Just another one in a long line
Of final cigarettes.
And like every other time,
They’re placing their bets,
That you won’t be the last.

And yes, before you,
There were many, many more.
But you are the one, my only, my true.
This time, with you, I’m sure.

Only you can fulfil my desire,
And it’s only you that can light my fire.
And I will light yours.

You will complete me, where all those others have failed.
And I will leave you spent, used up.
Inhaled.




©2015 Lucy Peacock

All Grown Up

As a grown-up
(Or as grown up as I’ll ever be)
I should know that there are books
That I might never read.
And that 6 pints is too many
And 2 not enough
And that I already have
A lot of stuff.
And that a shouted heckle
Isn’t funny or daring
And that no-one (or hardly anyone)
Is impressed by swearing.
And as a grown-up
I should realise
That eating that many Jaffa Cakes
Really isn’t wise.
I should know when a rule
Is OK to break,
And I should be able to talk to you
Without starting to shake.
And I should know that the feeling I get when I see you -
That heart-thumping dizziness
That I can’t quite subdue -
Is merely the product of some hormone or other
Or a temporary insanity
From which I’ll recover.

I should know all these things
And one day,
I will.

© 2015 Lucy Peacock