By reading this blog many of you may realise that I aspire to be a writer, to have my words published and my work recognised. I have the dreams of JK Rowling but without the imagination of a Harry Potter.
Still I solider on.
I like to think I have the support of my family and that not one of them would compete against my aspiration.
Turns out I was wrong…..
My own son, my very own flesh and blood is trying to knock me off my pedestal, to steal my writing crown.
Last night after eating my pasta and meatballs I received a call, one that made me sit down to hear the words.
“A winner?” I gasped, “of a regional poetry competition? why I don’t even remember entering…”
The man on the other end of the phone coughed, “Not you madam,” he commented, “your son has won the prize for best poem about Peace in his age category of 5-8 year olds.”
Jealously and pride competed within my soul to be the leading emotion, then pride suddenly hurdled over the green eyed monster and took over my body as I launched twin boy into the air and swung him around crying ‘you won you won.’
We celebrated with milk (him), wine (me).
It is with his permission that I give you his award winning poem….
Peace by Owen Blackmore Aged 6 and 3/4
Mummy says peace is a quiet cup of tea,
Dad says peace is sitting on the sofa,
My sister says peace is calm,
My nanny says peace is no fighting,
Grandma says peace is quiet.
I think peace is no shouting
And laying on the sofa,
And playing on the phone.
Peace is no war,
Peace is kind.
My loud baby sister is never peaceful.
The Kid’s a genius!