She sees the tears

But doesn’t ask me why.

Just says, “Daddy are you okay?”

With her sensitive spirit

And her searching eyes.

She lifts a chip from the plate

Pushing it into my mouth

Sits herself up beside me

As in her own way she tries

To comfort and placate

My bruised and broken heart

Causing a smile to start

Breaking through.

In spite of my best efforts

To dwell in my melancholy

To remain there.

In my despair.

She’s a source of pain relief

Our very own paracetamol

A natural born entertainer

With energizer batteries

And a massive heart of gold

A wisdom unseen

And a wise old soul

Well beyond her years

Devoid of all the fears

We build up as we get older

The load we carry on our shoulders

I wish not to inflict

My own anxieties

And improprieties

Upon her and our little bird

I yearn for them

To be honest and be free

To travel and to see

The world. And to be

Themselves. Their full selves




‘Ye had plans for me’

I know you did.

Hopes. Expectations. Prayers.

Plans for a better life.

A pensionable job

A stronger faith

Plans that have robbed

Me of time.

Plans that have always proved

Just a little bit of my reach.

A little hard to teach

An alien such as me


God knows. I’ve had some plans too

Lots of plans


Some absurd

Plans to save souls

Preach the Word

Plans to play roles

On stage occurred

Plans to turn my writings

Into songs

My internal fighting

Meant they didn’t go along


Lofty plans.

Ambitious. Naïve.


Not always realistic


But socially fatalistic.

Kept me in my head

But out of touch

Full of dread

Not up to much


Some plans succeeded

Others didn’t

Some plans impeded

Us. So, I say good riddance

Some plans are needed

To go the distance


Behind the curtains

Lurks the uncertain,

The panic; trepidation and fear

As the boards, you’re about to thread


The assembled hoards fill you with dread

As they seek

To be entertained

They can hardly be blamed


The butterflies in your stomach

do summersaults

The nerves swell and rummage

In full assault

On my senses

My forehead sweats

My knees quake

And hands tremble

My voice breaks

As the audience assembles


So you pull them tightly shut

Till a sliver of light is all that remains

And you hide behind them, but

You peek out through them all the same

Curious and overwhelmed

Furious and concerned

With the public paralysis

Borne of this daily self-analysis


Somewhere along the line

I ended up taking a wrong turn

Lost my way for a while

Thought I’d be able to find

The path back. It’s a concern


Somewhere along the line

My boots got caught in the mud

Got pulled down into the dirt

Thought things would be fine

But ended up stuck in a rut


Somewhere along the line

I got side tracked by my own desires

Took you for granted

Talked to you in rhyme

Burnt myself in those fires


Somewhere along the line

I became a shadow of myself

That loomed large over me

And scared me all the time

Now I just sit on the shelf


Somewhere along the line

I found God. Then lost him again

Or he lost me, I don’t know.

We no longer had designs

On each other. Now there’s pain




“Suffer the little children to come onto me”

Christ said.

And boy have they suffered.

Much more than he ever intended

Much more than a child ever should

Borne out of wedlock

Shame on them!

Tut, tut, tut

So ye thought fit to rip them apart

From their parents

And place them in “religious” institutions

Where they were beaten; raped and abused

With impunity

No consequences

Just immunity

To the offences

Swept under the carpet

Robbed of all their dignity and innocence.

By those meant to protect and nurture them

Those self-same children

Frightened; confused and vulnerable children

Have grown up now

(If they made it beyond the gravestone)

Grown up into angry; weary adults.

Broken and battered

But not defeated


Wary of trusting anyone.

Fearful of physical intimacy

Wary of letting anybody in

Behind the wall.

That high; thick; concrete wall

They’ve erected to protect themselves

From any future; potential hurt

Catholic Church

This is your legacy.

Not one of faith

Not one of love

Or hope

But of pain; fear and bitterness


How Do I Tell Her?

How do I tell her that I still love her?



Without saying the actual words

How do I find a way?

Without sounding trite and absurd

How my heart wells up for her, but another

Tired sounding cliché

Slides its way off my tongue

Before I’ve time to catch it

Edit it; put it back in my mouth

Turn up the volume and shout


from the rooftops


How do I tell her that I still love her?



Even though 2 has become 4

And affections are divided out

More thinly than before

3 girls competing for my time

Unfurls an even deeper ardour

Stronger appreciation for her

Woman; mother and wife as I pine

For her more than I have before

How my heart still yearns for her

More and more as time goes by


How do I tell her that my heart still beats

For her

1,000 times a day

Will always feel smart & complete

With her.

In every single way

Because there is no deceit in her

No backing down or retreat

With her.


How do I tell her that I still love her?



Without hesitation or delay

Trust my instincts

Not worry about how it sounds

I guess that I don’t tell her at all.

Without showing it first

In the things that I do

And the way that I thirst

After her. Body and soul

Be there to console

And comfort

Encourage and cajole


How do I tell that…

I’m better with her than without

So I let her in before my courage gives out

Our Little Superhero

Frail to look at from the outside

On first appearance’s she looks slight

But hidden powers lie inside

Her, borne from an otherworldly type of might


Her wiry arm stretches out above her

Pushing towards the sky

Fist clenched. Eyes fixed.

Cuteness is her cape

A bottle of milk,

Her Kryptonite

Astuteness will be her way

Of overcoming evil

Of taking up the fight

Against crime

Against sadness


With her little spindly legs

She pushes herself up

As if trying to climb

Like Spiderman

As if trying to propel

Herself into space.

Like Superman

Our superhero in training

Our very own Marvel Comic book.

Wonder Ava to the rescue.

Our own baby “Incredible”


Saving us from ourselves

And our propensity

For self-destruction

And endless stupidity

Just like her older sister

She occupies our time

From the moment that we kissed her

She occupied our minds


In that way, she has already saved us

Our little superhero from above

Who descended from the heavens

To rescue us from the push & shove

Of society and fills us with wonderment

With her coos and gaze and smiles

Her helplessness being her strength

That carries us through our trials


She blows through the house like a hurricane

Leaving toy blocks; dolls; empty C.D cases

Books and tattered newspapers in her wake

Broken branches and shattered window panes

Fallen slates, that’s where our Grace is

An element of curious destruction. Make no mistake

A bolt of lightning and a flood of rain

She electrifies; terrifies and drenches us

With pride and fear. A sharp intake

Of breath, as she hurtles, like a train

across the floor, with devastating speed!

You just know that something’s going to break

She treats standing still with such disdain

Bats away your hands, with similar contempt

As you try to guide. Nothing you can do to take

The breaks off her constant drive. My heart

Is going to be broken. How can we possibly tame?

This force of nature fuelled with perpetual

Energizer batteries. We’ll never make

Somebody like her again

Our mighty Hurricane!


Written by

And copyright of

Ken Hume






1 mother

3 sisters

1 wife

2 daughters

3 sisters-in-law

5 nieces

Another 3 through marriage


“Blessed art thou

Amongst Women”

They say to me.

‘Don’t have a choice not to be’

I chuckle quietly to myself.

“I suppose I am”

Says I in return

And if not,

Then I ought to be.


Because it’s a wonderful thing

To be surrounded by

So many amazing women

Strong; beautiful women

And this indelible zing

They give to my life

So much incredible femininity


Women, they wreck your head

Get on your last nerve

Talk and talk and talk

Push all the wrong buttons

To the point of overload

And ask so much of you

More than you think you’re able for

It’s only because they care for…



But, truth be told

Without them

There’d be no me

I’d be dead.


For they are

The very beat of my heart

The rhythm of my day

The purpose of my life

Shaping who I am

Who I was

And who I will become


They stand behind each

Faltering; flawed man

Holding him up

Believing in him

When he doesn’t

And pushing him to be


Believe in himself

Get off the dusty shelf

Realise his wealth

And potential

It’s exponential



They make the world go around!


Written by

And copyright to

Ken Hume 29/06/18

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