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My daughter, Holly, is 26, today. Tempus Fugit, when you’re having fun, I must add. Twenty two years ago, myself and my two daughters went on a road trip in a beat up old Mini. I wrote this poem, many years later, about that wonderful time, the three of us, in west Clare with NO RULES. My other daughter is Hannah.

There are no rules,
I told them,
just love yourselves
and respect all others
to be, to do, to say,
whoever they are

 we pointed the Mini, west,
and hit the road where
we can only go forward,
because we couldn’t go back
to a shattered beginning,
to carry away the fragile output
of that relationship

On loan for a fortnight,
set loose in the west
with a sackful of sweets.
No plans, no rules,
a rudderless ship
in choppy waters,
ever onward.

Into a future
with bright days
and a mist
hovering on the horizon.

We laughed, we played
we saw the sights,
explored the Ailwee caves,
climbed the threatened
Mullaghmore
and perched, precariously
on the edge
of the Cliffs of Moher.

The edge of the world,
thinking life had ended,
when it had only just begun.
So I stopped myself
from crying,
learning,
if you cry,
you’ll get what you want
from Daddy.

Out of the mouths
of babes
who grow up to be mums

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2 thoughts on “NO RULES

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