"Sit up dear."
"Do not frown!"
"Cross your legs
And wear a gown"

So many rules
in how to be a girl.
I Just want to play
and learn to do a twirl.

But "Yes mama"
Is all I ever say,
I owe her too much
And by gosh I will repay.

Anything to see her eyes sparkle
With that hint of pride,
Because just as she claims me
I claim her as mine.

We have our differences
But we love each other all the same
If given the choice we would
Take on even each other's pain.

I Love you mama,
and I always will.
Even if when you were angry
Your stare gave me chills.

At least I think twice
before I make a mistake.
What would mama say
If I ate the whole cake?

Haha, I won't
But sure wish I could.
Don't want mama angry
That would do me no good!

There are gloomy sunsets;
And sometimes even the moonlight is enough
A home far away from the place where I live
A scar from the past which I never had
"Maybe  I've  lived  through  this  feeling  bef­ore"
I say, as I try to find a way to escape the castle of my thoughts; a secret door
As much as I feel terrible;
As much as this life has become a riddle,
I wish I could do better to make everything okay
The masks behind which I used to hide, have become a reality today
Who I am now is not what I dreamt myself to be,
Or maybe I never knew what I really wanted to become
You know our lives are so preplexed,
It's difficult to guess, what comes next.

Just because to love,
someone completely,
is not an easy thing to do,
it is no good reason,
to stop doing it all.

Ma Cherie © 2017

She is a rainbow warrior, sweet messenger of peace
Deciphering the exquisite ethos of philosophy
In her inquisitive mind Reason is apace
And compassion is her theology
An artist of the word and image
She is a sorceress and magician
Who makes real a mirage
But nonetheless she is a strange physician
Diagnosing the fallacies
That riddle mind of man
And give him metaphysical malady
But answer him the rainbow warrior can
She stokes the precious flame of truth
To most of us, the truth, aloof

On Sunday’s Canvas
our footprints sketch a path
across the sand.
Out of focus, others dot the beach.
Hands drawn tightly together,
our talk ebbs and flows.

This is Sunday’s Cove,
the rim where rivers end and tell their stories.
Afternoon sea and sky run together until
we are surrounded by what we feel.
Sand shines in a festive way.

Here at the edge of the world,
night is celebrated with wine in a water glass.
Beyond the surf, we do not hear the silence.
We wake every morning to brush new paths.