I see it beaming through the windows
I see it slanting through the doors
It’s jiving on the ceiling
It's waltzing on the floor
It's smiling on the potted plants
On red flower beds and vines
It's quilting skies with gold
And lighting up wind chimes
A silken web is glistening -
The gossamer that's spun
I'll keep my share of sun shine
A pocket full of sun.

You fill in the blanks
Add adverbs to happy adjectives
Make days dance with similes of sun beams
And turn nights into metaphors of heaven
Words become songs
That beat to the rhythm of the heart
Muse and art merge
To become one -
And life becomes a verse

I woke up to a sky of grey
a hiding sun, a rainy day
clouds of hail - stormy what nots
rotund, dang and heavy drops

I said to them, be my poem.

Then the clouds of storm cleared
the golden orb appeared
a rainbow spilled color on the grass
the blossoms sang sweetly - unasked

I said to them, be my poem

To the poor man on the street
and the rag picker with bare feet
the cobbler and the fruit seller
the palmist and the fortune teller

I said to them, be my poem

To a new born and then, flesh on a pyre
the wind that whisks ashes from fire
to the fragrance of spring and the frost of cold
the stench of garbage and the scent of rose

I said to them, be my poem

I turned to love, anger and defeat
laughed with humour and cried with grief
traced the many fleeting expressions on a face
fluid movements and those without grace

I said to them, stay and be my poem

Then I paused, I looked within -inside
into my heart and into my mind
so I could meet myself and know
see and hear, feel and grow

So that one day, I too may become a poem

My hair is a tuft of clouds
Who knows
Maybe I could find an angel
Hidden there
Having fallen from the skies

Sitting pretty on the window sill
Perfect and pleasing to the eye
Facing the rising sun
On a clear blue cloudless sky

Do you dream of open spaces?
Of stretching your arms free
Spreading like the mighty oak -
Or the lofty banyan tree?

Would you your leaves be swept by winds
Your breath carried by rain
Growing in the wilderness
With flowers wild, untamed?

And if I hold you close to me ...
Would I hear your soul cry?
Sitting pretty on a window sill
The perfect potted bonsai

A little tattered
Broken

A little shaken
Shattered

A little scattered
Rattled  

But a little fixed
Mended

A little patched
Stitched

With gum and glue
Old and new
Needles and pins
Tonic and gin

Up and down
Round and round  

I soared
I dived
I survived

With hope
Though a little weary
With a smile
though part numb —
I wait
wondering what’s to come

In a moment,
things change
Rearrange
Leaving us yearning
for a past
That is gone
That plays like an old,
much-loved song
A haunting melody.


Today is not the same as yesterday
nor will tomorrow be
And this is
how life is
For you and me

It’s
Sweet and bitter
Beautiful and aching
And utterly
heartbreaking

Yet the human spirit
In crevices, finds a flower
Revels in the rainbow after a shower
Holds on to the sun peering through clouds.
Catches a smile in a crowd —
I guess this is what we are about

I would be summer to your heart
And ochre autumn to colour days
Winter too, in all her mystic beauty
And spring in her glorious array

I would be the cool summer rain
That gently falls from an open sky
Or the winter's welcome mellow sun
That warms a face with a smile

I would be too, the heady breeze
That dances and sings melodies
The joy of all seasons that lifts the heart
And shields life neath its canopy



Inspired by -
Edna St. Vincent Millay -I know I am but summer to your heart.

He floats in the air,
Swaying, prancing,
Twirled by the breeze,
Moving, dancing.
A dance in the air,
On hidden wings,
In love with the music,
Of the wind.
Graceful moves,
A performance brief,
Gently swirling,
The falling leaf.
For a moment on the ground,
He rests and stays,
Then another breath of wind
And swept away!
Flitting, floating,
Up and down,
Slowly in a ring,
Around and around.
Choreographed by the breeze,
In delight once more,
The breeze and the leaf . . .
The dance, encore!

She sells flowers in little bunches,
Sweet fragrances that please,
Delicate sepals of life,
That softly speak.

Bouquets of living colours,
Petals of inspiration,
Roses, chrysanthemums,
Daisies, carnations.
Accent blossoms, gerberas,
Lilies smiling in myriad hues,
Sunflowers a darling yellow,
Vibrant orchids in splendour blue.

With her touch, beauty breathes,
Glorious blossoms thrive,
Delicately arranged,
Floral expressions come alive.

For new love that slowly blooms,
For confessions yet to be said,
The finest of her finest,
She ribbons roses dark rich red.

Fond good health thoughts,
Through florals expressed,
She’ll wrap with gentle care,
With love’s tenderness impress.

She’ll weave wreathes and garlands,
Blends of wistful white, blues, pinks,
For memories left behind,
Now distant imprints.

In sweet scents, she colours days, months, years,
Walks alone each night when she is done,
Back home, no florid fragrance fills her senses,
To colour her world there is no one.

Grateful for the blue skies
For the warmth of a day 
For soft drops of rain

For lilac buds and trees 
Dancing leaves 
For ocean waves on sandy grains. 

Grateful for what is seen 
Touched, felt 
In whispers heard

The moment that soaks in 
The little joys of life 
Midst the spinning of the world.

Grateful for wine and water
Fruit of orchards
Seasons that shed

For hands that help 
Eyes that speak 
With words unsaid.

Grateful for those who love 
For the wind behind
Feathered wings

For angels that twinkle 
Through the stars 
And the light they bring.

Grateful for kindness 
Tenderness 
Hugs in gentle embrace

Grateful for smiles 
That come my way 
That my fingers love to trace.

Grateful for rays of hope 
That fill a cup 
Then glimmer on the rim

Grateful for you 
And the quiet presences 
For the gift of life and Him.

I love the word melange
It sounds not-so-ordinary  
Though not so extraordinary
But I feel a notch above the rest when I use it
So much so for being pretentious

And without being rambunctious
I’ll say that I find —
It describes, perfectly, the state of my mind —
Some happy thoughts, some with twists
Some clear ones, some fogged with mist
Some good, others amiss
A curious melange of thoughts
Of that and this
And that, I suppose, is also what life is.