A poet should write
Whatever he feels right
Though what he does write
May not always be right

He may write a poor man’s plight
Or a rich man’s air plight
Even the blind poet can write
With his wonderful mind’s sight

The readers do get real delight
When they understand what he does cite
A poet has both insight and foresight
So that the readers can happily recite

My soul becomes spontaneously bright
When I read a fellow poet’s nice write
Creativity is  a poet’s divine might
Which keeps his heart and soul light

A poet may not make a wrong a right
But he can depict what exactly is not right
Poetry is actually meant for soul’s delight
There are many such a great poet on this site

My Cuddlebugs,                                        November 25th, 2010

Good night and sleep tight
     say your prayers every night.
Have pleasant, sweet dreams
     of laughing and playful screams,
and of your joyful friends
     flying kites in the wind
or kicking the ball
     through the leaves of Fall.

Remember this
     and it's first on my list
I'll love you forever
     and we'll soon be together
Our bond is so strong
     to try and break would be wrong.
You're in my heart always
     in my prayers all the days.
To not have you here,
     I shed tear after tear
I'm counting down to the day
     I bring you back home to stay.

What's happening to us isn't fair and you'll see
     that your smiles and laughter belong home with me.
Until then be strong
     even though this is wrong
and again soon our home will have laughter and cheer,
     running and jumping with Iron Man and Buzz Lightyear.
So, until that day I too will be strong
     and together we can go to infinity and beyond!

Love,
MOMMY

I went to the Sea today,
hunting stones at Carrick bay.
Grass blurs to rock, water waiting,
for the steady pull
of tide and time.

No child with me,
to see the world in wonders way.
To dream that magic here holds sway.
Rocks might rear into the sky,
gulls great dragons passing high.

Pools, lying still, amongst the wrack,
whisper "enter, no glance back".
Mysteries of ancient deep,
in the soothing dark they keep.

Drink the water, tasting warm,
slip into another realm,
playful fishes open- eyed,
gape and gossip as I glide.

A pocket of stones,
a pocket of shell,
thank you Carrick.
You'll do me well.