And what do I serve with tea?

Of a cake layered with words - a slice
A croissant with stirring smilies
Quiche with quaint archaic spice -
Fresh from a poet's repository.

In the clink and chime of quills and ***
And spoons that stir the brew of tea
Dark or creamed, winter or spring
Here's to a cup of poetry.

The bakula and the madhumalti
Sway in the warm wind
Watching children play
In stained shirts
With mud-filled nails
Bare feet and beady drops of laughter
Unmindful of the heat
While a dog playfully rolls over
Trying to hold the sunlight
That falls through the trees
A bird flies low resting on the firangipani
Butterflies dance around the hibiscus
And bees swarm happily
Hedges have blossomed with flowers
Creepers tap against the window pane
To wake the forgotten child in older hearts
And tell them that summer reigns

It's a carousel. It's a giant wheel
It goes up and down and all around
It takes me within and it takes me out
I ride. I fly. I soar. I dive
I delve and live deep inside
Into the past. And tomorrow
I am old and I am new
It takes me here. It takes me there
It takes me to your world
It takes me to you.

Loosen your collar,
Untie your tie.
Remove the worrying furrow,
From between your eyes.

Roll up your sleeves,
Kick off your shoes,
A pair of flip flops -
Those old ones'll do.

No thought, no man..
No treasure, no dime,
That brings you down,
Is worth any time.

There, that's better.
Now that you've found you,
Sing your heart out,
And dance away the blues

Listen more often
To the earth, rocks and grass
The roots of trees that go deep inside
And whisper of the past

Listen to the clouds rumble
Thunder and heave a sigh
As they speak to birds of creation
That pirouette in the sky

Listen to the whispers of seashells
The verses of waves in rhyme
That carry the songs of sailors
And hum the melodies of time

Listen more often
To the roses and the wind
Listen to the rain and rainbow
Listen to the soul of things

She's wrapped herself on the wall
With her fragrant pink flowers
In bunches of disheveled disarray

And when the summer wind blows
It sends a gentle floral shower
Of blossoms and scents my way

At night, under the moon and stars
I inhale her. With her I love to be
And though I dally and play with words
There can never be a poem as she.

The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
Its touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
But I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.