Poems are not toothpaste,
you cannot squeeze another from the tube at will,
bend the ends of words for one last drop,
inspiration comes in waves
and when it wants to do so, it will stop,
you cannot pick a constant crop,
there are times when the field lies fallow
hiding seeds which may or may not grow
if and when they flower
that is not for us to know,
poets feed on what they find
the harvest of a fertile mind

If we choose to be
we can be:

the voice of the voiceless,
the strength of the weakest,
a glimmer of hope for the hopeless,
a ray of light in darkness.

My door
is open
by day
do drop over
for coffee
if you come
this way

my door
is also open
by evening
if you're hungry
join me
in supping

my door
will open
every tomorrow
come in
to chat
to share
whatever
this I'm sure:
our understanding
of each other
will splendidly grow

Knowing less
is preferable to more:
it narrows one's interest
and richer does score