No chance of rain tonight,
No bogeyman, when I turn off the lights.
A phrase I found and adore with the warmth of your security.
You are the reason I attain true maturity.
I love when you lay down next to me,
Like the high tide of the sea,
You move all the warm emotions inside.
My arms are the comfort you use to seek and hide.
Your nestle holds a true rhythm that hums its own song~
Nothing comes close to breaking this precious bond~
A sweet cradle-song only I hear,
You play my grin, without the strings of a puppeteer.
My heartbeat needs its fix and drug,
Your sweet, charming smiles and hug,
Is all I need to succeed,
You are, my only creed!
A kiss, I give on your forehead,
Into a poet’s world where your blanket a dulcet lullaby,
my arms are your bed.
“Goodnight Sweet Child, Sweet Child of Mine!”
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
A is for Annie Apple Blossom she buds in the Spring.
B is Betty Baby Breath she's such a dainty thing.
C is for Miss Candy Tuft pink-cheeked with hair of gold.
D is Debbie Dandelion who never does what she's told!
E is for Easter Lily she's as white as snow.
F is Francie Fairy Bells who ring-a-lings where she goes.
G is for Ginny Gardenia perfumed oh so sweet.
H is Holly Hocks a Tomboy, she has two left feet!
I is for Inca Lily dressed in colors light.
J is Joanie Jump-Ups, Johnny's little sister bright.
K is for Katie Kangaroo Paw her nails are painted red.
L is Lila Lady Slipper who stays too long a bed.
M is for Merry Morning Glory dressed in pale blue.
N is Nancy Narcissus who trumpets ""toodeloo!"
O is for Olivia the Ox-Eyed Daisy dolly.
P is Patty Petunia, her pancakes are a folly.
Q is for Queenie Anns Lace her dresses all have ruffles.
R is Ruby Rose-a-lee who almost always shuffles.
S is for Sandy Snap Dragon tall and thin. petite.
T is Tallulah Tulip her clothes are so off beat!
U is for Uma Umbrella Flower, sweet and sunny.
V is Vicky Violet she plays with Easter bunnies.
W is for Wendy Water Lily she'd rather swim than dance.
X is Xana Xmas Tree in Winter she's entrancing.
Y is for Yani Yarrow, a girl so bonny fair
Z is Zelda Zinnia, she pinning Yani's hair.
All our girls are fine and strong, so beautiful and brave
Not a single one of them would think to misbehave!
Bio: Wise woman.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013
PINK TENNIS SHOES
I mother always pride galore
until the words from daughter abhor.
Her gentle heart and loving embrace
smashing to pieces. She fell from grace.
Her untied tenny shoe, wrapped and tight
around her bike, could free no might.
Mommy checking faithful each half hour
found her daughter helpless, no power.
Down the hill mommy went
no time was wasting nor was spent.
The wind passed threw my long hair locks
when shock took over from what I got.
Not what I thought from bike I bought
but cruelest words, my life distraught.
From those lips kissed each night to bed
not once, nor twice, but thrice to head.
“Hurry up old lady” from my daughter
how my heart bleed of tears and water.
For no words crueler ever sere spoke.
My shame, the horror on face neighborhood folk.
My tail between my legs indeed
got there, put there by my third bore seed.
And mothers day and birthday too
three days from now turn 45, BOO-HOO!
Never knew my aging beauty fade
would be this hard for the lies I’ve made.
Lies I’ve told to self each day
that children’s love fulfillment may.
So on this very special mothers day
this “old lady” family f--- off say.
Copyright © catherine Reinke | Year Posted 2009
She has eyes that have seen all the sky
a smile that is both knowing and shy
Her brow is humble and also proud
Expressions as soft as a shifting cloud.
She is tall and frail like a river reed
Up until now the forest has been her creed
And words that once flowed like a river stream
Now she must search for what they mean
Where once the forest taught her each simple rule
Now she is thrust to study in a Western school
So her body conveys her intentions devout
She stays rooted despite her desire for flight
She absorbs new knowledge like sunlight itself
All her tears are like rain on this hard gained wealth
This shy forest spirit has blossomed and grown
In quiet moments we know where her thoughts have flown
This is my friend's daughter they adopted from Thailand at age 11.
In one year she was speaking fluent English.
She received-american-veterans jrotc-cadet--outstanding-cadet-award/ last year.
Only one cadet per detachment receives the award annually.
She is also a girl guide and on the Volley Ball Team.
I taught her papercrafts and she makes all her own beautiful greeting cards.
She is a true example of a girl rising.
She misses her sister in Thailand who was kept by the family and often thinks of them all
and is torn between the two worlds but understands she has more opportunity here.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013
Here further down the hillside slope
Down close to the creek with hope
My husband bought a house, land
Fenced in and made many plans
Subdued the land to cow pasture
And planted a garden, fruit trees sure
Fathered another child to call him sir
The creek seemed to like the stir
Enjoyed the children for a little while___
Loved them so that it made her smile
Today she loves grandchildren the same
No girls there are in frills ___tame
The creek keeps on flowing to the sea
The land is mostly stripped of trees
(This is my adaptation of Robert Frost's poem "The Birthplace". I hope that it does not insult
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
It’s such a windy day, what a delight
Daddy says I can go and fly my kite!
We head for the beach to have some fun
Dashing onto the sand I run and run
My kite so blue trails on the beach
I wish it were in the sky out of reach
Suddenly a gust of wind whisks the kite up high
Soon it’s dancing in the bright blue sky
I hold on to the string with all my might
The breeze is strong; the kite takes flight
A tail of red ribbons flutter from the kite
Seeing the kite weaving is a wonderful sight
My legs begin to tire and the wind drops
We head for an ice cream at the shops
Daddy and I have had such a lovely day
If it’s windy tomorrow we’ll be back to play
Contest: Oil Painting 4 & 5
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
My abiding memory of 2015 is of events that are so sad
With my father’s death, it’s the worst year I’ve ever had
It has been the most challenging year for me
But with amazing support I remain pretty happy
I don’t want to dwell on events that have past
My memories of the year 2015 will always last
I want to leave the year on a humourous note
With a true tale of a gift that didn’t get my vote!
Mum and I went out to a local church fete
It’s very well attended and the raffle is great
We perused all the stalls and brought a few things
I got some lemon cake and some brand new earrings
The raffle stall bulged with wonderful prizes
With boxes that ranged in all shapes and sizes
One pretty white gift box really caught my eye
Four ‘Dior’ perfume miniatures for a lady to try
We brought some tickets then sat and drank tea
I said to mum, I’ve seen just the prize for me
The raffle got drawn and mum’s ticket was pulled out
I collected the prize of Dior perfume without a doubt
Mum told me I could have it as a Christmas gift
I was overjoyed and it gave my heart a huge lift
The gift box was placed under our little tree
Its pretty gold ribbon was there for all to see
I didn’t open the box on Christmas Day
Until Boxing Day the pretty box did stay
We were going out to friends later that night
I thought my new perfume would be just right
Taking the pretty white box from under the tree
I pondered which scent would be perfect for me
Upon lifting the lid of the perfume box
I returned to the school of hard knocks
To my consternation and my deep chagrin
There was a void where the perfume once had been
An empty box was my only present from my mum
My gift is that I still have mum, so my poem is done.
This is a true story - someone had put an empty box as a raffle prize!
Contest: My abiding Memory
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
9th January 2016
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
Give me vodka, give me rum
I love the feeling of being numb
Give me a glass of Hennessy
I don’t care, just give it all to me
Everything is getting blurry
Why am I so filled with fury?
Alcohol all day and night
The only thing that feels all right
Can’t live without a single sip
I need the taste right on my lip
I killed myself with a dreadful thought
I’m the thing I cursed and fought
Mirror told me all the truth
I saw myself, I saw my youth
I’m filled with sorrow, I’m driven mad
I am just like my dreadful dad
Can I stop it? I don’t know
Addiction throws me back and fro
Alcohol is my fire of lust
Burning me as if it must
Killing my innards, destroying my mind
All because life wasn’t kind
Trapping myself, now I want to break free
Could somebody ever rescue me?
I need to escape; escape this obsession
The hardest thing is fighting addiction
Stuck on a battlefield, this is a war
I’m falling apart; revealing the scars
Alcohol, deadly love, dark passion
I’m crying, raging and battling addiction
Copyright © Julie Alcin | Year Posted 2013
My world is blessed with a baby Queen
her staff and tenderness fills my life in between.
Exciting and preserving like the lily
adding fashion to beauty with a high heel.
Time isn’t in a haste as it goes slow
shades of monstrous trees come a little low.
Existence of a perfect world is beyond apparent
as I handpick all the blessings of being a parent.
Fortune’s and good luck’s prophecies are allowed
to water my seed and present their cloud.
On her dad’s protection, she’s so sure
embracing all the love using it as a cure.
To mend slight bruises from the rough hill
and grind all obstacles in our secret mill.
Now three years, what a beautiful file
starting with a miracle to continue with a smile.
Growing true, strong and beautiful is my reap
roses and sunflowers on this road, no cause to weep.
More parents will applaud as we stand by
making sure we raise you up to fly so high.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016
Why mother, why must I sleep?
I promise to be nice, I promise not to weep.
All I want is to see the world with my eyes,
To hear people say their "hellos" and "goodbyes",
To drink water and to eat bread,
To rest only when I go to bed,
To help you with work and speak as I can,
To talk to women and smile at men,
To smell restaurant plates when lunch fills the air
but knowing that you still give me my share.
No my sweet daughter, slumber you must.
So I get my bread, and you your crust.
Dream of tomorrow with nonexistent sorrow,
Where the country you live you don't borrow.
Not to war, not to terror.
Where justice is not an error.
There's nothing in this world to see,
Dream of somebody else for you to be.
Now hush, don't nag, I need to beg.
Keep still or my chest will sag.
Your sleepy face will make them condole
so the portion promised me will be whole.
Drink this sweet milk, it has good flavor.
It will put you in your best behavior.
Don't judge me wrong, my present is gone.
But I hope this will change in days to come.
[War refugees in Lebanon often resort to begging for a living. Many begging mothers drug their babies in order to evoke pity from passers-by. It is far from me to judge their actions. I wrote this rather as eye-opener. The war in Syria is not over yet. The current generation is lost. But there's hope for the future.]
Copyright © Timoteo Neves | Year Posted 2016
As I looked upon my Daughter Michaela it was clear to see
Two big beautiful blue eyes were looking back at me
When I got home from Prison and she was 5 days old
Speaking of holding the warm after absorbing the cold
The happiness of childhood was looking up to see
A little bundle of love that was looking inside of me
She would lie upon my chest and then she would fall out
I think safety in her daddy’s arms is what that was all about
She had a beautiful smile as well as a beautiful glow
As I looked at every tiny finger and every little toe
Then when she opened up her eyes everybody knew
“Just take a look at those blue eyes she looks just like you”
No ones knows where life may lead but I know in my heart
Made my end then started again so this baby would have a start
From the darkest night to the brightest light I can help her Soul
Perhaps in the overall scheme of things that always was my goal
I don’t think things are ever quite that easy, only thing I know
When it comes to beautiful babies, my little girl steals the show
Written for the Beautiful Babies Contest.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
The nervous system originates in the brain.
Nerves send and receive signals to feel pleasure, fear or pain.
A baby’s diaper rash causes crying, pain and suffering,
Her torment needs attention , care and buffering,
She is so sensitive to pain, as were you and I ,
The slightest discomfort caused us to cry.
But because this is pain we can not now recall,
It does not mean we didn’t experience it all,
The nervous system is developed in Mom’s womb long before birth,
Of course, most people know this fact, for what it’s worth,
Why else does the babe instinctively move away,
When the medical probe is maneuvered her way?
She does not know the terms “women’s rights“, “choice” and “abortion”,
As she is killed, screaming in a fear and pain filled contortion,
But that baby’s pain simply doesn’t matter in this world of darkened lights,
She missed the boat when the flag unfurled for choice and women’s rights.
Dear child, you are just not old enough to be without pain and fear,
You see, we have too many excuses times one million a year.
May God buffer your pain my little friends when your shortened time is through,
And forgive your Moms and Dads for we may or may not know what we do.
And ask God to have mercy on us self blinded pretend Christians too,
As we vote for politicians who promote killing your siblings and you.
God bless you Chantel.
This is a repost of the poem written 5/01/2010 in answer to a charge that babies don't feel pain anyway so it's okay to abort them.
The news today 4/17/2012 (AP news) reports that the fetal pain abortion law which recently came about in three states because of the scientific proof that unborn babies do feel pain is now under attack because people want to kill the little ones anyway in spite of their proven torture.
Perhaps some day our society will become civilized and history will reveal these acts for the barbarianism that it indeed is. Until then let's keep praying for our youngest most vulnerable minority friends.
-Robert A. Dufresne
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010
The smell would hit me like a slap in the face
My daddy was a patient in that place
I would find him sitting in his chair alone
I wished he didn’t live in a nursing home
How I longed to take him home with me
I couldn’t afford to stay with him, you see
He might wander off and I had to make a living
How I hated doing this for he had been so giving
He worked so hard, he had been a good Dad
Providing for the big family he and Mama had
Now Mama had gone on up to heaven
It was up to me, youngest of the seven
I would feel so guilty leaving him there
I was afraid he might think I didn’t care
His mind slipped away to some other place
Most days he didn’t even recognize my face
“I love you daddy,” I would always say
Hoping he would know me that day
He did recognize me one last time
It's a favorite little memory of mine
He looked at me with clear recognition
He patted my arm and asked this question
“Baby, are you still teaching school?”
I broke down and cried like a blubbering fool
On the day he died, I was there with him
I fed him ice and sang to him a favorite hymn
I wish he had known and had felt my touch
Daddy’s ‘baby girl’ misses him so much
Copyright © Anita Lovelace | Year Posted 2005
My sweetest of flowers, they blossom and grow
From God’s miracle garden, from seeds we did sow
Hair of yellow, like daisies, and cheeks filled with sun
My sweetest of flowers; yet still very young
Each is an individual, though equally special, as well
In our garden of life and love, forever they’ll dwell
They are daughters of the earth, our love to receive
My sweetest of flowers, from love were conceived
Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008
God has a plan,
And it is out of my hands.
Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013
There sits my bonnie girl, frilly, lacy, all pink and pretty
She boasts of an enviable collection of cute stuff - all Hello Kitty!
A pearly, stone-studded shiny pink Kitty bracelet
With matching rings and hair clips to tame her silky ringlets,
A stylish pair of pink comfy kitty flip-flops
To go with her smooth stretchy night wear tops!
A sassy little Hello Kitty cross-sling bag she wears
Pairing up with chic pink-framed kitty glares,
Kitty pencils, erasers and rulers in a well-stocked tuck box
Her fancy kitty pouches and folders she invariably locks!
A multi-compartment kitty wallet to hoard her loose change
All geared for summer with her Hello kitty swimming range,
A glittery Kitty lunch box to pack her school snack
As she sets off with her pink kitty back pack,
Water tastes better in a kitty sippy water-bottle
Pink all the way, for nothing else she'll settle!
She'd paint the world kitty pink, if the choice is hers
Well, I wouldn't be surprised if one fine day she purrs!!
19th Jan 2013
Copyright © Yesha Shah | Year Posted 2013
The more I try to reassure my mother,
The more she suspects...
The concerns and cares I shoulder,
I conceal and collect.
Her ears keen to the notes I offer,
My anxiety she dissects.
Taking on more as I grow older,
Less her fear affects.
Understanding her and less eager,
I share all; she accepts, connects.
Copyright © Misheel Chuluun | Year Posted 2012
Forth he went upon the sea
grizzled and tough as he could be.
But when the old salt came to shore
he'd look for Jenny Lynn some more.
She was lost from him for years;
he'd shed a bucket of bitter tears.
Dreaming of the day they'd meet
the old man had a heart so sweet.
Someday he would find his daughter.
Till then he'd spend life on the water.
for "Sweet and Salty" contest
Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013
To Mom Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
At birth the cord was severed, though our hearts stayed connected,
I’ve seen more beauty in your heart the more I have reflected.
You quilted a Peter Rabbit blanket to keep me warm after birth,
swaddled me with adoration, for I gave you much self worth.
Toddler days came, and Kindergarten days were swiftly gone,
remember the first time I sang my abc’s? It was always my favorite song!
About the time I was in fifth grade you taught me to be a young lady,
for I am your fourth child and will always be your sweet baby.
By the time I was a teen you had taught me my good manners,
the older I became you had faith in me that I’d keep good standards.
Off to college I flew and you allowed me to spread my wings,
I never forgot how you taught me to sway on the playground swings.
You sent me off to be married with a twinkled tear in your eye,
the hardest thing you had to do, was to your daughter, say goodbye.
During my mid-twenties I welcomed a baby girl just like you had before,
I learned how to be a good mother from you, all the love I had in store.
So today here you are, a wonderful gramma to your grandchildren,
just like you were with all of your wonderful grown-up children.
Your warmth and tenderness have become my greatest qualities,
I can only pray my daughter too, will grow up to follow me.
I thank the Lord for your wisdom and faith in my decisions,
may I keep being the woman I am learning from your precision.
Your footsteps I have ensued will always be my greatest treasure,
thank you for filling up my cup and showing me life’s pleasures.
Date Written: April 23, 2016
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
My youngest child taught me something today
That I had almost forgotten along the way
At this precious age the focus isn’t money
Or finding the promised land of milk and honey
As soon as we decorated our Christmas tree
She placed a gift beneath it saying, “For mommy from me”
It wasn’t a gift from a catalog or store
This special gift was so much more
She ran to her room, found her favorite toy, you see
Then placed it in a cracker box and gave it to me
No wrappings or ribbons just the heart of my child
With glowing eyes and a tender loving smile
That, my friends, is how Christmas should be
Because the best gifts aren’t found beneath the tree
Copyright © 2009 Lena “Lolita” Townsend
“…and a little child will lead them.”~ Isaiah 11:6
Copyright © Lena Townsend | Year Posted 2009
No cheek was there, ere so fair, nor morning breath so cool
Red ribbons in her long blonde hair, eyes shining as bejewelled
With movement gently delicate, graceful as a swan
Her mind so nimbly intricate, a smile for everyone
Her spoken word, mellow and light, her voice as soft as sleep
The stories that she told each night, she said, were mine to keep
I saw her grow from babe in arm, as life began to weigh
Blessed with every worldly charm, to woman of today
Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2014
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2013
Mother and father love their plain ponytails and Lionel trains.
Then infancy crawls to scrap knees, tea parties. And headphone blast fast tones accompanied, by the arrogances of “me”.
Old Lionel trains sleep and ponytails worn plain train to feed or seek maternity.
Then mother and father love their plain ponytails and Lionel trains.
How I hate change.
Copyright © Michael Hawk Moore | Year Posted 2014
Living day in
Living day out
Working as hard as I can
To get money to pay the bills
Searching for food for the family
Trying to get through the day
As best as I can
All it matters
Is to get some money
To be able to not to think
How am I supposed to support?
My kids, my husband, and I
It all hits me like rain pounding the roof
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Going down hills
Going up hills
Having great times
And some bad times
You think your life should be easy
It is not supposed to be
Life is difficult for a reason
*MAKE LIFE WHAT YOU WANT IT TO BE. LIVE EACH DAY, THE BEST WAY YOU CAN, LIFE GOES ON UNTIL YOUDIE. BE HAPPY BECAUSE YOU CAN DIE ANY MINUTE NOW. SO LIVE IT UP!!!
Copyright © Mikayla Mitts | Year Posted 2014
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Juice in the video, sick in the car.
Untidy bedroom, scattered toys,
girls playing nurses with little boys.
Dogs' tails being pulled, a cat's on fire,
interrupting the moments of love and desire.
Passing the blame for their little crimes,
playing with frogs all covered in slime.
Screaming their heads off in a plush restaurant,
having a tantrum when refused what they want.
Arriving home late covered in mud,
not going to bed when they know they should.
Non-stop talking while dad's watching telly,
splashing the walls with ice-cream and jelly.
Chocolate stains on their Sunday best,
painting funny pictures on granddad's vest.
Why do parents' voices echo from afar,
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Copyright © Ken Duddle | Year Posted 2012
As I trekked through wilderness
Without solid gold
It's amazing fresh air was my buffer
As I levitated from rough paths of self neglect
To calm seas;I was facing slow death.
I remembered seeing silhouette of You
Your features fair, Your hair resembled wool
I heard You say, "She's one of us gone astray."
I'd gone long miles, with heavy knapsack of sorrows on my back
Folks feared I was too kind; yet they wondered about my mind
At the end of such times, I again saw You
You had servants, and possessions of wealth I saw
Yet, with fear I limped, and missed your train of rules.
I saw Your world of women primed and schooled
Like one of a kind queens
How admirable I thought; such life I'll regain
Though in Your mansion, women reigned aplenty.
You commenced walking my way, with eyes on me
No audible sound I heard, but tenderness I saw
Made me realize, love was on the rise.
One look on Your face, and I felt chased
I was home again
Surrender to Your love.
Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015
I can hear the horses snorting, outside my bedroom window,
Even though it comes, from so many years ago;
Cotton from the cottonwoods flying through the air,
Making whitened dapples on my palomino mare;
The hounds are all out baying, it must be dinner time;
In my tiny little neighborhood, I was never scared of crime;
Family surrounded me, aunts and uncles all around,
It was quiet on our little street, no sirens made a sound;
My cousins and I would play outlaws, and we’d hide out for a day;
Making mighty forts from the fifty tons of hay;
It never really changed much, as I grew up through the years,
And remembering that it’s gone, always brings me close to tears.
(My Parents sold the house I grew up in last year - It still breaks my heart)
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011
reach for phone daily
eyes tear because you passed on
memories bring peace within
mother's love a constant gift
Tell Us About Your Mom Contest sponsored by Judy Konos
Copyright © Susan Gentry | Year Posted 2015
Last night I sat up in bed and prayed a little longer,
I asked god to send dad back for just one more day with great fervour.
Dad was waiting for me in the verandah as soon as I reached,
Seated on his cane chair with legs outstretched.
Suited- booted, neat crisp turban, expectant eyes so tender
The same tweed coat, the warm muffler across his shoulder.
The moment he saw me he fumbled for his walking stick,
Stood up took a few steps forward in a nick.
We embraced each other tight as he planted as kiss on my head,
I nuzzled against his warm coat enjoying the love of my figurehead.
Warm drops of love fell on my cheeks,
Saw oceans pouring through his teary creeks.
'I can't control them', he said chokingly,
Feeling the other's heart beats we clung to each other tightly.
'Let's go to the garden, the grape fruit is waiting for you!'
We walked together slowly over his leafy garden dew.
Dad showed me the new cuttings and saplings he had potted for me,
He pointed to the overgrown grass and said his workers were on leave.
He said,' Ah, for more varieties of flowers!
But the dogs don't spare them in my bowers'.
We smiled and saw the overladen grape fruit trees,
I plucked three grapefruits and said they would suffice with a tease.
We slowly climbed up the steps to our sunny verandah to sit alone,
He asked me what was it that I had wanted to tell him over the phone.
I read out my poem, '13, West Macott Road', a nostalgia shakeup,
Of our ancestral home in Poona where he had grown up.
I was reared up there, too, by my grandparents,
He wept and hugged each other, our undying love evident.
'I can't believe you had this talent and I didn't know about it till now,
You always make me cry with your emotions, but no more will I allow!'
He took out his kerchief to wipe my tears, his permanent flair,
I was still sniffing when I sighted his empty cane chair.
December 10, 2015
Contest: Just One More Day
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015