May the rising sun warm your path,
And the whispering leaves sing wisdom to your mind.
May the waters flow clear with peace,
And the oak stand steadfast beside you.
May Awen inspire your heart,
As flowers unfold gracefully and joyfully.
Let the morning greet you with renewal and strength.
May your journey forever be guided by gentle light
And purpose!
To Dear Simar on her birthday
Adorable, charming,
sweet mesmerising smile,
Familiar grace,
twinkle in dreamy eyes;
Essence of wisdom,
unfolding humour,
You subtly touched
our longing heart;
Our son’s cherished soul,
You became our daughter
from the very start.
Watching you together
brings us joy,
For in your happiness
our hearts abide.
O’ dear Simar…
Treasure our love
endless unseen, crystal pure,
Feel in inner sanctum,
realm of myriad realisms;
Soft as mist of rain,
tranquil as moonshine,
Heavens will fall
as you requite.
On this special day,
beneath the birthday skies,
May the eloquent elixir
flow deep to marrow,
Abundance embrace
through dusk and dawn,
Wherever life may take
you both to roam,
May love and laughter
always lead you home.
We raise a toast
to this beautiful day,
To the lovely soul
who lights our way;
May your every dream
each wish come true,
How blessed we are
that life brought us you.
September 1, 2026
© Dr Upma A. Sharma
always abatable from
anyplace but tuscaloosa
cockamamy downstream bunny
descriptive complain brewing
mistaking birthright crisis
meaningfully turmoil tryst
unvalued unpasteurized ureteritis
stewing vaticinate dejection
deflective firm folklore
through gynecologist communications
episodic honeydew gnaw
a crisply blunted
cheeseboard doorstopper looping
merry as can
be for evermore
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
Sometimes I think of all the lives I could’ve lived, all the careers, plans, and people I could’ve met, and I sit with myself and sigh, “Ah, if it weren’t because of him.”
I wanted to be a hairdresser, but he laughed at me.
I wanted to be a cook, but he said that it’s already my duty.
I wanted to be a teacher, but he mocked me.
I wanted to be an artist, but he couldn’t let me be.
Some other times, I think of all the places I could’ve been, all the cafés, the exhibitions, and the little shops I could’ve liked, and I sit with myself and sigh, “Who’s stopping me?”
I wanted to be everything, anything, all at once.
And I remember that I still could be.
There is a workshop tucked away from the sun,
hidden somewhere between
dusk and dawn.
No one can see it—
unless invited.
Some find it during the darkest moments of their lives.
Some arrive after accidentally taking the wrong jeep home.
Others swear they simply followed a page torn from their diary,
carried by the wind.
Every guest is given three things:
a blank page,
a pen,
and one instruction.
Create for the soul your heart wishes to reach.
Every piece finds its way.
I'll wait it out. Paranoia go away.
Now where was I?
Ah here we go..
I could kiss the stars as each one gleams.
Catching my attention, whilst way up in the sky.
If I could just reach high enough, I'd wrap my arms around the moon.
I could never repay you for all you've done.
Thankful I can see you in the birds as they fly by.
Notice you in the butterflies, fluttering in circles.
The bees in the garden, while they wear sunflowers for a dress.
Dandelions are meant to be wished on.
As it scatters, seeds find a new place to rest.
The rain from the sky washes me clean, as my own tears become nysnc with the sounds of such water falling.
The wonders of everyday life. I come to realize as I write.
I sent out a whisper this morning
"I love you, son"
Then, my mind and heart added
"I wish it could have been different"
in answer I felt God's presence and small
voice saying "I am here"
Falling Wishes
Falling stars are like wishes into the
Stars yet so near, but so far.
Shining and fading, how much mass do they compass?
Remaining and glittering like a twinkle in one’s eyes.
Held up with God’s strength
Insurmountable established beneath God’s throne
Wishes fall like falling stars
Your words illumine flecks of gold
like letters from an ancient rune,
not something grown, nor bought, nor sold,
but magical, like stars and moon
Watched carefully, with minds aware
that we enjoy the self-same view
of bursting star-winks, here and there:
"that's ME, My Love, and THERE—that's YOU!"
I laud the sky and hope you hear
from down the lane, though worlds apart,
the thoughts I voice to hold you near,
if not in sight, within my heart.
If this implored request is heard
and heaven honors wishes sent,
then every letter, every word
and every rhyme or heartbeat spent,
will raise your patient star to shine.
Unrivaled beams in fullest glow,
enchanting other lives like mine
with such a spark that all will know.
The warmth of you, a simple soul,
immersed within complexity;
for those like you become the goal
of love-lorn poets just like me.
“Everyone’s different,” says someone born in May
To the another whose birthday’s in June.
“But we all get a “hip hip hooray!”!”
“Every cake’s different,” say tastebuds to a spoon;
A stable table to some disposable plates
As they hear for the first time the table’s same tune.
“Every bite’s different,” say the plates in turn on the table.
“Every different bite’s bitten to a new beat on the first record
That plays when cake song’s sung and cake placement is stable.
The foreground to “the food of love” is to tape record.
The format of birthdays is repeated, results still differing for
Each year’s wish, released like a parachute pack by a ripcord.
whispering
winds
wander
while
wild
wishes
widen
worlds
within.
Halloween faerie God-mouse gave Cheeserella three wishes.
Cheeserella was slow to comply, she had to clean the dishes.
And wipe down the counters, clean the refrigerator and the T.V.
Can you please come back later? She said to the faerie God-mouse, Vee.
Vee was askance; this is not how this fairytale was supposed to go.
There is a prince in a ballroom waiting for you in a dungeon down below.
If it’s just the same to you, I’d rather stay here and finish up my chores.
Cheeserella had now slammed shut many opportunities doors.
Don't shovel a clod upon my head
when I'm dead
or put me inside a cardboard cup
when you burn me up.
Get rid of me at last
with a cannon blast.
Birthdays come, and birthdays go.
As you get older.
Falling quickly like white snow.
But it's always great to get a nice hello.
From those you remember, and who you gladly still know.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Desire for something
yearning for more wants then needs
hoping for the best
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