for my babies

I carried you beneath my heart
To feel you move was such delight
And as you grew so dreams did start
I longed to see and hold you tight
So love is born

When time came for your arrival
And pain came strong in waves at night
Silent prayers for your survival
Ensured that things would be all right
And you were here

I gazed upon your tiny form
Checked all your fingers and your toes
Wrapping you snug to keep you warm
I felt we were so very close
I loved you so

And now you’ve fled the nest and gone
Your infant days long in the past
Your growing up has all been done
Yet here you are until the last
Inside my heart

 

this is my voice

what should be my voice
when writing poetry
– therein lies confusion

avoiding metaphor
and extravagant words
– appears too simple for some

while attending rhyme,
rhythm and meter
– others find unacceptable

following my own path
learning and growing all the while
– must be the way forward

because even though I could
copy their ways of writing
– reproduce their style

I don’t really want that
because their words aren’t mine
– my voice is my own

Butterfly Days (a kyrielle sonnet)

Those days when hearts were light and free,
happiness flew from tree to tree,
seemed plenty there for everyone,
like butterflies in summer sun.

The woods were filled with laughter then
and promised kisses sought in vain,
soft laughter drifting as we’d run
like butterflies in summer sun.

Innocence lit by summer days,
filtered now through wintry haze,
such happy times we filled with fun
like butterflies in summer sun.

Those days when hearts were light and free
like butterflies in summer sun.