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I live a quiet life with my hubbie, pony, dogs, cats and birds in the mountains on the coast

of Ireland. My hobbies are: Music, Ballet, Art, gardening, writing and nature walks. I can't cook,

 but I grow things quite well I enjoy all forms of poetry .......the more varied the better, I have

six children and 18 grandchildren, whom I adore. My hubbie is the main stay in my life as I am

 rather butterflyish, he helps me keep my feet planted firmley to the ground.

He did it, you know
on that special day,
when the presents arrive
and the tea's almost made;

He climbed on the freezer
and put out a paw,
then he tested the fondant
behind a closed door;

He left tiny paw prints
all over the cake...
my mother then learnt
it was her big mistake;

She ranted and raved
but the cat got the cream,
and my dad was upset
and he started to scream...

the place was in uproar,
a terrible mess, but that
cat , he just sat there,
licking food off his chest.....

Whispered, secrets told
to the winds of time...
Caught up in the race
of life, forever hopeful;
Sublime innocence reflects trust ,
given freely and with a full heart
to the angel of forgiveness;
Touched, not once, but many times
by the hand of compassion,
grace, granted by the word of
truth touches all who will listen;
Reflect the inner strength which
lies within  all who care to search;
As with the winds, scattering fear
to the four corners;
Tell it to the angel who hears all,
who heeds well...the secrets shared.

Cushioned in the bosom
of Mother, her warmth
encompassing all;
Strong arms entwine with
rapture, the fragile and the poor;

Fiery tongue to light the
days and flaxen hair to
bind,the whipping leaves
tell tales to all, a memory of a mind;

Soft, tears of rain deluge
the drought with ever lasting
love, a lovers kiss to bless
this earth, a sight so understood;

Now gathered safe within this
heart of everlasting love, she
guards her young with nerves
of steel, compared, this silken glove;

The dust that falls from skies of
hope, hold magic mysteries, it paints
the earth with colours strong,
from rivers, to the trees.

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This was written by a dear friend of mine

Nighthope

                     c/hange is constant in your
         u/niverse ~ you
                    t/ouch so many with your
               i/mpossible Beauty ~
                  e/ven in darkness, your 
                   p/assion stands proudly ~
                          i/llusions hold no power in your
 e/yes...

Proud member of;                                        

A tapestry of Poets 

Add a splash of colour
to another pale array,
of a grey and dismal dawning
to a new uncluttered day;

With a dash of powered baby
and a daub of sunshine hue,
it could wake and shake
the cobwebs from the dusky cheeks of you;

So, as you wake each morning
and before the rain appears,
collect your thoughts around you
and paint all, without soft tears;

The clouds drift in as pillows,
in their creams and tinted blush,
as the sun creeps high above them
burning orange in a rush;

So, the moral to this story
is to paint the world aglow,
with the palette of pure colour
that we can, all each, bestow.

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