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Sweet was the time the baby first smiled.
Now, secret is the heart of this broken child.
Perhaps, his mother thought, a little sorrow
would be part of his tomorrow. Who can say?
But deep sorrows became his today.
The tender warm touch was all he wished for,
but where were daddy’s protecting arms
to keep him safe from harm?
Of a childhood filled with uncertainty, loneliness,
he remembered and filled his life
with dreams and destinies to erase the pain,
but alone in the night he trembled and shed his tears
longing for daddy to chase away night’s fears.
The years flew. Now he has a son of his own.
How sweet he remembers when his babe first smiled,
but he cries as he wonders will his son, too,
become a broken child.

Cherie’ Waggie
written 2002
all rights belong to me, the author..

From within it stirs
Barely moving, barely awake
Its breath misting, steaming, warming;
Slowly it stretches
Reaching out
Its tentative touch
As fragile as floss spun glass
Crystalline, beautiful and alive.

Sentience claims it now;
Aflood with rainbow strands
Splashes of love
Chromatic, chaotic, clarity unconfined;
A symphony of angelic chorus
Innocent and perfect in its purity.
Its fractalline beauty unrivalled in grace.

Heart thrumming
No longer pulsing alone
It has twinned, paired –
Alone nevermore.
Touch as soft as a cloud’s caress.
Gentle, calming, soothing, safe.
It is all of this and so much more.

Prove You don’t like to share
Wear your mask everywhere

I’m not tryin’ to be mean
Could you also keep your hands-
Clean
I don’t know you well
But this virus cast a spell

Sanctions set aside
It’s the quality of life
That we all deserve to thrive

And no flag-waving
Misbehaving
Disrespect will take away
The Severity, if you need clarity
We’re wasting away
Disrespecting life everyday

Put your ego away
Place yourself above the Sway

he bud that you nurtured
With love and care
Bloomed it to a flower
Took pride in its beauty and grace
Same flower swayed in
The direction of its choice
Annoyed, infuriated
You took it as a blot
As a disgrace to your HONOUR
And you nulled
Its existence!
How could same hands
That nurtured it to bloom
Be so cold ; so inhuman ?
How could that heart
That was the seat of love
Harbour such hatred ?
How could the mind
That gave lessons of
Courage and resolution
Be so intolerable of
the individuality of
The flower of his own garden ?

Poems are as poems go
Be they long or troublesome
Or be they short and droll
Poets are as poets come
Beloved or not we know.

So if you like it or if not
There’s only one condition
That poets give it their best shot
With or without contrition.
They give us what they’ve got

So if you like or if you don’t
Is really not a problem
What is really what we need
And the only thing is that indeed
Just that we’ve really got ’em.

In any case, that’s what I hope…
Thank God for poets and for their poke
They give us fires we all can stoke!
Food for thought and heat indeed
To tame the winter should we need.

Poems and poets
Two things we need
Thank God for them
And for their seed.
Indeed, dear friend, indeed.

In silken cocoon I roll
Protected by my mother
With luck I will survive
If not eaten by my brother

Barely a new born bub
I balloon to find a home
Floating far, far away
Wherever I may roam

Grounded in a new world
I teach myself to spin
I must complete my web
Before the night moves in

My silk is my DNA
Stronger than rope or steel
My first imperfect web
Set to catch a meal

Do not ask me questions
I have no voice to speak
My food must be liquid
Before I can but eat

Disturb me in my web
I will start it swirling
I can keep it up for hours
Spiders call it whirling

Two claws for each leg
Helps me climb a wall
Man-made things like glass
Will always make me fall

I hope to hide from birds
Your shoe or that spray
I cherish my short life
Each and every day

See me in your home
Do not fret or scream
To me it’s dry and warm
Safe and cosy clean

Do not scream at me
For I cannot hear a sound
Only vibrations do I feel
On a wall or on the ground

I will readily earn my keep
Catching flies and bugs
I will remain in my corner
Away from shelves and rugs

I only have cause to bite
If my life is at stake
Rarely am I fatal
Rarely a mark I make

Do not wave your arms at me
My eight eyes do not see
Ironic don’t you think
How my life can be

I have no nose to smell
Your displaced fright and fear
I am more afraid of you
If I am to be sincere

When our paths do cross
It’s a brief moment in time
What is years to human you
Is a minute of spider mine

Your amazing thoughtfulness,
silly antics, openness,
and loving words
stirred something inside
and blurred the lines
about how things should be
and made me realize
this is a sign
of how fortunate I am
to share just a little
of your time.

Thoughts of this
stretch a slow, sweet smile
across my face
and make me
deliciously
anticipate
our next talk,
our next laugh,
our next embrace.

More than
your sexy fun style,
Your smile
Lights up my world,
with warmth
and Roman Candles.

Even though
you are not mine,
I hope to share
a little more
of your time…

Because you inspire
a Fire
of all kinds.

The core of a carnatic raga
A lullaby
Which my mother forgot to sing or
Which I forgot as I grew up
Mother the sweetest experience in life
The whole Universe in a cradle
Swung gently by a mother…..
A mother fights for her child till the last drop of life
A life which she willingly gives to her child.
The womb, safest place in the world
Very secure, where not even light pierces you.

Life is but a moment; a breathe in a game to play,

where nothing is totally given and memories fill hearts in a day.

It’s where dreams are lost in realness, and mountains are too many to climb;

where money is hard to conceive and people still beg for a dime.

Life is haunting imaginings of things that never where, where the past, the present, and the future,

can be summed in one short word.

Life is wanting something too far from your grasp and reach.

Life is a legendary story, no person or book can teach.

(1969 – by Cheryl Roma Yarek. I was 9-years old when I wrote this poem.)

CHANGE
Necrotic narcissism
and septic sociopathy
and malignant megalomania
are symptoms of a sick society.

In solidarity, brothers and sisters arise
to catalyze sweeping social reform.
With this proactive demand for change
a level playing field will become the norm.