Poem – Girltalk 

My babygirl is growing up, 

She’s stuck onto her phone, 

And while she chatters on at night, 

I can’t help groan and moan! 
She clutches tightly on to it, 

the way she clutched my hand, 

When she was still my babygirl, 

Why won’t she understand? ? 
That phone is her connection

To a grown-up, scary place, 

And I pray for her protection, 

When I see her baby-face.
For she’ll always be my baby, 

Even when shes ninety-five, 

I knew her before I saw her, 

In the center of my life.
So, why must we frown and bicker? 

And weep within our heart, 

Let nothing come between us

No phone will keep us apart.
And then I pause and pray awhile, 

And feel so safe and warm, 

My babygirl will understand, 

One day…when she’s a Mom! 

Poem – Forgive 

Why must love be always tragic? 

Why must joy destroy the magic? 

Is there no place for happy love? 

or is that meant for turtle doves? 
Must bitter tears and heartache be, 

a sign of true love’s legacy? 

Can’t laughter be love’s serenade? 

Why must the laughing always fade? 
Seems to me, love loves the pain, 

and the tears that fall like rain; 

And the ache that lingers on, 

that gnaws the heart from dusk to dawn.
Yet, that ache, that tears the soul, 

is what makes us live, makes us whole.

For every pain, there is a cure; 

and true love one day, will endure.
And on that day, that magic day, 

smiles will wipe those tears away; 

From wracking pain, completely free, 

the heartache, just a memory…
Healing comes and lets us live, 

if only we forget, forgive. 

Poem – For Zee 

I’m growing and growing, as quick as I can, 

According to Heaven’s intricate plan! 

I’m a butterfly baby, I’m heaven-sent, 

My kisses are magic, to an incredible extent! 

I’m dancing thru’ life, each day is a song, 

I write the lyrics, now c’mon sing along! 

My life is a cakewalk, an exciting game, 

My high fashion sense, puts Brittney to shame! 

Lessons are easy, and studying is fun, 

At the end of the day, my homework is done! 

I wake up to Mum, and Dad’s hearty laughter, 

I love to watch them, live happily ever after! 

Our home is a haven, of peace and delight, 

We chase troubles away, and make things alright! 

Of course there are times, when I wear a frown, 

But then I do hand-stands, and turn it around! 

How utterly awesome, how blessed to be, 

amazing, spectacular, PHENOMENAL me! 

Poem – Follow Your Feet

Have you ever let your feet 

take you where they please? 

Have you ever walked for miles

to find trivial troubles ease? 
Once, I freed my little feet, 

I followed aimelessly.

I found myself on paths, 

that once were lost to me.
My feet lead me to a sandy beach, 

My feet kicked off my shoes, 

I nestled in the silky sand, 

I needed no excuse.
Once, while walking to the shops, 

They chose the other way, 

‘Not today! ‘, I thought, perturbed, 

‘I need to shop today…’
My feet took me to a park, 

My feet kicked off my shoes, 

I sank into the dewy grass, 

How could I refuse? 
Once, while rushing off to work, 

my feet paused on the road, 

We stopped to face the old white Cross, 

all in auto-mode.
My feet took me into Church, 

My feet kicked off my shoes, 

I felt white marble, cool & sweet, 

I knelt within the pews.
As I bowed my head to pray, 

and felt the sweet shalom, 

I heard the silence in my soul, 

I knew that I was home. 

Lenten Poems –  Ashes To Ashes 

A Cross on my forehead, in ash, 

reminds me of where I will be; 

when the years pass by in a flash, 

I’ll return to the earth, naturally.
The ways of the world are a veil, 

that seek to berate and to hate; 

that aim to destroy and assail, 

but that too will disintegrate.
And truth will triumph in the end, 

in all its pure glory and might; 

And we will all learn to transcend, 

the grief and the fear of the night.
So, remember, reflect and repent, 

for this precious time is Lent… 

Roann Mendriq

Leaving Leaves – Roann Mendriq

When leaves leave loving Mother tree, 

how wistful sad that tree must be; 

Like when a child is going away, 

unseen, unheard until one day, 

when then again he’ll be come around, 

to enamour all with his sweet sound

of constant talk, angelic laughter, 

that lingers on for ever after.

Leaves they fall down to the ground, 

to meet the earth where they are found

by little birds who line a nest

in Mother tree, wherein they rest.

Returned to her, for evermore, 

nestling within her own heartstore.
And so it is, I do believe…

To love and live, we have to leave. 

Lantern In A Soul – Roann Mendriq

Love lights the lantern in a soul, 

Laughter keeps it beaming bright; 

Lightheartedness heals it whole, 

Life’s journey is well poised for flight. 
But when love is lost, all laughter dies, 

Grief snuffs out every little spark; 

Darkness circles tearful eyes, 

To leave a lasting scarring mark. 
Then the lantern in a soul grows weak, 

No hopeful flicker gleams and glows; 

The flare of fun grows darkly bleak, 

With wicked, weeping, wailing woes. 
Light your lantern, guard its glow, 

And light will lead you where you go. 

Indian Summer – Roann Mendriq

A neon sun, in furnace sky, 

Fiercely brilliant, harshly stark; 

Blazing whitehot, burning high, 

Sweltering sultry, stubbon spark. 
Grasses wilt beneath the glare, 

withering with one fiery glance; 

Defying wildflowers, with a dare, 

to start their annual summer dance. 
Heat saps the earth with gasping breath, 

along the dried and dusty path; 

Where thirsty sparrows cheating death, 

revell in a dry mud-bath. 
Scorching waves with no respite, 

Beware an Indian Summer’s smite. 

India: Land Divine – Roann Mendriq

A land of beauty, land divine, 

All the world’s beloved shrine; 

Wisdom from beyond the ages, 

Ruled by Kings and holy sages.
Soaked in sun’s resplendent rays, 

Chanting bhajans (hymns of praise): 

Washed by monsoons; fresh and pure, 

Cleanst by healings’ mystic cure.
Land of Lions, Kings of beasts, 

dining on Ma nature’s feasts; 

Land of verdant speaking trees, 

Steeped in yogic mysteries.
Land conquered and divided still, 

All according to one’s fickle will; 

Land of the poorest of the poor, 

But rich with treasured souls aglow.
Land of golden deserts wide, 

Dazzling with heritage pride; 

Land of gardens; fragrant teas, 

Land of oceans and silver seas.
Backwaters of the lush, green south, 

feeding from the river’s mouth; 

Crowned with mountains at the north, 

whence holy rivers doth springforth.
Blessed India, God’s own land, 

handcrafted by His holy hand. 

 The Truth About Santa -Roann Mendriq

T’was days before Christmas, the world was a mess; 

Children were doubting, (mine too, must confess!) 

They wanted to know now, how Santa could be; 

all over the world, in one night, you see? 
So, I sat mine down gently – it seemed the right time, 

to tell him the truth, with reason…and rhyme! 

Of course, Santa is real! He did live long ago, 

But not like you know him, to him there was more.. 
He was an old, holy priest, in a sleepy old town, 

Who smiled with his eyes, and never did frown; 

He was called Nicholas and was named a saint, 

because of his kindness, which had no restraint. 
He didn’t fly through the sky, wearing bright red, 

with black shiny boots, and a bell on his head! 

He didn’t have reindeer, pulling his sleigh, 

He carried his presents, the old fashioned way! 
Not as plump as a pudding, he was poor as could be; 

But he loved giving gifts, he gave them happily. 

He gave them in secret, not with a great noise; 

He gave them with care, to good girls and boys. 
Stockings and boots, were kept at the doors, 

Good Nicholas filled them, with God only knows! 

Coins for hot dinners, and cakes for the small ones, 

Warm dresses for daughters, warm cloaks for the sons!
Now, you tell me children, you make the choice, 

Who is Santa Claus? Tell me with one voice! 

Is it that plump, jolly fellow, who goes “HO, HO, HO! ” 

Who delivers x-boxes, right at the front door? 
Or is it that ancient old priest, who was holy and wise, 

Who helped all the poor, with love in his eyes? 

Who might’ve been thin, and wore tattered clothes, 

Who is the Saint here, whom do you suppose? 
And children know truth, when told from the heart, 

For they are truth-tellers, right from the start! 

They smiled with pure wonder, they laughed with pure bliss, 

They were right all along! Santa was St.Nicholas! 
He wasn’t a myth, a fable, a lie, 

A story that grown-ups, dislike to deny! 

He is as real as you, and as you! and as me! 

Celebrating the ChristChild for all eternity! 
For the true gifts of Christmas, don’t ever break, 

They never cause tears, nor any heartache; 

They are Good-will and Love, and true Peace and Joy 

St.Nicholas brings them, for the small Birthday-boy!