Circadian Poems

A place to celebrate poetry, poets, and the creative spirit.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Mother Sister

Mother Sister
By Brenda Braene


How often
One sees
That list
In obituaries.

My mother
Is the mother
To my sisters
And myself.

My mother
Is the sister
To Trudy
And Eleanor.

My mother
Is the Daughter
To her mother
My grandma.

My mother
Is the friend
To all who
Cross her path.

On Sunday
We celebrate
Our mother
Very much alive.

Let us remember
Each day
To celebrate
Those who are alive.

Brenda Braene is a frequent contributor to Circadian Poems. Her blog is Poet Meets Muse, and she shares a website with her Jane Austen-addicted sisters, The Three Braenes.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006


By Wren Fallon

The acrid metal blood bile
Rises up in promise
Of gut-emptying remorse.
The hell is release
And a moment of repose
Is discovered.

The racing heartbeat of joy
At the sight, sound, scent
Of that shimmering Other.
It make syou believe
In flight without wings
And natural ecstasy.

A coin has two sides
Janus two faces
A heart two lies.
The love is as bitter
As it is

Wren Fallon has neither a blog nor a website, and that’s the way she likes it.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Summer Senses

Summer Senses
By Cornelia Howe

Fresh squirt
Of green grape
Not yet wine
Fresh not fermented
Provokes laughter
Encourages seduction.

Budding trees
Growing grass
Clear skies
Air caress
Joyous rain
Beckoning stars.

Old books
Musty smells
Hidden worlds
Enticing treasures
Treehouse reads
Summer joys.

Cornelia Howe misses the summer days of youth that seemed endless. She is exploring the possibilities in poetry.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Tomorrow's Dreams

Tomorrow’s Dreams
By Patricia Gallant

Will tomorrow’s dreams ever become real?
Will the harshness of today someday be concealed?

Will I ever know the happiness that I’ve tried hard to achieve?
Will the struggling and the pain of the past and present leave?

Heartache, illness and debt haunt me every day,
Make me cry and sweat; I kneel down and pray.

Today is just yesterday playing itself again.
If tomorrow’s dreams come, I ask you now – when?

The trials of experience help us learn and grow.
Memories that teach prepare us for tomorrow.

But when will that happen? When will tomorrow’s dreams come true?
It seems I’m stuck in yesterday, forever feeling blue.

Patricia Gallant is a mother of two daughters from Ontario, Canada. Her first poem was published in the Toronto Star Newspaper in 1978. She writes poetry when the mood strikes. She meets with a writing group on a weekly basis and is currently working on a novel.