sad poems











they metamorphosis

till ready

to break out

to take flight

wet winged

they emerge alas…

tis not sunlight

they find


Sad thing happens all over the world.

Girls, 10, selling sex

A REPORT on child labour in the country says children entered the sex trade from as young as 10 years.
The report is on the rapid assessment in Port Moresby on commercial sexual exploitation of children and children working on the streets based on a survey conducted between Dec 2010 and Jan 2011 by the University of South Pacific, National Research Institute and the Young Women’s Christian Association.
A total 175 children participated and 161 of them were interviewed using questionnaires. Most of the children interviewed were 17 years old, the youngest was 12 and 90% of the children interviewed were young girls.
“The most common age at which children entered sex work was 15 years (34%) but some of the children entered into commercial sexual exploitation from as young as 10years of age,” the report said.
“Forty-one per cent of the children were sex workers before the age of 15, which indicates that children enter the sex trade from a very young age.”

Click here to read full article


Daddy’s baby & Baby’s daddy

See something





Daddy’s baby & Baby’s daddy

She stays at home,


to ease the pain,

three babies,

and no way to explain.


Her father had,

a bright idea one day.

He needed to show his eldest,

the marital way.


So he told his wife,

pounding fists,

to further state his case.


So now,

She is hidden,



her high school friends

who used to come by

day after day,


from the boyfriend

who came to ask,

if she went away?


from the relatives

who pop up

every other day.


The neighbors whisper,

the tale

of the daughter

who never




They shrug their shoulders

and look,


other way

after all




business anyway.



My Words have flown away


Forgive me my friends but my words seem to have left me.  Please bear with me. I will be posting some of my old poems I dug up.


I will remember you

I will remember you,

every day,

no photos or keepsakes,

But I will remember you make no mistake,

How can I forget,

When my heart has carved,

an image of your face,

When my nose picks up your scent,

everywhere everyday,

When my heart reaches for you,

and is left wanting,

when it feels emptiness in your place,

When my ears long for your whisper,

your chuckle,

your roar,

I will remember you,



No hidey hole

No hidey hole
I try to run,
I try to hide,
there is no hidey hole,
he can’t find,

On tiptoes,
I peek outside,
and wave to my friends,
playing outside,

Shut my eyes tight,
and I’m by their side,
until he yanks my hair,
and brings me back inside.



 Far away eyes,

Runaway mind,



From terrors,



New friends,


 to the ordinary eye,


Another home,

Another husband,

Another life,


Worlds friendlier,

safer than reality,



 where we can’t be

 worlds that hold,

no memories


‘For you I will’


There are several ways to lose loved ones to Domestic Violence.

I have written about one friend. This is another. 

The Feast of Gloom

The Feast of Gloom 

Break the moon in half

rip down the stars

dine with me in this

half lit gloom


Let’s drink to dejection,

bottoms up,


relax in the ambiance

 of hopelessness


be entertained by

the Wails of Misery


let’s hunt

the creature of Gloom

stalk it

chase it

corner it

kill it


Eat up

gorge my friend


let the juices of hope

trickle down our cheeks

SWIPE them away


slurp up sorrow

ahhh sweet sweet despair

snack on despondency





for desert

our favorite bits

lick up

Pity Me

have a bite of

Poor Me

gulp down

Why me

Me, Me and Me