Opuss' Dream On top of a mountain where ghost winds moan, There lived a cat who had no home, He was ragged and old and His eyes told a tale Of a poor old cat with a raggedy tail. The cat was called Opuss and his passion was words: #poems of giants and golden-plumed birds, He once had a dream that he'd leave this abode, And live in a place where it no longer snowed. Then one day, when the snowflakes were pouring, And Opuss was sitting there, quietly snoring, A woman appeared through the dark shroud of mist, 'Opuss, your dream has come true!' She hissed. So Opuss came back to a comfortable home, Where he never would run and never would roam, And that is the story, I'm happy to say, Which brought us all here on this poetic day! Long live Opuss!

Warrior's Lament I didn't want to come here But I knew I couldn't stay, I wanted to be safe at home and yet I chose to stray, I didn't want to leave them And have to say goodbye; Although they love and cherish me I couldn't catch their eye, I wish that I could see them , To let them know I'm here, Although they're far across the sea they understand my fear, I know that I must do this- though I often wonder why I chose to leave my home behind To come out here and die. This #poem is dedicated to anyone who is fighting for their country.

Carrier Kite The clouds are stepping stones. Pebbles skimming across a tranquil lake. The kite rides on the laughing breeze, Nothing but a tiny patchwork pocket on the vast tapestry of sky. A stained glass window in heaven. The wind roars and the kite is tossed like a multicolour snowflake through the air. Loosen the string: the kite soars; a bird freed from its cage. A leaf spinning on the autumn breeze. It carries a message to the skies: I can fly. Imagine your heart soaring with the height. Imagine your hopes riding On its back. Higher, higher, higher. The world falls away like doubt. The sky is an empty page, Waiting for the kite to write poetry with its tail. There is a lull and the kite swoops down like a wave onto a caramel beach. The flight is over. Now the kite must wait - until the time is right. Until it can soar again. The wind is its master.

Forgotten It's always there beneath their feet, Beneath the souls that walk the street, Where raging gales and whirlwinds blow, On paths where nought shall ever go, It goes where nothing else would dare, Sees that which others will not share, In crystal crypt and fiery fume, Through darkened cave and haunted tomb. The burning desert it has crossed, And iced the holly with crisp white frost, It lurks beneath the shrouds of snow, And drifts along the ocean flow, It guards the treasure's pearly sheen, Always there but never seen, In the sky or underground, Always there but never found.