It was the darkness
the divine condition
of power and light.
Dark clouds came to shade
a hill tall among humanity,
The day of divinity changed,
the curtain split.
Confusion reigned
Evil slipped away,
as the curtain split
The Holy day…
Evil slipped away,
as the curtain split
The Holy Day…
A little boy sits quietly at his desk
the summer breeze blows the curtain
from the window pane.
He has become unaware of the snapping of the clothes
on the line from the hot dry Midwest breeze.
The distant trains breaking
the sounds as they clack through town.
He fingers his baseball glove, following his imagination,
of diamonds that glitter from home runs,
and glistens from sunsets after loaded bases.
The smell of leather takes him to locker rooms,
sounds of cheers with
the snapping of the baseball bat hitting the ball.
Symphony sounds that make up dreams
that feed the body and soul of the little boy
at his desk, freckled face…looking past.
Past the ‘hopalong cassidy’ lamp sitting on his desk,
past the plaid sheets spreading his bed,
past the books that pile in waiting for homework.
He imagines all sounds real with promises;
“What a homerun that was!”
“What a pitcher I am.”
Swirling winds of dreams of a little boy
at his desk, in his room…
in the Midwest, dreaming baseball.
copyright: 2000 CMM
(dedicated to a friend who dared to dream)
My Scot/Irish heritage only brings back memories of my Grandmother.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
He often spoke of our little brother,
he wondered what his life
would have been like if he had lived.
He was the only son of a proud Scottish family.
It carried a large burden on his shoulders,
when his Father became ill …
Time carried the loss with him until he was an old man.
He would ride his black Harley and stand by the tombstone.
Always by himself, he would diligently stay on his knees,
clearing the leaves as though it cleared the pain of loss.
He would place flowers , and later say they would end up missing.
So, he would return to place them again and again.
Now the little brother’s grave will grow silent,
the leaves will start to gather, as no one will be there.
The old man has passed on and will not return.
One would hope, they are walking and talking ,
catching up on the past of eternity of all they have missed.
Now, he is at peace, as he has found his brother and
his brother has found him.
A New Year, I sit quietly before the day begins.
The fire flickers and the full moon is on its way down.
I think of the troubles around me with loved ones.
I acknowledge the blessings and quietly say a prayer.
I question if God gets tired of my constant requests.
However, I figure he has an unmeasurable amount of angels listening.
I shall touch an empty glass
to remember those past.
Happy New Year
Tying my troubles with each shoe string,
I grab my sheep’s wool cover coat.
Stepping into a black early morning
of cold winds and silent surroundings.
I pick up the pace listening to
the quiet of the darkness and
the prayers within my consciousness.
I spend time paying attention to
the Christmas colorful lights flickering on
porches and roof tops, and lawns.
I continue to push myself,
checking my watch, and mileage.
My goal is soon to be complete ,
when I start to anticipate returning
back to a warm car.
All the while the darkness leaves
the dew of the morning on my shoulders.
CMM 2024
What are your feelings about eating meat?
I don’t …
However , I do not sit in judgement of anyone who does.
Waking to a full moon,
hung in the darkened sky.
crisp wind swings softly ,
as I gaze toward the silver eye.
Hues of silver cast in sight,
shadows of clouds pass by.
I stop, sit on cool green grass,
and gaze back upon the sky.
2023. CMM.
Music Perfomance, (all instruments ) Prof. Brian Kip Haaheim
Vocalist, Jon Matteson
Lyrics, Christine McNeill-Matteson
Original Score, Daniel Myer
I am happy …
Eagle and Child Inkling 
