Memorial Day Remembrance

The morning sun rose in cool softness over the gentle Missouri hills,

a morning announced with the calling of the geese as they fly over. 

A special gathering is beginning deep within the hills,

speckled with white uniform tombstones.

Tombstones all a certain size, all to match the other,

rowed to follow the curves, the sloping grass.

Gentle hushed people walking, stopping to look,

stopping to look for; hoping to see.

See the familiar name, the identity of the one,

the lone one they once knew and shared life.

Flag markers are diligently pierced in the grass, the grass that carpets each gravesite.

Cutting through the cemetery a road lined from one end

leans with motorcycles representing a special war.

Significant of the era it was fought in; tumultuous times,

the confusion so related to the war of Southeast Asia.

Elderly men reminiscent of the World Wars and foreign fields

while the innocent children play around Oak trees.

The children that have been allowed,

because yesterday existed and the brave stood tall.

Twenty-one guns… start to sound, one after another,

silent crowds stand in reverence, while children cry.

Taps of the lone soldier, a soldier remembered,

remembered by his friend in the civil war.

Haunting ricochets sound its memory for all that stood watch,

all that stood and listened.

Off in the distance,

the silence heard of tears that don’t cry out.

The tears of broken families, holding memories of their loved ones.

Morning wandered; again, the geese call us back to the beginnings.

The lone jogger wipes the tears; of a Father she never knew.

Copyrighted: CMM 2002

Photo Copyrighted: CMM 2002 See

Rushing tides swell to sounds comforting

restless misunderstandings of life.

The splash of the salty waters cap

in white pillows of foam hitting against

rocks and left over sands from the tides.

No chatter, no explanation, just declarations

of existence as the visitor sits, and waits,

waits for the wisdom that is not ready

to disclose

until the tenderness of the soul

has come…

2026. CMM.

What is your favorite restaurant?

Clean restaurant, clean food.

So very hard to find .

Summer Dreams

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.