Running with Pegasus


 

Mounting Pegasus under morning night,

we take to wings of running flight.

Among stars and constellations,

entered in morning night.

A falling star drops just ahead,

a silent wish is quickly said.

Into the mystic morning show,

Pegasus and I have nothing to dread.

Heralded by seagulls awaking,

the birds in faint light start taking.

To song and flutter as we pass,

all a part of the morning making.

This runner’s flight crossed into light

from a mystic morning flight.

Pegasus and I ride into red glow

dripping sun just in sight.

copyright: CMM  2010

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Four Poster Bed


That four poster bed and me at the foot…

was the beginnings of beginnings

and the irony it took.

My Mother’s plight to come back home,

when our Father’s fights,

were all we had known.

Grandparents adjusting

and opening their doors,

no one needed to sleep on the floor.

The nights we laid, kittens in bed,

me at the foot,

as they snuggled at the head.

Quilts laid busy acoss us just right,

four poster jammed,

with three quite a sight.

As we grew older and given each a bed,

I will never forget the four poster bed,

me at the foot and they at the head.

I wonder in life when all things askew

and the trials I endured

whether old or renewed.

If being at the foot of this bed

gave me the will to survive,

in keeping my head.

© CMM 2002

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Cowlick


I was born with a cowlick,

as they say in the South

It is nowhere related

to parts of a mouth.

If you looked real close

nothing laid down.

Hair stood up everywhere

even the crown

People would notice

then look away.

See only the  pretty girls

no cowlicks, got to stay.

But, even born with a cowlick

isn’t too bad.

Cause it won’t make you happy

and it won’t make you sad.

That’s got to come way deep inside

learning to take cowlicks  all in stride.

©   CMM   2012

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In My Garden


There are secrets in my garden

You need but walk a piece

You will stumble on a flower

And a butterfly at ease

Walk but just a couple steps

You almost see them grow

The purple and the yellow

But please walk a little slow

There are secrets in my garden

A prairie dog you might  see

A pansy or a daisy

However please be quiet

Not to disturb the frog so lazy

Or the fountains where angels sit

I invite you in my garden

Where joy is laid and kept

Copyright:  2017 CMM

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Once Was


Summer in the south

Eagle and Child Inkling

It is so easy to look back and think,

coffee on the stove, dishes in the sink.

Clothes lapping in the wind outside the door,

floors being swept with straw brooms stored.

Yelling at the children as they begin to play,

telling them ‘stay close’ throughout the day.

Lazy brown dog, sniffing for the shade,

underneath the porch, his bed he made.

Summer heat a rising and clouds begin to form,

nothing more cleansing than an afternoon storm.

Deep within the south, families all know the others,

where Sundays congregate, sisters and their brothers.

Not much left deep within summer’s south,

most of the families are scattered about.

But, if you drive down an old country road,

where there is only dirt, listening to the crickets and toads.

You might in the distance look down path to see,

a barefoot child, stick in hand, chewing on a weed.

©  …

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