Ladybird’s 

It was a cold frosty day

sitting at a small table

just inside the café.

Charmingly name,

Ladybird.

A generation apart

she sat with coffee 

in one hand and hope,

Hopes of tomorrow.

While I sat with 

Coffee in one hand,

tempered thoughts 

of more yesterdays…

Menu stretched from

fried chicken to 

eggs and breakfast meats

without a calorie counter.

The Winter’s sun glared

into the room 

brought warmth and conversation.

We spoke of poetry, hearts, women.

Confidences shared in trust,

wisdom and knowledge 

was the spice as time flew

spent in a diner called 

Ladybird’s Cafe

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Hanging just above

Mystic dawning caught my eye.

Lights across horizon ride .

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a deep expression

Of nature early morning

I glimpse, smile, and pray

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aspirations

Time will see

What the paint brush

Gives to me.

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Pour a glass of wassail

pass them one by one

from the elderly at the table

to even the youngest one.

Say a prayer of thanksgiving

remember those who are gone

pray for the future that is coming

Do not forget a one

Pour a glass of wassail

Do not forget the sick and lame

Drink up with all the promises

that the good life stays the same.

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Two years had passed,

absence of a son

not allowed to travel

not allowed to be seen.

The day had finally come

when I could travel

to see him.

The fall of relief

felt like gravity

swept through my soul.

I then let go…

CMM. 2022

I threw away old Christmas Cards today.

Going through the Christmas closet,

there they were, from dear friends.

Years and years of hellos in December

sparkles and snow scenes with pictures.

They shared their families triumphs,

some sharing the passing of loved ones.

I am not sure why I kept them,

I guess they felt like treasured gifts.

However, time lessons the feelings

as they collect to be too many.

I decided to throw away the old ones.

Few send Christmas Cards anymore,

they have become less and less.

It is mostly done from family

or retired people with more time.

I threw away the old Christmas Cards today

an era of innocence, at least if feels that way to me.

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Summoned under night

The refuge of the soul

Born just out of sight

Labored into hope

Carried on beast and straw

Promises to cope

Rich kings attend

To peer at wonder

As angels ascend

A dark cold crib

Stones for shelter

A mother’s bib

Breath of life

Cattle’s lullaby

Humanity’s strife

The word drawn

Near into promise

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