Professor Doo-Wop
PROFESSOR DOO-WOP
Your music stopped today,
the doo-wop of the music box.
Professor from the era of the
60s and 70s.
You decided to say good-bye,
quietly without notice.
The songs no longer find
you to lullaby your soul
of rock and roll…
Your smile, and quick wit,
your philosophy of time.
Your reasonings are now silent,
only in your books.
You the mastery of words and oratory,
is quiet now with the echoes of memories,
the music, the readings, the author.
I don’t understand why time closed
your chapter…
© CMM April 6, 2012
Firefly Dance
A hushed moment
just before
the dance that soon
begins.
just before
the dance that soon
begins.
A quiet now fallen,
pitch black still,
the movement
will now ascend.
The fireflies come
one by one, and together
the crescendo
enchants
Their pattern of
light. In a mystical
night they blink
round and around
The flicker and
twirl, circle and
whirl, never to make
a sound
So come with me to
the firefly dance
Let their charming
become your own.
Let them take you
where others have
tried, but few
have ever known
Copyrighted: 2004 CMM
Summer Solstice
Morning on the shores
brings you back to the place where
you can realize sunrise
in sequential order of
light, flight and the rush of tides…
© 2005
Coffee Cup
My favorite cup broke today,
sad to say, sad to say…
It was about a year ago,
I lost the one with Emily and Poe…
But, that is life, it is to be,
cup now cracked no purpose I see…
However, when I think of it,
and ole’ Shakespeare’s written wit…
I will not think of the crack it did,
but, good times, with my coffee instead.
© CMM 2012 
Sweet Tea
Sweet Tea, with a Lemon Twist
The ice clanking in crystal goblets,
glass mason jars and paper cups.
Sweet Tea, poured in the flavors
of the past with mint julep,
and lime slices split on glass sides
Sweet tea with sweet smiles
big eyed girls of wonder
with lace and skinned knees
Running through mud puddles
Looking for their prince
in shinning armor to ride in on a wooden horse
Sweet tea served on innocent
trays of make believes and summer eves
of stars and moon dust
covered with paper umbrellas
of butterflies and sugared rims
to sparkle on her smile when drank
sweet tea glasses of memories
and kept in storehouse of
yesterday’s dream for tomorrow’s
sweet tea…
Copyrighted: 2002, CMM
Father’s Day
I sit on the frozen metal chairs, serving to brace my back,
but not my feelings.
Whipping sounds of the cold wind
carries the wet tapping’s on the tent.
Smells of spring are muted by the unearthed hole
covered now with artificial turf
and mounded piles around the edges.
The box, the gray silver box
suspended over the receptor dug for it.
‘Stars and Stripes’ reminiscent of wars
fought in the past, and forgotten not.
Forgotten days of heroic acts
of wars not forgotten and now
remembered; this daughter remembering not.
Six foot and oh so many tall inches
my brother, sitting close by; silent.
He looked past me sometimes and sometimes noticed
with a reassuring nod he was there.
Not saying too much as people approached him,
this the only son and namesake of the departed.
Deep into his blue eyes and the stark black hair
quickly graying prematurely, I saw volumes not being said.
A southern preacher, friend of the family,
began the eulogy saying blessings over and over.
Dried eyes of the few remaining in black, some standing
some sitting, the wet canvas swayed in the storm.
We all listened, thinking silent thoughts not to be repeated.
Histories of misunderstanding hung in the damp
heavy air, brought by the remnants of winter’s farewell.
The flag now folded is awarded to the oldest
daughter with honors, she trembling in response; cried.
The ” Our Father”, started with the eventual joining of all,
while my earthly Father lay there,
deep within a coffin of ‘no memories.’
I heard this echo, this voice hardly recognizable over the phone,
one of the few times we spoke, “I love you”, he said.
Remembering his words was my eulogy to him
in my unspeakable thoughts.
The blessing, a song, the familiar “Amazing Grace”
a final prayer being said, I never heard.
People stood to speak to the other, and others couldn’t get
through crowded yesterdays; keeping them still.
Stronger spirits pilgrimage with hellos, and talk of the weather,
and “my how you have grown” and “time sure passes.”
Glancing I turn to see the workmen began to drop the coffin
of a man I never knew, they say, “He was my Father.”© CMM 1994
Tombstone
A desert town—
Winds burn past dry skin
blistering by barren sands.
Whirl in motions from movement
crusted by heat.
Cactus offers moist reprieve
if dare you pass the thorny skin.
Opened into wet relieve
from the hot and desert wind.
Echoes sound of failed attempt ,
haunt the nights when all is quiet.
From the pilgrimage of the others,
fleeing in the darkest night
What will, what force, was set in place
among the ash and brown terrain.
The rivers names speak of a time
that now has little semblance remain
© CMM 2012
The best voice over … take a listen.
