Caring Flight

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If there is love for someone let it grow,
lifting, spreading, watching
the wings,
arm lengthen,
letting loose slow…lySeeing the independent sight
taking its position,
pulling against
existence that resist
tight…ly.
leaving for broader landscapes view,
leveling to a different plain.
The new dimension
soaring away
watching you…
Remaining rains left behind
hanging as a knowing…
these rainstorms
seeing dimly
emotions unkind.
copyright: CMM 2003

In the Sand

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I often wonder what he wrote the day he came upon

the stoning of the woman, the men that said she wronged…

 

 

He came up quietly and without pause, looked and said aloud,

“Any many without sin cast and cast it now.”

 

He then knelt a humble stance, and reached among the sand

with his finger began to write something with his hand.

 

He wrote until the he looked back up to see who was left to throw,

not one man had tarried there; they all had chosen to go.

 

He stood from where he had knelt and wrote upon the sand,

and the woman remained, to listen to this man.

 

The man that said, “Go sin no more” freedom now was hers.

I wonder what he wrote that day he knelt among the scores.

 

Was it their sins he knew so well and they in spirit heard,

and dropping all the stones they had, they left without a word?

 

© 2004

Christine McNeill-Matteson

 

Thomas

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Traveling to African jungles,
traveling to embassies beyond,
only to return to the tower
two hours in the fields of Lyon.

Yet, he picks up his armor of sport,
to hunt what is conquered by few,
as within the evening of solitude,
he reads Hardy and Keats through.

What core of mystery maintains,
a will for the isolated soul?
The energy that tempts the restless,
the warrior time cannot hold.

If life is embraced and cherished,
he treasures it with esteem.
He sees his fallen comrades,
and the sword that always redeems.

©  CMM  2007

Pooh’s Place

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I was running and keeping pace,
when up on a hill I saw a special place.

One I had seen and recognized,
It even fit and the perfect size.

This place on the hill set under the leaves,
in hidden brush and comfort sleeves.

Hills and branches and rocks and cliffs
wind so cold and trees that shift.

Leaves piled high and much debris’
but still revealed this place to me.

I wondered if that I should knock,
to say hello would be such a shock.

This place where no one dared to go,
this pooh’s place was hidden so…

to allow the passerby’s to see
a believer of this Pooh’s Place’; me.

Copyrighted: 2002 CMM

Summer Dreams

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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)

RIP  April 2012

Light House

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The Light House

I dared to climb
this Baldhead light
with stones and only stairs

The rickety stairs
the rackety sounds
was I brave enough to dare

Her open belly empty
from years gone by,
smelled dampen, musky old.

The ripened stilted wood stairs
went on forever,
dirt and mossy mold

One height, two
the stairs went on
ceaseless they seemed to grow

Two height, three
the rickety sounds,
the top, where did it go

Four height, five
reaching into the sky
I could only see more ahead

Six height, seven
Light has appeared
Given way from the feeling of dread

Finally when all seemed
hopelessly high,
the light reached atop

Globe, the bulb
the watchful eye,
we had summit the final stop

The island was seen
from miles around,
with sea in each direction

From fields and houses
beaches and mounds,
the island of varied sections.

We left the Baldhead Island
that day, sensing the past
and the sights

But the beauty one
could not see, were times gone
of channel lights

sailors and seamen
who knew when she signal
they were home and soon a shore

The welcoming of
the Baldhead Light
given safety; we ask no more.

Christine McNeill
© Summer 2004

Pelicans Wake

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SI Exif

Pelicans faint notice
line in ordered flight.
Close above the morning feast
at the close of night
Daybreak glow wakes them dine
gliding over quiet seas.
Rippled tides bring divide
food beneath the table please.
Blended pastels, sounds rise
before the world wakes.
The wings of the pelican
glides over morning’s take…
 
 
 
Copyrighted:   CMM   2005

A Visit

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I walked slowly over to see your name,

the ground was wet, the carpet now laid

A Visit

A Visit

It has been six months since I was here,

the day of your interment I hold dear.

No headstone has yet been set,
your little sign has your name erect
A holy ground I pause to kneel,
it feels like church, the moment unreal.
I know they say, you are not here,
but, the truth is, your intimacy I feel.
For all in this world that was a part of you
lays in shroud below the morning dew.
Pinning the roses I brought today
I remember the flowers I sent Mother’s day.
A lifetime ago, a year has passed, so quickly now,
I place your roses on the dew, above your shroud.
Copyrighted:  CMM  2012