Autumn Leaves

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Autumn st. mary 2photo

Pumping inside, silent echoes of my heart

racing rhythm reminding me; visceral awareness.

The sense is preciously closer to a more final silence,

as I listen to resounding moments.

It is autumn in my life, and as the leaves fall,

so do the days of color and stillness.

Each day is a lover coming to call,

ticking moments,  pulsating rhythm.

Sweeping the broken twigs,

the acorns in pieces with leaves

rusted across the redwood deck,

I feel the seeds of contemplation.

©  CMM  2011

Halloween

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Witches and apples, fallen leaves and rot,

Has come to this the Hallow night of

full moon with goblins and steamy pots.

The shadows at dusk that pass among trees

of little costumes  of scary ghost among

dressed up monsters of make believes…

An eve of frightening rituals

where all one’s fears are mimicked and mocked

with humor and timeless  habituals.

So call on All Saints , who listen this night,

as the children grow tired from the cold  dark streets,

and guard them home safely from the eve of fright.

©  CMM   2013    All Hallow’s Eve

Moments Soup

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It is the parsley speckles floating in my soup,

 

as I sit looking outside the French doors.

 

Winter’s drizzle leaves traces downward

 

as time has left the traces which bring me to reflect.

 

 

Warm soup lifts in the steam left over

 

from the heat of the pot recently served,

 

brings warm thoughts of a time

 

brought by the seasons of another time.

 

 

A moment on a still chilled morning,

 

browns from the outer doors,

 

the dripping from the roof makes

 

all else in the world un-felt by it’s nature.

 

 

In this morning’s nature of warm soup and rain,

 

I have sat my day’s readings aside written of women’s

 

conflict and strife to feel the privilege testimony

 

that only a morning of notice would allow.

 

 

I think of the histories of history and I go.

 

I go far back to the shadows of Grandma and Mother.

 

I feel their aroma in the warmth of my soup.

 

With a clandestine smile, I have realized the ingredients

 

which made them survive—

 

 

copyrighted: CMM 2005
revised:  CMM 2012

Silver Sea

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Silver lights surround fallen beams cast from summer’s full moon.
Sea is quiet and spreads like a lover in waiting for the ones-to-notice, to linger.
Linger we do, in the dust showered in the reflections of the midnight visit.
Women of generations, sit upon sands that are older than time itself,
Gathering thoughts of times to come, and times that passed as wisdom lingers.
Lingering in moments of contemplation, waiting to be heard.
©  CMM  2012
(Dedicated to my Mother )

Pansies

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Within the winter’s storm, far beyond degrees,

delicate flower has weathered the rigid winter’s breeze.

If fallen snow does come in winter’s frozen ground,

I look outside my window noticing the pansy still around.

Don’t misunderstand the refinement of color, softness and touch

all too many thrust past grace, forgetting strength in much…

©  CMM  2005

The Break

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A slip, a footing,

both pent against the wedge of panic’s doom.

A slice of electrical surge

crippling my stance.

Yanking the distorted foot

out of its pitted doom,

it stops me,

I wait.

A balance of consciousness,

a throbbing searing surge,

I step broken

one in front of the other.

Stepping into the climb,

one step, then two; more.

Top of the stairs,

a morose pause, then endurance—

I continue on —

© CMM 2009

Cowlick

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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