Autumn Leaves
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
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
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
revised: CMM 2012
Silver Sea
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
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
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
Renewal
unlikely blooming
of the white bouquet of
lilies waiting …
Renaissance from the darkened
dregs of life’s bottom
Morning on the Shores
Sunrise
Morning on the shores
brings you back to the place where
you can hear sunrise
in sequential order of
light, flight and the rush of tides…
it is then I pray.
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
The Climb
One handreaches into the coppice
of the climb becoming a part of
snarled quest of upward journey,
footing
finding leverage on levels first known.
The maladroitness of
my steps pull and
slip
into the summit of life’s challenges.
I sit,
basking in the victory
not even
mine.
Copyrighted: CMM 2008
Eagle and Child Inkling 