Tick, ticking striking out of the past,
no one hears the silent sounds
of the before, setting tones of today.
Hushed noised of the irreversible day,
passable times of yore,
left only in forgotten memory.
Cobwebbed shelves building into
the minds of the ones left behind,
to sustain the awareness of time.
Rhythm, slow ticking, echoes loudly
as dusty sounds of a year
stored in moth scented rooms of the past.
Tones of hours, twisted,
tenor of richness strikes the dome
of pendulums’ sounds.
Wound springs of life, unwinding
movements in celebration of life
and the poignant tones of death.
The world evolves, revolves,
the clock ticks winding its hours
tightly around the past.
Irreversible paradox of beginnings
going toward the endings,
reaching into uncertainty.
copyrighted: CMM 2004-2005
Cold wind whips ice-cream star dust
around the hanging frosty pale moon,
stretching the curtain on winter’s night
lingering just long enough…
Shinning white wishes on a
promise day of ice-covered earth
left dormant from tomorrow’s spring
in secrets of russet latent hope…
As a frigid coil whips frothy star dust
while a wanting bird chirps for warmth,
slightly flying into a frozen morning
he pauses to listen for company…
Bathing in the shinning silver wishes
hanging with the cold pallid moon,
he chirps again and lingers to listen
in secrets of still iced air of wanting hope…
Quiet resounding love threads the weave
of dawn with the promises of
morning, night and enchantment
twist blindly among the beginnings…
Screeching sounds of train breaks hollered through the phone,
wind and shuffling of feet, as the rumbling screamed
out again starting toward the next stop…
His voice strong and young through the phone spoke of his adventures.
Oh how he is following the many paths of his dreams; from one tale
to another he describes his life in the city…
Again, the sounds of another stop demanding the attention over the
noises around him crashing into the phone. He asks about his sister,
how she is, now that she is expecting?
His voice, even with the competition of the city sounds, is stronger
in nature and in tone than all the noises competing with his time on the phone,
joval he remarks, “She will be a great mom.”
Tenderly, he refers to his sister; again the train slams into another stop.
“Is this stop yours? “ his Mother asks “No Mom, “ he replied. “I won’t miss it.”
He then affirms his devotion to his sister.
“You know Mom, she has a great heart.” He said with a tender voice.
“I am so looking forward to meeting her baby.” He affirmed his expectations.
again the moment was taken over by a thunderous sounds.
All of a sudden the noise in the background became quiet. “Has the train stopped?”
His mother asked, realizing everything had gone quiet. “No, I got off at my stop.”
he responded with a clearer tone, no longer competing with the train.
“How far is your apartment?” his Mother asked, with the customary concern and worry.
“Only a couple of blocks Mom,” he reassured her. “Well, be aware of your surroundings,”
she replied with her normal worried tone.
“I know, and thank you.” His tone, equally smiling with the terms of acceptance over the years,
it was then, with his own great heart, he said, “Good Night.”
© CMM 2012
Brown aroma filters through
the porcelain pot wrapped in
a holiday Christmas print
Tea covey placed around,
Tied at the top with a green ribbon.
Pouring into the cup the sound
of generations past of many pourings,
expressed within generations,
a knowing of shared time.
The warmth of the spiced tea
brings smiles caused by conversations,
of simpler relationships in an eloquent
Christmas 2013 © CMM
Pry upon my watchful eye,
as I see the sun go down
setting shadows on the ground.
Yet I know and then I hope
when darkness comes that I will cope
with the fact that this will be
For after December 21st
the snow will come from winter’s burst.
The sun will once again begin to shine
taking up more of the time
of day to give back to me;
my longing sense of sanity…
Copyrighted: 2010 CMM