Hills of Memory

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The morning sun rose in cool softness over the gentle Missouri hills,
a morning announced with the calling of the geese as they fly over. 

A special gathering is beginning deep within the hills

speckled with white uniform tombstones.

Tombstones all a certain size, all to match the other,
rowed to follow the curves, the sloping grass.

Gentle hushed people walking, stopping to look,
stopping to look for; hoping to see.

See the familiar name, the identity of the one,
the lone one they once knew and shared life.

Flag markers are diligentlly pierced in the grass,
the grass that carpets each gravesite.

Cutting through the cemetery a road lined from one end
leans with motorcycles representing a special war.

Significant of the era it was fought in; tumultuous times,
the confusion so related to the war of Southeast Asia.

Elderly men reminiscent of the World Wars and foreign fields
while the innocent children play around Oak trees.

The children that have been allowed,
because yesterday existed and the brave stood tall.

Twenty-one guns… start to sound, one after another,
silent crowds stand in reverence, while children cry.

Taps of the lone soldier, a soldier remembered,
remembered by his friend in the civil war.

Haunting ricochets sound its memory for all that stood watch,
all that stood and listened.

Off in the distance,

the silence heard of tears that don’t cry out.
The tears of broken families, holding memories of their loved ones.

Morning wandered; again the geese call us back to the beginnings.
The lone jogger wipes the tears of a Father she never knew.

Copyrighted: CMM 2002
Photo Copyrighted: CMM 2002

The Book

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A couple of springs have passed since you left, but your memories remain.

Eagle and Child Inkling

I picked up your book,

left behind as a gift.

Professor Doo Wop's PoemphotoI thought how nice.

Now you have left,

and I think so nice I have the book .

I have the letter you wrote with such eloquent words,

full of philosophy and reason.

Now you are gone and the reason seems mute,

and the philosophy unfulfilled.

Combing my fingers over the checkmarks,

bringing me to attention to the tributes

you made to me, and us, and our friendship.

I feel you presence pour inside of me

and I know.

There is no book, no letter of reason,

no quote of philosophical works

that replace your having died without reason.

©  CMM  2013

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Sweet Tea

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To my children on Mother’s Day, with love…

Eagle and Child Inkling

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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

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A Visit

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Happy Mother’s Day Mom, (in memory)

Eagle and Child Inkling

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

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