The eve of New Year has arrived
The fog rolls in covering the lamppost
The dismal air filled with a chill of a pending storm.
Maybe this is it, maybe the fog will usher the new year.
Maybe the white snow trailing behind it will bed the past.
The squirrels will scamper into the nested trees
The only sound when we venture out will be our footsteps,
The screams of the last murder of crows left behind with hope.
The hope to find the last field just turned from farmer’s plow.
Crunching the frozen ground laid by winter’s arrival,
We are brought into the silence of ourselves
Maybe then, we will think to pray.
I walked into an antique shop
The richness of the past
Permeated through the air
Reflected in the glass
It was somber yet reflective
The wood floor creaked with announcement
As my feet shuffled in and around
I peeked at Santas and student lamps
Made of green shades beveled
In umbrella shapes to direct the flame
Antique brass writer’s quill
Stood alone without its calligraphy pen
Two retiring gentlemen were owners
One was a retired circuit judge.
He loved his clocks, and he loved working on them.
Asking him the price of the small clock with a grandfather’s tone
He told me, and said he was waiting for it to time out.
I smiled and said, ” I have time, I could wait too.”
A ginger bread house
Of warmth and love
Put together in tenderness
A sweetness of charm
A glowing touch
A sharing of familiarness
The walls are strong
And stuck with glue-
Like snow glistening
The roof and the snow
Are cotton candy sweet.
the walk a chocolate tantalizing.
Father Time returns
Another year older
His beard whiter
The weather much colder .
CMM © 2021
Cookies of ginger
With shared times so tender
Christmas magic …
© CMM 2021
Winter’s full moon
Among Ice icicles
The full moon lunars
Takes us into the stable
As the Dawn of love
Breaks a silence
Of despair …
The universe conspires
sounding into a holy night .
A baby cries…
CMM © Dec 2021
Sweet smell of Chocolate
Steams from the china rim
The prints of Alice’s Wonderland
Jump from the black and white glass.
We read our stories of the Mad Hatter
And the disappearing owl.
Now I sit with my cup brimmed over
Spilling on the characters of yesterday.
Thinking of the friends I use to share
Our thoughts and our dreams.
As we dressed like Alice and
Was just as mischief.
I salute time, and friendship
Like the crooked clock on the wall
The hurried rabbit disappearing into
The garden of hearts and evil queens.
Our life has been full of it all.
The Alice in me hopes we are never lost.
Lost in the days of technology
And pretending with a cup and saucer.
We lived in magic and the magical
And maybe they really did exist.
Sooo, we tip our cups not with tea,
But sweet hot cocoa and stories.