“There you are,” having fallen into helplessness,
lost in the pile of life’s debri.
I pick you up, dust you off,
dear old friend,
but don’t leave again…
I smile down at my long lost pen.
copyrighted: CMM August 2010
The modern-day lamb in stripes and stars
Lay in sacrifice of what should be.
He re-ignites the paschal-candle of brotherhood
and kindness in a country so dark.
darken from the light of goodness.
He poured from the receptacle of time,
and honor and devotion.
He lays the gauntlet of ‘moving-on’
In hopes others will follow.
Copyright: 2018, Sept 1, CMM
(In honor and memory of Sen John McCain )
I looked past the window pane and saw the gray bleak sky,
and felt the chill left in the house where all the quiet abides.
I’m not sure which bird I heard but off in distance it sings,
And I listen until the quiet resumes, then hear him once again.
Ice has passed and snow’s to come, blanketing frozen ground,
as I walked among the woods a breaking crunching sound
of frozen earth reminds me of the labored year has passed.
We look for good news to come, and hope that will surpass.
This hope was birthed among the timbers and quiet baby born,
yet the world goes on the same, even after Christmas morn.
Listen, even as the year ends, Father times bids us farewell,
while the story remains anew among the promised tale
of birth and baby, poverty persist and still it overcomes,
rage and war and even death as life brought by a son.
Copyrighted: CMM 2008
Ash, fallen losing its form,
drifting to places—
Places once given to life
now void in the body.
Blemished leavings of
perfect love and life—
Spent time, celebrations
now void in the mind.
to awareness made up
of dreams and hopes,
now void in the soul.
The ticking of the clock,
the clanging echoing,
noises made in the senses,
now void in the hearing.
Spoken words of promise
of heart felt memories
devoted love forever—
now void in heart.
We have heard many
warnings, sounding often
in the distance, never noticed—
until we hear the ringing.
Echo without vibrations,
muted sounds, never heard; but felt.
copyrighted: CMM 2002
I talk myself into my run
one foot in front of the other
climbing upwards challenged
laboring a little
just enough to remind me
I pass birds calling
aged trees standing still
among the wood line
while wild brown-eyed susans
wink in sway with a soft wind
a wind I need to release me
I do not stop until the trail ends
That four poster bed and me at the foot…
was the beginnings of beginnings
and the irony it took.
My Mother’s plight to come back home,
when our Father’s fights,
and opening their doors,
no one needed to sleep on the floor.
The nights we laid, kittens in bed,
me at the foot,
as they snuggled at the head.
Quilts laid busy acoss us just right,
four poster jammed,
with three quite a sight.
As we grew older and given each a bed,
I will never forget the four poster bed,
me at the foot and they at the head.
I wonder in life when all things askew
and the trials I endured
whether old or renewed.
If being at the foot of this bed
gave me the will to survive,
in keeping my head.
© CMM 2002
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