Listening


She was listening
voices around her unaware
she lies in waiting
she was listening
to the tears
the consolations
she was listening
when someone whispered
to her, I love you.
listening to the voices
leaving the room for a moment
and then she left…
Copyrighted:  CMM   2017

Knell Bell


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.

Consciousness

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.

Knell bell

final sounding—

Echo without vibrations,

muted sounds, never heard; but felt.

copyrighted: CMM 2002

Summer’s Ending


summer’s ending
the leaves are drying
the wind is softer,
the heat subsiding
it is as if
they all agree
that summer’s ending
drop down your leaves
moisture is lost
the darkness takes hold
the larger birds balk
the mosquitos are bold
summer’s ending
I feel Autumn say
the days will be shorter
as limbs now sway
to welcome the Fall
stilled by the heat
it won’t be long
it is Autumn’s sweep.
Copyrighted:  2017  CMM

I Run


I talk myself into my run

one foot in front of the other

climbing upwards challenged

laboring a little

just enough to remind me

my humanness

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

copyrighted:   2017 CMM 

As If It Was Not Enough


As if it was not enough

The confusion in streets

Bullying on lines

As children hide

In homes of fear

Economic strains of

Success and failure

While countries

Close their borders

To human dignity

Guns firing while

Children falling

People dying

Without reason

Without notice

Color of skin

Makes up of worth

Marginalized women

Old people disregarded

Then, then

There was Harvey

Copyrighted:  2017 CMM

Invitation


let’s have a conversation

no, not a wish list to reply

let’s go somewhere and listen

we can laugh or we can cry

let’s stop and say nothing

or just smell the air around

let’s have a conversation

or never make a sound

what is really of value

is you are here for me

and I am always seeking

to have a conversation

a time to sit and be…

 

Copyrighted:  2017 CMM

Four Poster Bed


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,

were all we had known.

Grandparents adjusting

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

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

Summer Dreams


A little boy sits quietly at his desk
the summer breeze blows the curtain
from the window pane…

He has become unaware of the snapping of the clothes
on the line from the hot Midwest breeze,
the distant trains breaking the sounds as they clack through towns.

He fingers his baseball glove, following his imagination,
of diamonds that glitter from home runs
and glistens from sunsets after loaded bases.

The smell of leather takes him to locker rooms,
sounds of cheers with
the snapping this time of baseball bats hitting the ball.

Symphony sounds that make up dreams
that feed the body and soul of the little boy
at his desk, freckled face; looking past.

Past the ‘Hopalong Cassidy’ lamp sitting on his desk,
past the plaid sheets spreading his bed,
past the books that pile in waiting for homework.

He imagines all sounds real with promises;
“What a home run that was!”
“What a pitcher I am!”

Swirling winds of dreams of a little boy
at his desk, in his room,
in the Midwest…dreaming baseball.

Copyrighted: 2001 CMM

(Dedicated to a friend who played in the Minor Leagues, wrote of baseball and ethics.
RIP 2012.  Also, to my son who loved the game of baseball.