Hope

Shaded Moon


I plant flowers,
Lavender, under
A pink moon.
I see babies,
Crying lifeless,
Under faded moon.
The water sprinkles
Into the fertile
Soil of promise.
While red rivers
Run just below
The still cradles.
A paradox lives,
I see the lavender,
They bury innocence.
       copyright:  2017  CMM  

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.