A Poem


she pauses, you are lucky,

(not that you did not earn it)

she corrects herself

I turn pause, and hold my tongue

Regrets, old people are so full

of melancholy , anger and antagonism

looking about, comparing

sniffling into the past choices

trying to eliminate the differences

from the closest to them

at all cost wanting the tally

to be even or the same

Time is a teacher of the cruelest

yet we wear it through life

thinking it can be silenced

until all is taken, the voice becomes

louder, and louder without remorse

Copyrighted:  CMM  2017

Evening Tomb


Smoked-filled room, choke the senses,

tenant’s visits heightens defenses.

Buried emotions, snuffed stale air,

vacant expressions with sunken stares.

All who come to the evening tomb,

cloud their lives within the room.

Clinking of glasses the flame of the lighter,

two strangers meet, become one-niters.

Reaching from trust now long failed,

hopes wrapped up now kept and jailed.

Speaking present, the buried past,

masking in drinks, in hopes it will last.

Long enough to help forget,

strangers, soon lovers, talk and sit.

She now with her tinted hair light,

sits as he listens throughout the night.

Each one look for their night of need,

knowing dawn their guilt will breed.

A different loss, a hollow space,

another night to seek; erase.

©  CMM   2000

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