I remember the dirt drive laden in gravel just
off the main asphalt country road.
named after generations of people,
who came before me;
We called family.
I wonder how many trips were
taken in and out,
and for what reasons
as we came and went to this place;
we called home.
Generations of successors grounded
into the beginnings of a southern family.
Two world wars and aromas in the kitchen
with Sunday afternoon get-togethers;
everybody knew everybody
An echo of memories sounds into the tomorrows,
old becomes new and the new often forgetting
the once was, just off the gravel road
leading back to the circled drive grounded into a name;
for generations now forgotten.
© 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
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
Copyrighted: 2017 CMM
Screeching sounds of train breaks hollered through the phone,
wind and shuffling of feet, as the rumbling screamed
out again starting toward the next stop…
His voice strong and young through the phone spoke of his adventures.
Oh how he is following the many paths of his dreams; from one tale
to another he describes his life in the city…
Again, the sounds of another stop demanding the attention over the
noises around him crashing into the phone. He asks about his sister,
how she is, now that she is expecting?
His voice, even with the competition of the city sounds, is stronger
in nature and in tone than all the noises competing with his time on the phone,
joval he remarks, “She will be a great mom.”
Tenderly, he refers to his sister; again the train slams into another stop.
“Is this stop yours? “ his Mother asks “No Mom, “ he replied. “I won’t miss it.”
He then affirms his devotion to his sister.
“You know Mom, she has a great heart.” He said with a tender voice.
“I am so looking forward to meeting her baby.” He affirmed his expectations.
again the moment was taken over by a thunderous sounds.
All of a sudden the noise in the background became quiet. “Has the train stopped?”
His mother asked, realizing everything had gone quiet. “No, I got off at my stop.”
he responded with a clearer tone, no longer competing with the train.
“How far is your apartment?” his Mother asked, with the customary concern and worry.
“Only a couple of blocks Mom,” he reassured her. “Well, be aware of your surroundings,”
she replied with her normal worried tone.
“I know, and thank you.” His tone, equally smiling with the terms of acceptance over the years,
it was then, with his own great heart, he said, “Good Night.”
© CMM 2012
I sit before you all that I have,
It isn’t the coffee that is the gift,
It is the importance,
I sit before you and we drink,
Smelling the coffee,
Pour into the gift,
Of you and me,
I sit before you.
© CMM 2013
Gentle steps of the keys play separately,
yet, together the music becomes a harmony
of memory and of verse.
Verse now resident of the soul,
to be written in prose of tomorrows.
Forgotten, we continue with music,
music of feelings never forgotten
© CMM 2013