“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
It was a loaf of bread,
a gift of love.
She struggled to say,
it is all I have.
Times were hard,
her family at risk.
She came to dinner,
from a dark abyss.
Picked as a flower
from spring she left.
Stormed in the winds
and soon was adrift.
It was a loaf of bread,
it was all she had.
she asked please
take it; quietly cried.
Copyrighted: 2018 CMM Publishers
I find myself (as I do every Christmas) thinking back to a
special lady who always made Christmas so loving. There was
one gift I always remember and treasure is the one from Grandma.
She was old and retired. She was living on a very limited
income. Each Christmas she would set up a tree no taller than
Two feet. It was artificial and set on a little table covered with cotton
from old boxes, replicating snow.
She would take the little money she had and buy each of her
grandchildren hose for the girls and socks for the boys.
Today I remember her going to the little tree. Her hands had
become old with swollen joints and trembled just a little as
she picked up the little gift wrapped in thin paper from the year
before. There was always a thin ribbon, usually red tied so carefully.
Handing me the little gift, she would say, “It’s not much.” I
would always smile to her and say, “Grandma, you have no idea
how much I needed hose.” She would smile and sit next to the
Today that gift keeps giving back to me. It was love.
copyrighted: 2012 CMM
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
flickering morning fire
quietly throws warmth
across the shadows
no sleep lifts me up
from my warm bed
to sit in the dark
praying in resolution
knowing the day
will be full
copyright: 2017 CMM
All Soul’s Day, has come to past,
just in time to remind at last,
we are very temporary here
snow has fallen early this year
So as the day brings us to see
The souls and saints among the trees
Symbols passing in nature agrees.
Copyrighted : CMM 2017
I wrote a poem yesterday,
I don’t remember the words
Or what it had to say.
I scribbled it and jotted down
upon old paper
I picked off the ground
Writing quickly so not to forget
It came flowing
The sonnet set.
I found a place
Behind the books
Stuffed it where no others look
Later I promised I would read
The poem of the heart
A now forgotten seed.
© CMM 2012
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