Bunce Road
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
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
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
Running with Pegasus
Mounting Pegasus under morning night,
we take to wings of running flight.
Among stars and constellations,
entered in morning night.
A falling star drops just ahead,
a silent wish is quickly said.
Into the mystic morning show,
Pegasus and I have nothing to dread.
Heralded by seagulls awaking,
the birds in faint light start taking.
To song and flutter as we pass,
all a part of the morning making.
This runner’s flight crossed into light
from a mystic morning flight.
Pegasus and I ride into red glow
dripping sun just in sight.
copyright: CMM 2010
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
We Were There
We were there
quiet without notice.
I brought you along ,
we discovered each other
in my silent memory.
We smiled, we felt the sea.
The sunrise kissed us.
Sea played sounds crashing
into our souls.
We were there, you and me.
I took you with me
To the sea …
copyrighted; CMM 2017
Betrayal
circles and rhythms
time pushes out
round and round
decays of lies
placed in forgotten
rings of covered maskings
and the circles and rhythms
continue on,
growing into to a stump
to cut into history
rediscovering it still
exists…
Copyrighted: CMM 2017
Eagle and Child Inkling 