Shaded Moon
I plant flowers,Lavender, underA pink moon.I see babies,Crying lifeless,Under faded moon.The water sprinklesInto the fertileSoil of promise.While red riversRun just belowThe still cradles.A paradox lives,I see the lavender,They bury innocence.copyright: 2017 CMM
In My Garden
There are secrets in my garden
You need but walk a piece
You will stumble on a flower
And a butterfly at ease
Walk but just a couple steps
You almost see them grow
The purple and the yellow
But please walk a little slow
There are secrets in my garden
A prairie dog you might see
A pansy or a daisy
However please be quiet
Not to disturb the frog so lazy
Or the fountains where angels sit
I invite you in my garden
Where joy is laid and kept
Copyright: 2017 CMM
Intelligence
Intelligence
Einstein played with imagination and sought
deep in reason, deep in thought.
No one to match his statistical mind
no one dead or alive, so far in time.
Mozart’s fingers crossed over the keys,
giving them melody and symphonies.
Practiced till his days were long
celebrated now in concert and song.
Freud who delved deep in the mind,
knew he had found the perplexed kind.
The id, Ego, and Super Ego distinct
put them together, the missing links.
Yet we look for original thought,
seeking harshly by scientist wrought.
Brilliant in their ways of thinking
only disappear among the sinking.
What is to say, what is smart,
if we only finish with what we start?
Or apply what is already known,
moving an inch from where its grown.
Time and space and Neanderthal man
has carried history from where it began.
Intelligent mind and the brain has grown,
yet still with intellect so little is known.
Copyrighted: CMM June 2007
Love According to Shakespeare
Shakespeare in his bloomers svelte
wrote of love and how he felt.
Yet he seemed to be confused
even in his witty muse.
He loved a lady fair with scarlet,
yet he often referred her harlot.
He loved a young male of letters wrote,
but begged him times a sorrowful note.
His mind of genius and of words,
repeated times are often heard.
In plays and sonnets and in verse,
thespians memories do rehearse.
So goes his thoughts of madness,
the soulful writer’s joy and sadness.
A Valentine’s Day of day’s remembrance
seek out your own Shakespearean semblance.
Copyrighted: 2007 CMM
Photo Copyrighted: 2003 CMM
(Dedicated to my son, and his Shakespearean Studies)
Shakespeare and Days of Youth
Perched below the shaded trees,
cools the sun’s luncheon rays.
Crossed in contemplation knees
are the enchanted Shakespeare days.Tempered heat of springtime lawn
cools the sun’s luncheon rays.
Crossed in contemplation knees
are the enchanted Shakespeare days.Tempered heat of springtime lawn
varid carpet lays beneath.
Lurching words without alarm,
bid from metamorphous sleep.
Anthony and Cleopatra fight,
as sonnets woo the lady’s fare.
Henry the IV comes from the night,
poets and lovers, a wispy pair.
The yeoman genius now buried in tomb,
leaves with the youth a place to learn.
While even when he left the room,
all other works are now discerned.
copyrighted: 2005
CMM
Eagle and Child Inkling 