Poetry

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

Shaded Moon


I plant flowers,
Lavender, under
A pink moon.
I see babies,
Crying lifeless,
Under faded moon.
The water sprinkles
Into the fertile
Soil of promise.
While red rivers
Run just below
The 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

Shakespeare


https://eagle-and-child-inkling.com/2015/02/13/love-according-to-shakespeare-2/

 

 

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 2007IMG_2290