The modern-day lamb in stripes and stars
Lay in sacrifice of what should be.
He re-ignites the paschal-candle of brotherhood
and kindness in a country so dark.
darken from the light of goodness.
He poured from the receptacle of time,
and honor and devotion.
He lays the gauntlet of ‘moving-on’
In hopes others will follow.
Copyright: 2018, Sept 1, CMM
(In honor and memory of Sen John McCain )
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
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
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,
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
Her soul needed refreshing
she returned to the sea
when the waves came, her troubles leave
her hair played with the wind
her smile swept across her face
she felt the universe give back her grace
early morning from darkness to light
rise into colors of orange, pink, reds
she nodded and watched, no words said
Her soul needed refreshing
she returns always to the sea
where the waves come, her troubles leave
Copyrighted: 2017 CMM
Opening day, it’s now time to play the game found in cornfields and parks.
American way, a game that will stay, the home run you want before dark.
Hammering’ Hank, Mickey, the Yankee Clipper, Smokey Joe, and all the greats,
brings every little boy hopes and dreams as he enters for the first time their gates.
DiMaggio and Galvin echoes at the bat as America starts the baseball season’s fun.
Major Leagues, Minors, town teams and little leagues all strive for the famous home run.
A moment of summer in sweltering heat, the sun changes position at your back,
Let’s cheer our team and share a time of America with peanuts in a paper sack.
One, Two, Three Strikes “You’re Out”, they yell as another approaches the bat.
Root toot, toot for the home team, as the dust cloud forms at the mat…
copyrighted: 2001 CMM