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Screeching sounds of train breaks hollered through the phone,

wind and shuffling of feet, as the rumbling screamed

out again starting toward the next stop…

His voice strong and young through the phone spoke of his adventures.

Oh how he is following the many paths of his dreams; from one tale

to another he describes his life in the city…

Again, the sounds of another stop demanding the attention over the

noises around him crashing into the phone.  He asks about his sister,

how she is, now that she is expecting?

His voice, even with the competition of the city sounds, is stronger

in nature and in tone than all the noises competing with his time on the phone,

joval he remarks, “She will be a great mom.”

Tenderly, he refers to his sister; again the train slams into another stop.

“Is this stop yours? “ his Mother asks  “No Mom, “ he replied.  “I won’t miss it.”

He then affirms his devotion to his sister.

“You know Mom, she has a great heart.”  He said with a tender voice.

“I am so looking forward to meeting her baby.” He affirmed his expectations.

again the moment was taken over by a thunderous sounds.

All of a sudden the noise in the background became quiet.  “Has the train stopped?”

His mother asked, realizing everything had gone quiet.  “No, I got off at my stop.”

he responded with a clearer tone, no longer competing with the train.

“How far is your apartment?”  his Mother asked, with the customary concern and worry.

“Only a couple of blocks Mom,” he reassured her.  “Well, be aware of your surroundings,”

she replied with her normal worried tone.

“I worry you know,” she tried to say with a smile in her voice.

“I know, and thank you.”  His tone, equally smiling with the terms of acceptance over the years,

it was then, with his own great heart, he said, “Good Night.”

©   CMM   2012

Brown aroma filters through

the porcelain pot wrapped in

a  holiday Christmas print

Tea covey placed around,

Tied at the top with a green ribbon.

Pouring into the cup the sound

of generations past of many pourings,

expressed  within generations,

a knowing of shared time.

The warmth of the spiced tea

brings smiles caused by conversations,

of simpler  relationships in an eloquent

fluent exchange of Christmas gentility

Christmas 2013  ©   CMM

I have climbed to a place I did not choose.
I have felt the wind of discourse
The cold breeze of season’s change
Hard places alone into heights of loss
The view is one of escalating challenges
There is no end to the horizon
There is no definition to the time.

© Christine McNeill-Matteson

Pumping inside, silent echoes of my heart

racing rhythm reminding me; visceral awareness.

The sense is preciously closer to a more final silence,

as I listen to resounding moments.

It is autumn in my life, and as the leaves fall,

so do the days of color and stillness.

Each day is a lover coming to call,

ticking moments,  pulsating rhythm.

Sweeping the broken twigs,

the acorns in pieces with leaves

rusted across the redwood deck,

I feel the seeds of contemplation.

©  CMM  2011

A slip, a footing,

both pent against the wedge of panic’s doom.

A slice of electrical surge

crippling my stance.

Yanking the distorted foot

out of its pitted doom,

it stops me,

I wait.

A balance of consciousness,

a throbbing searing surge,

I step broken

one in front of the other.

Stepping into the climb,

one step, then two; more.

Top of the stairs,

a morose pause, then endurance—

I continue on —

© CMM 2009

unlikely blooming

of the white bouquet of

lilies waiting …

Renaissance from the darkened

dregs of life’s bottom

Sunrise

Morning on the shores

brings you back to the place where

you can hear sunrise

in sequential order of

light, flight and the rush of tides…

it is then I pray.