Sassafras
An ole’ tree, yawning in the ground,
grown deep in the slow south.
Children back then knew it to be
sweet in taste and sugary in tea.
While old black pots were stirred all day,
seasoned with grounded leaves of sine quo non.
to make that jambalaya to steam away
the colorful savor is still not gone.
Copyrighted: CMM 2004
Grandmother’s Handkerchief
Hanging on tiny pegs deep within the ole’
country store, filled with scents of Autumn.
The replica’s of the past preserved in rust
and weary wood lean against white wash walls.
There in the middle of the vast array of
yesterday’s wears and pickled pears
I looked over to see the wonderful
handkerchief made of white organdy.
I was without protest taken to a place
so long ago within a southern church.
With deacon pews made of hard wood
and curved at the ends where I sat.
Sitting next to my grandmother,
her scent of lavender and Jergens
Lotion, combined with the seasons
brought in from the open window.
The handkerchief was wrapped around
her fingers as they wove into one another.
Her hands laid in her lap of a homemade
dress, with tatting and laced collars.
Her thumbs were covered with the lace
handkerchief as she circled them around
and around, (as I watched), never breaking
rhythm the handkerchief would go.
The choruses were sung from ole’ gospel songs,
and the preacher would change his sermon about
one thing or another and the people would often come and go.
However, not this constant memory of
the organdy lace handkerchief with painted
flowers and lace on the tips always
in her hands, covering and keeping timing,
with timeless memory sitting next to Grandma…
© CMM 2011
Wise Ole’ Owl
I looked up and something caught my eye,
It was a home I recognized way up high.
The wise ole’ owl was seemingly away,
so I did not linger, did not stay.
But, I shall return on some later time,
maybe I will visit, maybe we will dine.
However, until then I feel pleased,
I found the ole’ wise owl’s place of ease.
© CMM 2013
Childhood Tea
As I sit and drink my tea,
I think of you and I think of me.
How we laughed and how we played.
Sometimes cried, but always stayed—
close.
Sitting in a pile of sand,
pretending to be in a far off land.
Kings and princesses, knights with dress,
the sand we played became a mess;
staying closer.
These places within our minds,
these childhood days would always find,
a time called ‘all-our-own’.
These places with us, now we’re grown;
are keeping us close.
As we sat among shaded trees,
mud dried clothes and scabbed knees.
Sun glowing on our faces,
the reflection of playful traces;
growing closer.
The child in us soon to part,
always remembering in the heart;
Forever close.
Copyrighted: 2001 CMM
Morning Break
The last lantern rusted from the salty sea,
corroded into white powder,
edges of thin paint lifting up
as time ornaments
faintly blinking
turns off.
corroded into white powder,
edges of thin paint lifting up
as time ornaments
faintly blinking
turns off.
In these moments
the albatross flies
and
seagull’s resonance….
the albatross flies
and
seagull’s resonance….
@CMM
Stuffed Tiger
Hello Tiger, here you sit with a silly face.
Why are you sad? You have a special place.
In my world you represent the time
of a Saturday evening of laughter and wine.
I saw you at a carnival game,
we won, and home with me you came.
Sitting in my room on a special chest,
cheering me as I lay to rest.
You’re large and you’re furry, nice to own,
stuffed softly without a single bone.
But a heart you have, for it is mine,
a fondness of you to remember the time.
The Saturday Night of carnival fun,
bringing you home at the setting sun.
copyrighted: 1988 CMM
Caring Flight
If there is love for someone let it grow,
lifting, spreading, watching
the wings,
arm lengthen,
letting loose slow…ly
Seeing the independent sight
Seeing the independent sighttaking its position,
pulling against
existence that resist
tight…ly.
leaving for broader landscapes view,
leveling to a different plain.
The new dimension
soaring away
watching you…
Remaining rains left behind
hanging as a knowing…
these rainstorms
seeing dimly
emotions unkind.
copyright: CMM 2003
In the Sand
I often wonder what he wrote the day he came upon
the stoning of the woman, the men that said she wronged…
He came up quietly and without pause, looked and said aloud,
“Any many without sin cast and cast it now.”
He then knelt a humble stance, and reached among the sand
with his finger began to write something with his hand.
He wrote until the he looked back up to see who was left to throw,
not one man had tarried there; they all had chosen to go.
He stood from where he had knelt and wrote upon the sand,
and the woman remained, to listen to this man.
The man that said, “Go sin no more” freedom now was hers.
I wonder what he wrote that day he knelt among the scores.
Was it their sins he knew so well and they in spirit heard,
and dropping all the stones they had, they left without a word?
© 2004
Christine McNeill-Matteson
Thomas
Traveling to African jungles,
traveling to embassies beyond,
only to return to the tower
two hours in the fields of Lyon.
Yet, he picks up his armor of sport,
to hunt what is conquered by few,
as within the evening of solitude,
he reads Hardy and Keats through.
What core of mystery maintains,
a will for the isolated soul?
The energy that tempts the restless,
the warrior time cannot hold.
If life is embraced and cherished,
he treasures it with esteem.
He sees his fallen comrades,
and the sword that always redeems.
© CMM 2007
Pooh’s Place
I was running and keeping pace,
when up on a hill I saw a special place.
One I had seen and recognized,
It even fit and the perfect size.
This place on the hill set under the leaves,
in hidden brush and comfort sleeves.
Hills and branches and rocks and cliffs
wind so cold and trees that shift.
Leaves piled high and much debris’
but still revealed this place to me.
I wondered if that I should knock,
to say hello would be such a shock.
This place where no one dared to go,
this pooh’s place was hidden so…
to allow the passerby’s to see
a believer of this Pooh’s Place’; me.
Copyrighted: 2002 CMM
Eagle and Child Inkling 