Twilight’s Run
The sparrow’s flight seems still against the wind,
as the buzzard’s wings-span soars in the skies that have no end.
Evening draws its shade of cool indigo among the grays,
the shuffling sounds my feet are paced in a cadence sway.
I struggle against the pull as up hill one foot in front of the lead,
knowing at the top I will breathe easier from the need.
A momentous time this lone and silence evening’s best,
without noise a red tail hawk seen on her nest.
Sun’s warm cast has faded into a twilight’s glow,
while in the course and across the ridge I still have miles to go.
Labored breath I listen, as though it is outside of me,
I glance, the late summer leaves shadows line the trees.
I continue on as miles left behind darken without sun,
appearing at the early twilight , the journey will soon be done.
Chilled with damp t-shirt and brackish coated skin,
I know the feeling only runners feel, when the distance soon will end.
© CMM 2013
The Book
I picked up your book,
left behind as a gift.
I thought how nice.
Now you have left,
and I think so nice I have the book .
I have the letter you wrote with such eloquent words,
full of philosophy and reason.
Now you are gone and the reason seems mute,
and the philosophy unfulfilled.
Combing my fingers over the checkmarks,
bringing me to attention to the tributes
you made to me, and us, and our friendship.
I feel you presence pour inside of me
and I know.
There is no book, no letter of reason,
no quote of philosophical works
that replace your having died without reason.
© CMM 2013
Evening Tomb
Smoked-filled room chokes the senses,
tenant’s visits heightens defenses.
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 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 the night of need,
knowing dawn their guilt will breed.
A different loss, a hollow space,
another night to seek; erase.
Copyright: 2000 CMM
Summer Smiles
Deeper and deeper I break blacken crumbles of packed soil.
Closer and closer the earth warms wiggle in welcome,
bringing a hallow depth of wet disrupted places.
Spring’s garden now silent from the sun,
now further into the soil given way.
There are welcomes new beginnings
from the yellow petals
the sprouting
smiles
the
Daisy.
Copyrighted: 2009 CMM/ photo 2000 CMM
Happy Birthday 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 called 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, his creative thoughts of madness,
the soulful writer’s joy and sadness.
A birthday we do with rememberance,
and seek our own Shakespearean semblance.
Copyrighted: CMM 2009
Dandelions
Dandelions, fields of weeds and scattered seeds,
these golden pollen spread.
The flower sweet,
the pollen wreak,
this lovely enemy of my head.
Dandelion flowers,
pastel fields,
masking ranting weed.
Dandelion flower,
so strong in resistance.
Please tell me, what is your need?
© CMM 2009
Coffee Shop Poetry
Voices came in sizes and inflections
telling their lives in all directions.
Stories of anger, mothers and life,
sexual encounters and academic strife.
Nationalities were all represented,
each as they stood an presented.
Works of art in a smoke filled room,
coffee ordered and quickly consumed.
Listeners listened and interpreted the verse
some as a blessing, some as a curse.
Emotions were heightened as one gesticulation
stood on the edge of suicide or elation.
Others subdued in memories of war,
while others recalled the evenings they scored.
Readers and audience like me were all strange,
as we take words and life and uniquely arrange.
Then step to the mic, they gave up their soul,
from the very young to the seasoned and old.
My hair caught the smell of smoke in the air
while I listened and captured the love and despair.
I turned in the end and stood to see
they all were a fraction of reflection of me.
Copyrighted: CMM 2004
Blarney Stone
The blarney stone that must be kissed,
upon the young and old secret wish.
As leprechauns hide in the trees
Equinox calls for winter’s eve.
Promising to find a rainbow’s gold
while tales of Gaelic undertake of old.
Now the Celts beckon their clover green,
caftan plaid skirts give away the genome,
Threnody hushed from the past…
as renaissance of wishes forever last.
© CMM 2013
(dedicated to Stephanie n Jonathan )
Eagle and Child Inkling 