ah spring
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
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
An hour of time,
a lifetime,
a pause,
a moment,
a second,
memories
measured,
by who
remembers
the times…
copyrighted by: CMM 2017
Her face, was like a road map of all special places,
her eyes the ocean of knowledge and strength.
Yes, her words spilled out of time, joy and sorrow
asking for someone to listen, love and remember; she was here.
Copyrighted: CMM 2017
I entered my garden of Gethsemane,
with the shroud of my womb
choking closely on my shoulders.
Weeping across my soul the red stain
flows into the vine now twisting into my
human flesh of pain and sorrow.
Mother of Mothers, whose loneliness
and desperation sheds the crust of my body
calling out for the new bread.
New bread for the generation left
from a Mother’s tears,
at Mary’s feet; the world weeps.
copyright: CMM 2009
3:00 a.m., the whistle blows hauntingly through a thick still night.
I thought, how it is a reassuring sound from the past to the present,
Makes everything seem normal or at least safe as normal should feel.
The darkness allows you to pretend the sound is being made fr
om anytime.
Time of the little brick house with wasp escaping through the stone fireplace.
Or, an infant crying to be fed and nurtured back to sleep.
Or, the present time, the darkness allowed my thoughts to travel.
The sound allowed my mind to go on into the memories of any time before.
Sounding one last time, it disappears into nothingness and all is quiet.
Just the darkness. left from minutes past 3:00 a.m.
Copyrighted: 2017 CMM
Before the pain,
there was laughter
sharing of wits
the morning after
before the pain
there were smiles
all night conversations
lingering for a while
before the pain
she felt safe to know
he was there
they would grow
before the pain
all was everything
no needs
before the pain
Copyrighted: 2017 CMM
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
Keats spoke of a rose and how it would not wilt.
This rose came only once and was not made of silk.
PIcked among a garden this one unique rose,
taken from the thorns, this flower she chose.
Sat upon his desk, and nurtured from the stems,
drenched in water, cut in a vase, and looking back at him.
He called the rose loveliest of any in his fences,
this rose compared to others, they had no defenses.
However the secret of this rose was not from one attending.
The secret of its beauty was truly from its sending.
This rose he said was more because a friend gave way,
now the beauty of the perfect rose was given to him today.
Swelling powdered scents flowed in the house and settled,
crimson velvet sculptured rose, green stem among the petals.
Beauty in its temporal form in nature’s moment bloomed,
eternal rose, deep within was nurtured to the tomb.
copyrighted: 2007
