I jaunt in the morning moon

My thoughts are miles away

I give up way too soon

So I can start my day

But I will always be

Jaunting again tomorrow .

CMM ©️ 2023

Daughters of Daughters

The afternoon,

rain drizzling, reflecting on glass.

fireplace gently glows.

Laughter covers the tears

echoing into the season

of the day.

Sponging into hopes

Daughters of daughters

Knowing without saying

Picking up the spoon

Offering a portion

It is at the table.

3 generations of women

Daughters of daughters

Draw strength.

Christine McNeill-Matteson

The saints woke,

Walking to their place of meditation

They lift their heads and kneel.

Remembering the prayers of the faithful

Their voices go to the ears of angels.

And ride the wings into the heavens. 

Where miracles abide and worries subside

The dance of the prayers of the saints.

Christine McNeill-Matteson

copyrighted 2023

WAKING

I hope I will always wake in tulip sunshine

among the fragrance of green grass

growing near flowing rivers

while breakfast sizzles in

cast iron skillets

with biscuits

on cobalt

blue

plates.

If this

goes away

in my memory

and leaves me for

another day in changed

places, I want to still wake

in tulip sunrise and still smell

the coffee brew to another time but let

not the reciting bobwhites forget to sound; so I will always remember.

copyright: CMM 2005

Hi, my name is Snuggles. I am best friends with a little girl named Aurora Leigh. You might think I am talking about “Aurora Leigh,” the long prose written by Elizabeth Browning. If you were, you were wrong, she was named by her Mother and remembering Elizabeth Browning’s work.

Anyway , this is not about her, but about ‘Snuggles, traveling companion and confident. I met Aurora Leigh just shortly after she was born, and we have been close ever since.

So, stay tune, there are a lot of adventures I want to share. We will be back.

Artist: Christine McNeill Matteson

Celtic Green

If you are looking for gossip, 

You have come to the wrong field.

We stand among the grass

The goats are quiet and  still.

Gray and blue sky hangs just above.

A Celtic Mom and her daughter share love

Wisdom between them comes from the strife.

They bring generations of Maternal life.

Around them their ancestry stops to listen

The children although playing still pay attention.

The women before them flow through their veins 

It is why they are , who they became.

Copyrighted:  CMM.

What would we have done without Dr. Seuss,

his clever rhyming his cats and his goose.

It puts wonder on faces of all ages.

As we turn and look at the colorful pages.

I have his books, he gave to us all

“The Cat and the Hat,” made us feel so tall.

As he wondered throughout our imagination

The young and the old; a fond education.

copyright: CMM

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:  ©  CMM  2004

Share this:

View at Medium.com