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,
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.
The middle aged professor with half a balding spot
stands upon his desk yelling expletives and nots’.
The ‘f’s’ and the ‘f’s’ don’t you understand,
‘malfunctioning world, is as I explain of man.’
After all I am brilliant and have a degree,
some call me elitist, some a pedigree.
You are the fools that sit here in your desk,
as I postulate and rage without your protest.
I have lost my semblance of professional and poise,
you will hear me teach and it only sounds like noise.
Where do we get these educators yelling at the youth,
claiming this is intelligence and pretending it is couth.
Disorganized and frayed, they walk late into the class,
wasting money called tuition, they bleed from the mass.
So please Mr. Professor, get down from your chair,
try to get outside yourself and pretend you care.
Try to think we have value and a few little brains,
impart your wisdom and learn to pronounce our names.
Copyrighted: 2006 CMM
Oh, but the heart that has labored love
in laced valentine’s of past.
Cutting out the ribbons of red,
to give in hopes that love will last.
The confectionaries create their wares
and boxed in all heart’s and sizes.
As anticipation builds in
the expectant heart she prizes.
The day will wear and waiting passes.
How will the promise come?
The time for many and then a few
but, from the hopeful one?
© CMM 2012
American way, a game that will stay, the home run you want before dark.
Hammering’ Hank, Mickey, the Yankee Clipper, Smokey Joe, and all the greats,
brings every little boy hopes and dreams as he enters for the first time their gates.
DiMaggio and Galvin echoes at the bat as America starts the baseball season’s fun.
Major Leagues, Minors, town teams and little leagues all strive for the famous home run.
A moment of summer in sweltering heat, the sun changes position at your back,
Let’s cheer our team and share a time of America with peanuts in a paper sack.
One, Two, Three Strikes “You’re Out”,they yell as another approaches the bat.
Root toot, toot for the home team, as the dust cloud forms at the mat…
copyrighted: 2001 CMM
In Honor of Martin Luther King Day,
It was just a drop.
“You know the drop.”
“Tell me, but first tell me why?”
“Why?” “We cried.”
“Because of the drop.”
“One who humanity denied.”
“Because, it was a drop.”
“Because of the drop?”
“The brown paper bag.”
“Matched the drop they denied.”
“But, we still cried.”
“We still cry.”
“Each time they deny.”
Copyrighted: 2016 CMM
The crystal clings. with toast of things, remembered from the year.
The wine pours red and we nod our head to loved ones, we hold dear.
A kiss held softly an embrace held tightly, all to say, ‘I love you.’
The moment of kindness of auld lang syne, with feelings of old and new.
Embrace the old man who now lifts his staff among the stars of time…
We pray to the mystery of luck and fortune let’s sing to auld lang syne.