I sit in my early morning quiet spot
Where I go to hear God
And hopes he will listen as I pray
The night still lingers
The air heavy and damp
The quiet crickets not far away
The old oak tree my morning friend
Salutes upward to morning stars
sweet breeze sways the leaves
The soft rustle of the branches
Speaks gently to remind me the
Spirit calls me to believe.
Christine McNeill-Matteson
Copyrighted 2019 CMM
The Language of Mind | Edge.org
— Read on www.edge.org/conversation/david_chalmers-the-language-of-mind
Morning sun rises
My soul’s shade is lightened now
No rain weigh it down .
Copyright © CMM. 2019
It was a loaf of bread,
a gift of love
she struggled to say
It is all I have
times were hard
her family at risk
she came to dinner
from a dark abyss
picked as a flower
from spring she left
stormed in the winds
and soon was adrift
It was a loaf of bread
it was all she had
she asked please
take it, and quietly cried
Copyright: 2018 CMM
we will both grow old,
our youth wasted in time
rusted planks of life
jutting out
feeling the days gone past
looking for a sign
we will understand how
little time we tout
until now, we look and see
our hands and body weathered
I will smile and feel the
glow of our youth
even though the shifts
are tethered
Copyright: 2019 CMM
A day of celebration:
“Now I a two-fold vision see…
May God us keep
From single vision, and Newton’s sleep.”— William Blake
Eagle and Child Inkling 