Women Before


The Women who taught me strength…

eagleandchildinkling's avatarEagle and Child Inkling

If I could pick up the pieces

and build a bridge from me to you, 

we’d brush our hair with scents of yesterday’s living,

color our lips with stains of mauve secrets.

There would be miles of many years,

across miles of tears and sacred truths. 

We’d hang the railings with aprons tied together,

and our bras that covered our bosoms of nurturing souls.

Bridging over rivers from birthing beds wet with sweat and fluids from the womb, 

we would cry the storms with tears of sorrow, spring rains with tears of joy.

If I could pick the pieces of all our pain and build the hopes with the strength remain,

we would hear the chorus of all before us and harmony welcome  those to come.

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“My Apologies” — Rudyard Kipling 1932


 

Rudyard Kipling

"Master, pity they servant ! 
He is deaf and 3 parts blind.
He cannot catch thy commandments. 
He cannot read Thy mind. 
Oh, leave him not to his loneliness; 
nor make him thy kitten scorn.
He hath none other God than Thee 
since the year that he was born . 

Lord look down on they servant! 
Bad things have come to pass. 
There is no heat in the mid-day sun, 
nor health in the way side grass. 
His bones are full of an old disease-
his torments run and increase. 
Lord, make haste with thy lightenings 
and grant him quick release."
 —-Rudyard Kipling, ‘ His Apologies ‘ 1932


writing may be harmful to your health 😜📝

I Lost My Friend in the Rain


 

 


I lost my friend under the rain.

She and I use to run long distances

when we were young.

We spoke of sweethearts and dreams,

sports and basketball.

We shared french fries,

Dr. Pepper and coke floats.

She held the record for the broad jump

in school.  I played basketball,

I was a forward.

There were always tomorrows,

until I lost my friend in the rain.

She let go one day

leaning outside against her car in the rain,

it was suicide…

Copyrighted:  February 2018 CMM

 

 

Eternal Rose


eagleandchildinkling's avatarEagle and Child Inkling

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…

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Ran under the lunar Eclipse this morning


The Handkerchief


Hanging on tiny pegs deep within the ole’

country store, filled with scents of Autumn.

The replica’s of the past preserved in rust

and weary wood lean against white wash walls.

There in the middle of the vast array of

yesterday’s wears and pickled pears I

looked over to see the wonderful

handkerchief made of white organdy.

I was without protest taken to a place

so long ago within a southern church.

With deacon pews made of hard wood

and curved at the ends where I sat

sitting next to my grandmother.

Her scent of lavender and Jergens

Lotion combined with the seasons

brought in from the open window

Near-by, of trees, and flowers.

The handkerchief was wrapped around

her fingers as they wove into one another.

Her hands laid in her lap of homemade

dress, with tatting and laced collars.

Her thumbs were covered with the lace

handkerchief as she circled them around

and around, (as I watched), never breaking

rhythm the handkerchief would go.

The choruses were sang from ole’ gospel songs,

and the preacher would change his sermon about

one thing or another and the people would often

come and go, but not this constant memory.

The organdy lace handkerchief with painted

flowers and lace on the tips were always

in her hands, covering and keeping timing,

with timeless memory sitting next to Grandma…

© CMM   2011

A. M.


flickering morning fire

quietly throws warmth

across the shadows

no sleep lifts me up

from my warm bed

to sit in the dark

thinking, weighted

yesterdays forge

into serenity

praying in resolution

knowing the day

will be full

Copyright:  2018  CMM

Elders


It was a little church

brick layered from years

creating a shelter

for children to feel safe.

Singing gospels,

‘jesus is calling’

and ‘amazing grace’,

people stand in faith.

Wooden pews curved

into the backs tired

from laboring fields

bent  by the plow.

Promises coming from

pulpits of well intending

preachers who draw from

biblical stories.

Stories of trial and

triumphs of ancient

believers who strived

and survived.

Promises raining

from a place called

heaven, a place many

were destined to soon go.

“Sweet hour of Prayer”

they listened and sang

holding on the pews

as the children watched.

Yes, they would leave

to go home to their

Sunday dinner, knowing

“In the sweet by-and-by.”

Copyrighted:  2018 CMM

Winter Solstice


The darkness will now

curtsy Black

Turn to the moon and

stars their back

To raise the shade

Of light again

With winter’s flight

And night rescind

A frost brings a cold

Frozen nip

As the sun travels

The global trip

Giving back the light

from autumn darkness

Now soon to be out of sight

 

Copyrighted:  2017 CMM