Only the Mother knows how hard he has worked,

How much his heart is in the arts.

These moments makes my cup run over…

copyrighted:  2017 CMM

Jon Matteson, Chicago Fire, Season 6 Episode 6, NBC

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:  2017 CMM

All Soul’s Day, has come to past,

just in time to remind at last,

we are very temporary here

snow has fallen early this year

So as the day brings us to see

The souls and saints among the trees

Symbols passing in nature agrees.

Copyrighted : CMM  2017

I wrote a poem yesterday,

I don’t remember the words

Or what it had to say.

I scribbled it and jotted down

upon old paper

I picked off the ground

Writing quickly so not to forget

It came flowing

The sonnet set.

I found a place

Behind the books

Stuffed it where no others look

Later I promised I would read

The poem of the heart

A now forgotten seed.

©  CMM  2012

I remember the dirt drive laden in gravel just

off the main asphalt country road.

named after generations of people,

who came before me;

We called family.

I wonder how many trips were

taken in and out,

and for what reasons

as we came and went to this place;

we called home.

Generations of successors grounded

into the beginnings of a southern family.

Two world wars and aromas in the kitchen

with Sunday afternoon get-togethers;

everybody knew everybody

An echo of memories sounds into the tomorrows,

old becomes new and the new often forgetting

the once was, just off the gravel road

leading back to the circled drive grounded into a name;

for generations now forgotten.

©   CMM  2008

Ash, fallen losing its form,

drifting to places—

Places once given to life

now void in the body.

Blemished leavings of

perfect love and life—

Spent time, celebrations

now void in the mind.

Consciousness

to awareness made up

of dreams and hopes,

now void in the soul.

The ticking of the clock,

the clanging echoing,

noises made in the senses,

now void in the hearing.

Spoken words of promise

of heart felt memories

devoted love forever—

now void in heart.

We have heard many

warnings, sounding often

in the distance, never noticed—

until we hear the ringing.

Knell bell

final sounding—

Echo without vibrations,

muted sounds, never heard; but felt.

copyrighted: CMM 2002

I talk myself into my run

one foot in front of the other

climbing upwards challenged

laboring a little

just enough to remind me

my humanness

I pass birds calling

aged trees standing still

among the wood line

while wild brown-eyed susans

wink in sway with a soft wind

a wind I need to release me

I do not stop until the trail ends

copyrighted:   2017 CMM