I plant flowers,Lavender, underA pink moon.I see babies,Crying lifeless,Under faded moon.The water sprinklesInto the fertileSoil of promise.While red riversRun just belowThe still cradles.A paradox lives,I see the lavender,They bury innocence.copyright: 2017 CMM
There are secrets in my garden
You need but walk a piece
You will stumble on a flower
And a butterfly at ease
Walk but just a couple steps
You almost see them grow
The purple and the yellow
But please walk a little slow
There are secrets in my garden
A prairie dog you might see
A pansy or a daisy
However please be quiet
Not to disturb the frog so lazy
Or the fountains where angels sit
I invite you in my garden
Where joy is laid and kept
Copyright: 2017 CMM
Summer in the south
It is so easy to look back and think,
coffee on the stove, dishes in the sink.
Clothes lapping in the wind outside the door,
floors being swept with straw brooms stored.
Yelling at the children as they begin to play,
telling them ‘stay close’ throughout the day.
Lazy brown dog, sniffing for the shade,
underneath the porch, his bed he made.
Summer heat a rising and clouds begin to form,
nothing more cleansing than an afternoon storm.
Deep within the south, families all know the others,
where Sundays congregate, sisters and their brothers.
Not much left deep within summer’s south,
most of the families are scattered about.
But, if you drive down an old country road,
where there is only dirt, listening to the crickets and toads.
You might in the distance look down path to see,
a barefoot child, stick in hand, chewing on a weed.
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ah spring
Dandelions, fields of weeds and scattered seeds,
these golden pollen spread.
The flower sweet,
the pollen wreak,
this lovely enemy of my head.
Dandelion flowers,
pastel fields,
masking ranting weed.
Dandelion flower,
so strong in resistance.
Please tell me, what is your need?
© CMM 2009
Her soul needed refreshing
she returned to the sea
when the waves came, her troubles leave
her hair played with the wind
her smile swept across her face
she felt the universe give back her grace
early morning from darkness to light
rise into colors of orange, pink, reds
she nodded and watched, no words said
Her soul needed refreshing
she returns always to the sea
where the waves come, her troubles leave
Copyrighted: 2017 CMM
An hour of time,
a lifetime,
a pause,
a moment,
a second,
memories
measured,
by who
remembers
the times…
copyrighted by: CMM 2017
Her face, was like a road map of all special places,
her eyes the ocean of knowledge and strength.
Yes, her words spilled out of time, joy and sorrow
asking for someone to listen, love and remember; she was here.
Copyrighted: CMM 2017
I entered my garden of Gethsemane,
with the shroud of my womb
choking closely on my shoulders.
Weeping across my soul the red stain
flows into the vine now twisting into my
human flesh of pain and sorrow.
Mother of Mothers, whose loneliness
and desperation sheds the crust of my body
calling out for the new bread.
New bread for the generation left
from a Mother’s tears,
at Mary’s feet; the world weeps.
copyright: CMM 2009
Eagle and Child Inkling 