Vineyard III
Behind aged stone walls,
Italian wine flows as veins
breathed from purple grapes…
© CMM 2015
Napa Valley
Vineyard II
Brown ground bakes under
sun’s relentless draught, holds
hostage enduring grapes…
© CMM 2015
Among the Stars
A Dream
white moons hang next to one another
bringing heaven’s presence and earthy observer
to notice…
Hanging like large bulbs lighting existence,
closer and closer they merge into one light
colliding …
looking across the way into the darkness
the moon dust falls light on a field of magnificent emerald
green elephants…
they move as though dancing without music,
gracefully they silhouette around the other
peacefully moving…
again I look upon the heavens and the moons
have separated again, white light emerging
toward the other…
cataclysmic they collide once again,
burst into a million stars
the heavens reflect…
Christine McNeill-Matteson
June 2015
Unwanted Test
They sat in the dark,
side by side.
For darkness is still,
upon the lake.
Spoken softness
of hearts unbound.
The shadow of the loons,
caught their eye.
The past remembered,
already set.
The loons that glide,
they hide in the dark.
Is this not the same,
for the two that spend,
grasping in the middle
of empty spaces.
Hearing the other,
learning to share.
Silence breeze caresses
the fear.
This takes the edge
off the unwanted test.
The loons will remain
on the lake at night,
in the dark they hide,
gliding.
© CMM 2003
Bare Feet
Summer sand and heat will rise,
school was out and no surprise.
We dropped our books in the door,
kicked off our shoes to go explore.
Sand spurs caught us as we ran
in the weeded fields or in the sand.
It never mattered we played all day
the heated storms would start to sway.
Huddled under the porch we would wait,
lemonade in hand for the storm to abate.
But, never once did we think about
putting on shoes, cause school was out.
Father’s Day
It will soon be Father’s Day, and often that is viewed differently by so many.
I sit on the frozen metal chairs, serving to brace my back,
but not my feelings.
Whipping sounds of the cold wind
carries the wet tapping’s on the tent.
Smells of spring are muted by the unearthed hole
covered now with artificial turf
and mounded piles around the edges.
The box, the gray silver box
suspended over the receptor dug for it.
‘Stars and Stripes’ reminiscent of wars
fought in the past, and forgotten not.
Forgotten days of heroic acts
of wars not forgotten and now
remembered; this daughter remembering not.
Six foot and oh so many tall inches
my brother, sitting close by; silent.
He looked past me sometimes and sometimes noticed
with a reassuring nod he was there.
Not saying too much as people approached him,
this the only son and namesake of the departed.
Deep into his blue eyes and the stark black hair
quickly graying…
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Hills of Memory
In remembrance of Memorial Day
The morning sun rose in cool softness over the gentle Missouri hills,a morning announced with the calling of the geese as they fly over.
A special gathering is beginning deep within the hills
speckled with white uniform tombstones…
Tombstones all a certain size, all to match the other,
rowed to follow the curves, the sloping grass.
Gentle hushed people walking, stopping to look,
stopping to look for, hoping to see…
See the familiar name, the identity of the one,
the lone one they once knew and shared life…
Flag markers are diligentlly pierced in the grass,
the grass that carpets each gravesite.
Cutting through the cemetery a road lined from one end
leans with motorcycles representing a special war.
Significant of the era it was fought in; tumultuous times,
the confusion so related to the war of Southeast Asia.
Elderly men reminiscent of the World Wars and foreign fields
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Eagle and Child Inkling 