St. Patrick’s Day in coming soon—
The blarney stone that must be kissed,
upon the young and old secret wish.
As leprechauns hide in the trees
Equinox calls for winter’s eve.
Promising to find a rainbow’s gold
while tales of Gaelic undertake of old.
Now the Celts beckon their clover green,
caftan plaid skirts give away the genome,
Threnody hushed from the past…
as renaissance of wishes forever last.
© CMM 2013
What a lovely star I saw, just before the dawn,
large and bright in morning light twinkling out so far
I questioned if it was a plane and watched a while to see
it did not move this wonder star among the sky so darkly
I watched and thought, it could be one saying hi
One who passed on before, that now so far resides
I walked on for a while and relished in its light
Looking and watching and taking joy in Mars’ sparkling sight
I had to go back inside and get ready for the day
But I knew as the sun did rise, the star was never far away.
© Copyrighted: CMM 2014
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 rose, deep within was nurtured to the tomb.
copyrighted: © CMM 2004
Shakespeare in his bloomers svelte
wrote of love and how he felt.
Yet he seemed to be confused
even in his witty muse.
He loved a lady fair with scarlet,
yet he often referred her harlot.
He loved a young male of letters wrote,
but begged him times a sorrowful note.
His mind of genius and of words,
repeated times are often heard.
In plays and sonnets and in verse,
thespians memories do rehearse.
So goes his thoughts of madness,
the soulful writer’s joy and sadness.
A Valentine’s Day of day’s remembrance
seek out your own Shakespearean semblance.
Copyrighted: 2007 CMM
Photo Copyrighted: 2003 CMM
Dragon and Me So, I was looking out past the glass, when my best friend Green Dragon resting next to me, turned and asked, “When you grow up will you take me too?” I stood and pondered, and wondered a while, I looked past buildings that went on and on, and thought of being bigger […]
Jonathan Matteson as George Bailey as a modern version of “It’s a Wonderful Life”
If you have a moment before the New Year, this is truly worth the moments it takes to view. It is a wonderful rendition of “It’s a Wonderful Life” with the past and the new.
Smile in remembering and smile in knowing… not much has changed.
Tick, ticking striking out of the past,
no one hears the silent sounds
of the before, setting tones of today.
Hushed noised of the irreversible day,
passable times of yore,
left only in forgotten memory.
Cobwebbed shelves building into
the minds of the ones left behind,
to sustain the awareness of time.
Rhythm, slow ticking, echoes loudly
as dusty sounds of a year
stored in moth scented rooms of the past.
Tones of hours, twisted,
tenor of richness strikes the dome
of pendulums’ sounds.
Wound springs of life, unwinding
movements in celebration of life
and the poignant tones of death.
The world evolves, revolves,
the clock ticks winding its hours
tightly around the past.
Irreversible paradox of beginnings
going toward the endings,
reaching into uncertainty.
copyrighted: CMM 2004-2005
Cold wind whips ice-cream star dust
around the hanging frosty pale moon,
stretching the curtain on winter’s night
lingering just long enough…
Shinning white wishes on a
promise day of ice-covered earth
left dormant from tomorrow’s spring
in secrets of russet latent hope…
As a frigid coil whips frothy star dust
while a wanting bird chirps for warmth,
slightly flying into a frozen morning
he pauses to listen for company…
Bathing in the shinning silver wishes
hanging with the cold pallid moon,
he chirps again and lingers to listen
in secrets of still iced air of wanting hope…
Quiet resounding love threads the weave
of dawn with the promises of
morning, night and enchantment
twist blindly among the beginnings…
Copyright: 2011
Preserved
limbs
frosted…
Linger
settled
crystals…
Quiet
sounds
lights…
Winter’s
hoarfrost
paints…
Portrait
frozen
white…
copyrighted: CMM 2002
Eagle and Child Inkling 