A wakeful glimpse
Into darkness that helps us
See past into the light
CMM @ 2018
My Gaelic daughter,
A child of grace.
A spirited heart,
An angelic face.
Fears of a mother
Go ahead of her steps.
No greater joy,
Her pain is kept.
Walk among the clover,
Feed under the thatch.
Angels go as you rover .
A lassie of no match.
Copyrighted © 2018 CMM
my grandsons and me
Walk free among verdant grass
Present will be past
Copyright © 2018 CMM
the emerald fields
Give way to play for children,
Copyright 2018 CMM
Is it the hunger of children
that brings the beast to prowl.
Crying out the souls of poverty as
sticks and stones lay down their head.
Salty tears drying just below
the eyes of today’s forgotten,
dripped onto the little feet
without footprints to follow.
Callused soles of traveled miles,
rubbed into the distain of nothingness,
from thick leather boots stepping
on the fear of the lost children.
Copyrighted: 2018 CMM
That four poster bed and me at the foot…
was the beginnings of beginnings
and the irony it took.
My Mother’s plight to come back home,
when our Father’s fights,
and opening their doors,
no one needed to sleep on the floor.
The nights we laid, kittens in bed,
me at the foot,
as they snuggled at the head.
Quilts laid busy acoss us just right,
four poster jammed,
with three quite a sight.
As we grew older and given each a bed,
I will never forget the four poster bed,
me at the foot and they at the head.
I wonder in life when all things askew
and the trials I endured
whether old or renewed.
If being at the foot of this bed
gave me the will to survive,
in keeping my head.
© CMM 2002
I was born with a cowlick,
as they say in the South
It is nowhere related
to parts of a mouth.
If you looked real close
nothing laid down.
Hair stood up everywhere
even the crown
People would notice
then look away.
See only the pretty girls
no cowlicks, got to stay.
But, even born with a cowlick
isn’t too bad.
Cause it won’t make you happy
and it won’t make you sad.
That’s got to come way deep inside
learning to take cowlicks all in stride.
© CMM 2012
A voice so loud, I do remember,
Early evening, in late December
“Ho ho ho”, with a thunderous caugh,
Waking from slumber, we began to laugh.
Why was he here and we not asleep?
As our grandfather yelled, “kids come take a peep.”
“It looks as though Santa has come too soon,
You are awake and giggling in your room.”
We tip toed and peered around the hall to see,
a bearded man, red suit, looking back at me.
“Ho Ho Ho”, he winked and continued to sound.
“You are awake and wide eyed, I have found.”
We stood there in awe, and not a word said,
He hugged us, “Now get back to your bed.”
I remember the night, Santa came too soon.
As I tried to fall asleep, that night in my room.
Copyrighted: 2016 CMM