fall

A magic orange, a pick’s delight,

An Autumn prize, a beautiful sight.

A lot of love was chosen that day

among the gourds and leaves and hay.

Which one to chose and take home

a prize that stands out alone.

Now it sits with lights adorned

Right next to the dish with candy corn.

copyrighted: CMM 2020

The old red barn

Has lost some charm

The bare cupboards

sound alarm .

As the day of plenty

Is now in the past

The smell of yesterday

Somehow still last

Handkerchiefs are gone

Crochet by hand

The tiny baskets

No longer stand

The apples still ripen

And the pears still fall

Mask are all worn

But not by all

Poets and artist

Will record this time

When people passed

And the need to be kind.

©. CMM. 2020

“Speak to me olé muse and through me tell the story” —Homer

An autumn morning with

crisp awareness of summer past.

Brings to memory how

the saints soon hover and last.

Orange pumpkins lay to rot

Along the porch and drive.

While chapel bells ring

calling ‘All Souls’, who still survive.

Copyright © CMM 2018

Our weather is turning — our clocks will change.

Life will get shorter and time rearrange.

We will fade and the children will take their turn,

watching life pass and working to earn.

Only to be where we are now,

no slower no faster with  reflections somehow.

©  CMM  2015

“What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.”
― Charles Baudelaire

A slip, a footing,

both pent against the wedge of panic’s doom.

A slice of electrical surge

crippling my stance.

Yanking the distorted foot

out of its pitted doom,

it stops me,

I wait.

A balance of consciousness,

a throbbing searing surge,

I step broken

one in front of the other.

Stepping into the climb,

one step, then two; more.

Top of the stairs,

a morose pause, then endurance—

I continue on to class.

 

© Christine McNeill-Matteson  2000