Morning Sky
#SkyViewApp
Under the magic
Across the blacken sky is
Wonder of life and love
CMM @ copyright 2018
Paradox
A robin waits and then she soars
I run the hills out of doors
In the middle of world’s unrest
I still run and the Robin makes her nest.
3.00 miles
Copyright 2018
The Gift
I find myself (as I do every Christmas) thinking back to a
special lady who always made Christmas so loving. There was
one gift I always remember and treasure is the one from Grandma.
She was old and retired. She was living on a very limited
income. Each Christmas she would set up a tree no taller than
Two feet. It was artificial and set on a little table covered with cotton
from old boxes, replicating snow.
She would take the little money she had and buy each of her
grandchildren hose for the girls and socks for the boys.
Today I remember her going to the little tree. Her hands had
become old with swollen joints and trembled just a little as
she picked up the little gift wrapped in thin paper from the year
before. There was always a thin ribbon, usually red tied so carefully.
Handing me the little gift, she would say, “It’s not much.” I
would always smile to her and say, “Grandma, you have no idea
how much I needed hose.” She would smile and sit next to the
little tree.
Today that gift keeps giving back to me. It was love.
copyrighted: 2012 CMM
Women Before
If I could pick up the pieces
and build a bridge from me to you,
we’d brush our hair with scents of yesterday’s living,
color our lips with stains of mauve secrets.
There would be miles of many years,
across miles of tears and sacred truths.
We’d hang the railings with aprons tied together,
and our bras that covered our bosoms of nurturing souls.
Bridging over rivers from birthing beds wet with sweat and fluids from the womb,
we would cry the storms with tears of sorrow, spring rains with tears of joy.
If I could pick the pieces of all our pain and build the hopes with the strength remain,
we would hear the chorus of all before us and harmony welcome those to come.
copyrighted: 2012
Christmas Tea
Brown aroma filters through
the porcelain pot wrapped in
a holiday Christmas print
Tea covey placed around,
Tied at the top with a green ribbon.
Pouring into the cup the sound
of generations past of many pourings,
expressed within generations,
a knowing of shared time.
The warmth of the spiced tea
brought smiles caused by conversations,
of simpler relationships in an eloquent
fluent exchange of Christmas gentility.
Christmas 2013 copyrighted: CMM
The Drop
It was just a drop.
“What drop?”
“You know the drop.”
“Tell me, but first tell me why?”
“Why?” “We cried.”
“Because of the drop.”
“What drop!?”
“One who humanity denied.”
“Because, it was a drop.”
“Because of the drop?”
“The brown paper bag.”
“Matched the drop they denied.”
“But, we still cried.”
“We still cry.”
“Each time they deny.”
Copyrighted: 2016 CMM
The Gift
The Gift
I find myself (as I do every Christmas) thinking back to a
special lady who always made Christmas so loving. There was
one gift I always remember and treasure is the one from
Grandma.
She was old and retired. She was living on a very limited
income. Each Christmas she would set up a tree no taller than
2 feet. It was artificial and set on a little table covered with cotton
from old boxes replicating snow.
She would take the little money she had and buy each of her
grandchildren hose for the girls and socks for the boys. Even
today I remember her going to the little tree. Her hands had
become old with swollen joints and trembled just a little as
she picked up the little gift wrapped in thin paper from the year
before. There was always a thin ribbon, usually red tied to the
gift. Handing me the little gift, she would say, “It’s not much.” I
would always smile to her and say, “Grandma, you have no idea
how much I needed hose.” She would smile and sit next to the
little tree. Today that gift keeps giving back to me. It was love.
Eagle and Child Inkling 