Grandma’s Promise
Growing up at Grandmas.
Simple, hardwood floors,
large dining tables and
Re-covered chairs in the living room,
Ornate gifts from Grandaddy
displayed on the mantle of the fireplace.
Large front porch where games were played.
Games played by my cousins and siblings
long into the summer night as
fireflies lit the sky and loud bull frogs croaking.
It was a symphony of noises,
a crescendo of children’s laughter.
The smells of Grandma’s kitchen
filtered to the front porch into our
senses that felt like hugs as we played.
Barefoot and past-down dresses hung lose.
My board straight hair tinted with red was
always contrasted by my sisters’ curls.
When we were small all things seemed simple.
Birthdays were many with 4 grandchildren
living under their roof, we consumed their love.
Love they gave with time and toil.
But, one thing we look forward to
on our birthday was ‘the promise.’
The promise of a birthday cake, honoring
you and your special day.
The day you could wake knowing
the smell in the kitchen was all yours.
It was the scratch cake grandma would make .
Singing all the while she worked,
“Happy Birthday” to you …
Tanka
I remember the light
In my grandmother’s kitchen
Something you notice,
then later you remember
how refreshing her presence.
© CMM 2021
Birthday Stack
Birthday Stack

The stack went high
So high in the sky
The candles glowed
And went on and on
The special way
I started my day
With Mom and Dad
And siblings too
The glitter and gleam
Reflected in me
As the dreams for the day
Go as far as I can see.©️ CMM 2021
Driving across country from Calf – NC with 130.00 will not be forgotten as long as this song can be played . 😊
Bunce Road
I remember the dirt drive laden in gravel just
off the main asphalt country road.
named after generations of people,
who came before me;
We called family.
I wonder how many trips were
taken in and out,
and for what reasons
as we came and went to this place;
we called home.
Generations of successors grounded
into the beginnings of a southern family.
Two world wars and aromas in the kitchen
with Sunday afternoon get-togethers;
everybody knew everybody
An echo of memories sounds into the tomorrows,
old becomes new and the new often forgetting
the once was, just off the gravel road
leading back to the circled drive grounded into a name;
for generations now forgotten.
© CMM 2008
Mom’s Slippers
I turn to see a shoe I missed
It was my Mother’s slippers
I thought I could climb the stairs
with even sounds of flippers.
I stepped into the stairway
and much to my surprise.
I lost the one, kept the other
I felt it gone and realized
I still had one on the other foot
and that was ok you see.
I will continue on in venture
carrying my mother’s shoe with me.
So such is life in little things
our children do take with him.
The climb the shoe and little
one too and leave a shoe with them.
© CMM 2015
Slippers
I turn to see a shoe I missed
It was my Mother’s slippers
I thought I could climb the stairs
with even sounds of flippers.
I stepped into the stairway
and much to my surprise.
I lost the one, kept the other
I felt it gone and realized
I still had one on the other foot
and that was ok you see.
I will continue on in venture
carrying my mother’s shoe with me.
So such is life in little things
our children do take with him.
The climb the shoe and little
one too and leave a shoe with them.
© CMM 2015
Waking
I hope I will always wake in tulip sunshine
among the fragrance of green grass
growing near flowing rivers
while breakfast sizzles in
cast iron skillets
with biscuits
on cobalt
blue
plates.
If this
goes away
in my memory
and leaves me for
another day in changed
places, I want to still wake
in tulip sunrise and still smell
the coffee brew to another time but let
not the reciting bobwhites forget to sound; so I will always remember.
copyright: CMM 2005
Friends For LIfe
I shared with her my plans and schemes,
she shared with me her hopes and dreams.
Together we grew and then apart,
but apart we never forgot the start.
The start of what would one day be
a friendship for life, as we look back to see.
Mistakes we made and mountains we climbed,
didn’t take away the precious times.
We had when we were young and foolish,
dressed in hippie and rock style goolish.
Play house tucked between two trees,
went from ‘make believe’ to club house fees.
Cokes spilt as it fizzed to the top,
not being able to find the mop.
Burning pots in our effort to cook,
parents stood and trembled and shook.
The skating rink, and many a miles
as we skated and danced with youthful smiles.
The teen club, with all its rocking songs,
giving us a sense that we belonged.
Belonged of a generation confused from war,
with racial strife the turmoil we bore.
Our days became families and then children to rear,
the days we lived, the battles we feared.
From growing up in uncertain times,
didn’t seem to change or deter our minds.
From returning to what was always to be
a friend close in time we’d see.
The treasures of childhood, the journey or strife
is always best accompanied by a friend for life.
copyright: CMM 2005
Eagle and Child Inkling 