she pauses, you are lucky,
(not that you did not earn it)
she corrects herself
I turn pause, and hold my tongue
Regrets, old people are so full
of melancholy , anger and antagonism
looking about, comparing
sniffling into the past choices
trying to eliminate the differences
from the closest to them
at all cost wanting the tally
to be even or the same
Time is a teacher of the cruelest
yet we wear it through life
thinking it can be silenced
until all is taken, the voice becomes
louder, and louder without remorse
Copyrighted: CMM 2017
There are secrets in my garden
You need but walk a piece
You will stumble on a flower
And a butterfly at ease
Walk but just a couple steps
You almost see them grow
The purple and the yellow
But please walk a little slow
There are secrets in my garden
A prairie dog you might see
A pansy or a daisy
However please be quiet
Not to disturb the frog so lazy
Or the fountains where angels sit
I invite you in my garden
Where joy is laid and kept
I walk upon the canvas
the gray and green elephants
walk around me.
Always in dimensional lights
of bright and then dim
the gathering of familiar faces
was all that I could see.
I look to see upstairs to find
and you were not there.
I continued down the stairs
the face of your adversary
standing fatter and pompous.
A distant call was hung into space
I heard the gritty sound of ignorance,
I heard the sound of disgrace.
I never saw but knew.
I asked this fatter one where,
where were you?
He turned to another and gave directions
I could no longer contain the pain,
as I beat upon his chest and
cried with years of disdain…
white moons hang next to one another
bringing heaven’s presence and earthy observer
Hanging like large bulbs lighting existence,
closer and closer they merge into one light
looking across the way into the darkness
the moon dust falls light on a field of magnificent emerald
they move as though dancing without music,
gracefully they silhouette around the other
again I look upon the heavens and the moons
have separated again, white light emerging
toward the other…
cataclysmic they collide once again,
burst into a million stars
the heavens reflect…
Opening up the old rubbed wooden box
I smelled time lingering from recipes of the past.
Shoved into in a hurried way of schedules and life
I pulled a hand full of recipes tattered and unorganized.
Sifting through in hopes to find a recipe to add to a menu
for a friend who is sitting in a hospital room with her mate.
A mate of 50 years now succumbed to life and cancer.
I look to see which one will do, and as I do, I see names.
These were the names of friends from a lifetime,
friends who shared a moment and then left a recipe to remember.
Friends much like the ones who are holding the hand of each other
waiting for life to say good-bye until another time.
I look at the names and realize the box has become a eulogy of friends,
the recipes reflecting their personality, their smiles, their life.
I feel as though it brought me to a sacred place, of time, sharing,
a holy place of scents and smells forgotten, but not their presence.
© Copyrighted: 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
If I wrote among the willows would the earth receive my tears ?
Would the roots gather moisture and return the pain of years ?
If I dry my tears with ashes and wipe my anguish with moss,
would the day seem less melancholy and the passing less a loss ?
Be with me a moment and I will gather in the rain
All the earth of my humanity and the lightening of my pain …
copyrighted: CMM 2014
I shared with her my plans and schemes,