I heard an owl outside my window
Breaking dark and morning flight
Then another answers soon after
Together harmony hooting quiet
A leaf is heard falling softly
Autumn speaks a gentle sound
Lagging song bird breaks the silence
And I am the only one around
Rustic red donned the tree tops
Top to bottom as they fall
Sweet farewell for winters coming
Leaving the trunk standing tall
￼copyright: CMM 2020
I met ‘ Father Time’ yesterday. He turned and said, We have known each other before.” I replied, Mona Lisa. He bellowed out a laugh and said, ” That will do.”
I watched a friend take her last breath today.
We prayed, ‘Hail Mary’ and the “Our Father’
Then she passed…
I miss her terribly.
Unfair, at least to my understanding now.
Unfair to me.
She was fried chicken,
She was “riding around”,
Music on the radio.
We talked of ‘new loves’,
With new hopes,
As we shared our dreams.
She was simpler times,
Long phone calls,
She was late night rescue,
Stranded from dates
She was laughter at oddity
Of pregnant bodies
And invisible feet…
She was death,
The painful recognition of
The ugliness of disease…
She was the beauty
Of the spirit, shinning past
All the let-downs of cancer…
She was a lifetime friend
You never ask for,
Only recognize a lifetime late…
As I sit by her bed,
Watching her breath,
And my tears are for me.
let’s have a conversation
no, not a wish list to reply
let’s go somewhere and listen
we can laugh or we can cry
let’s stop and say nothing
or just smell the air around
let’s have a conversation
or never make a sound
what is really of value
is you are here for me
and I am always seeking
to have a conversation
a time to sit and be…
Copyrighted: CMM 2016
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
Keats spoke of a rose and how it would not wilt.
This rose came only once and was not made of silk.
PIcked among a garden this one unique rose,
taken from the thorns, this flower she chose.
Sat upon his desk, and nurtured from the stems,
drenched in water, cut in a vase, and looking back at him.
He called the rose loveliest of any in his fences,
this rose compared to others, they had no defenses.
However the secret of this rose was not from one attending.
The secret of its beauty was truly from its sending.
This rose he said was more because a friend gave way,
now the beauty of the perfect rose was given to him today.
Swelling powdered scents flowed in the house and settled,
crimson velvet sculptured rose, green stem among the petals.
Beauty in its temporal form in nature’s moment bloomed,
eternal rose, deep within was nurtured to the tomb.
copyrighted: © CMM 2004