Memories

I step into the day as I cross over the house,

turn on the coffee pot prepped from the day before.

Feeling the chill, I light the fireplace and pull my robe close.

I linger for a moment, until the coffee is ready.

I see the holiday lights on the neighbor’s lawn,

and the darkness on the houses next to it.

Picking up my cup, I settle into the couch and 

into my thoughts from the day before, missing loved ones.

Real Christmas Trees, creakier floors, tinsels that made messes.

the coffee was longer, and we were ok with that.

Holidays are a paradox of time that crescendos. 

into glimpse of all the feelings, loved ones, present and past.

I will soon get ready for the day and look to. 

a window of time for me to run …

CMM. 2023

I roll the dough between my hands

The crumbs drop off into the pan.

I was drawn to a kitchen from long ago

My Scottish Grandma , I remember so.

Hands with a dish towel she rang ,

I remember how often she sang.

Amazing Grace, she chorused the home.

Scottish aired from her among the scones.

The whirl of the smell drifted toward me.

I in my memory can still see .

©️CMM 2023

Damp, cool autumn wakes.

as the apples drop,

sunset shades are pulled just

before the clock can change.

The aroma of the apples

crisping from cinnamon

as the butter browns just in time

to take them out to serve.

Celebration of the season

seems sweeter from a hard summer.

CMM. 2023

A September day

Shadowed by

The summer sun.

As sunflowers

Dance in fading light .

The moment reflects

A wistful sight .

Passing season of heat

And drought.

Lends now to a walk about,

The fields of sunflowers .

ice tea a summer drink

Goes with runs

And and summer fun

Ice tea

I think I see

A coke and smile

I will walk

a million miles

just for a coke,

and smile.

copyrighted 2023 CMM 

Lemonade Grump
Lemonade, Lemonade 5 cents no more… Come to the stand you just can’t ignore. Glasses of flowers and paper ‘throw away’, come to the lemonade stand today.  Off in the distance the summer grump lurked, he was searching for a little girl to hurt. He went through the streets and happened upon a lemonade stand that did not belong After all, this little blonde, six year old tot a permit to sell, she neglected and had not. I will turn her in and stop all this fun, she will soon be scared and on the run  So he went to the court house and mayor and such to sign all the papers he wanted so much. He’d stop this child with her lemonade stand, he would be the happiest grump in the land.  They will compound her boxes with written signs of “5 cents for lemonade, with even the rind”… He would take care of her wishes of money for school, and keep her from learning the golden rule.		He would make sure she cried and take all her dreams, so the grump would sleep better with all of his schemes. When he was finished, he stayed lingering with a smile, after all, they would tear it down in a while  So as he waited in the heat of the day something funny was happening, going her way. The people that were there to tear down her stand, were buying the lemonade, hand over hand.  Instead of the five cents she so humbly had charged, they were giving her dollars and in grand assuage. There is something wrong, he pondered and looked, for the people drinking lemonade all were now hooked.  He saw the girl smile as she took their money,  the people were sharing and calling ‘him’ funny for having lost the spirit of the child deep inside;  he grumbled and held back his tear, as he cried.  Poor Mr. Grumps left beaten that day and thirsty without a fresh squeezed lemonade.  The story of Mr. Grump, left to remind with a child’s heart it is better to be kind!

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

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

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