I Run


I talk myself into my run

one foot in front of the other

climbing upwards challenged

laboring a little

just enough to remind me

my humanness

I pass birds calling

aged trees standing still

among the wood line

while wild brown-eyed susans

wink in sway with a soft wind

a wind I need to release me

I do not stop until the trail ends

copyrighted:   2017 CMM 

Midnight Sea


Midnight and the sea and wind plays just inside the moon.

Beacons flicker on the horizon to remind the sea the ships wait until morning light.

Unseen Artist’s brush sweeps white froth clouds  against a midnight sky.

The poet listens to the wind’s promise to bring a rain shower to lead the dance.

The dust of the day , the worry of tomorrow finds a journey into a healing crescendo.

Copyright:  2016 CMM

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Bleached white and muted grey wood line

Covered with spots of unthawed snow,

Patches of green grass left from summer.

The smoky grey morning clouds hang heavy

As the morning light breaks into a shadow cast.

Winter has taken hold into arctic temperatures

And still nature stays attentive to coming storms.

Sitting at my desk I am taken aback as one brave

Bird dares to break the silence and sing of spring

Winter’s Solstice


 

Winter’s gray and silver sky.Winter's Solstice

Pry upon my watchful eye,

as I see the sun go down

setting shadows on the ground.

Yet I know and then I hope

when darkness comes that I will cope

with the fact that this will be

0nly temporarily.

For after December 21st

the snow will come from winter’s burst.

The sun will once again begin to shine

taking up more of the time

of day to give back to me;

my longing sense of sanity…

Copyrighted:  2010 CMM

Autumn Leaves


Autumn st. mary 2photo

Pumping inside, silent echoes of my heart

racing rhythm reminding me; visceral awareness.

The sense is preciously closer to a more final silence,

as I listen to resounding moments.

It is autumn in my life, and as the leaves fall,

so do the days of color and stillness.

Each day is a lover coming to call,

ticking moments,  pulsating rhythm.

Sweeping the broken twigs,

the acorns in pieces with leaves

rusted across the redwood deck,

I feel the seeds of contemplation.

©  CMM  2011

Wet Lands


The fiddler crab reached from under,
while grass grew from standing water.
Trees a century old hang over,
just off from dry Civil War mortar …
The quiet fields now left remain
and bridges cross to link the past…
Seagulls just off the ocean’s break,
haunts the memories that will last.
May we have a gentler time
and never to return to cause such grief;
I walk on through the battle field,
to return back from the sun’s relief.
Copyrighted:   CMM  2011
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