Black Eye Peas
Black eye peas my ancestors would say.
Eat them for luck on New Years Day.
A spoonful, a bowl they did not care.
Leaving the table , you did not dare .
Black eye peas will sit there forever
As it waits, this new year’s endeavor .
CMM © 2022
New Year
Crystal clings, toast to things,
Remembered from the year.
Wine pours red, nod our head,
To loved ones we hold dear.
A kiss held softly and
Tight embrace, I love you.
The moments of kindness,
Auld lang syne, old and new.
Brace the wise man, who lifts
His staff among stars of time.
We pray to mystery of
Life, singing old lang syne.
Copyrighted: 2018 CMM
Paradox
A robin waits and then she soars
I run the hills out of doors
In the middle of world’s unrest
I still run and the Robin makes her nest.
3.00 miles
Copyright 2018
A New Year
The crystal clings. with toast of things, remembered from the year.
The wine pours red and we nod our head to loved ones, we hold dear.
A kiss held softly an embrace held tightly, all to say, ‘I love you.’
The moment of kindness of auld lang syne, with feelings of old and new.
Embrace the old man who now lifts his staff among the stars of time…
We pray to the mystery of luck and fortune let’s sing to auld lang syne.
copyrighted: 2011 CMM
Lift Our Glass
The crystal clings. with toast of things, remembered from the year.
The wine pours red and we nod our head to loved ones, we hold dear.
A kiss held softly an embrace held tightly, all to say, ‘I love you.’
The moment of kindness of auld lang syne, with feelings of old and new.
Embrace the old man who now lifts his staff among the stars of time…
We pray to the mystery of luck and fortune let’s sing to auld lang syne.
Jonathan Matteson as George Bailey as a modern version of “It’s a Wonderful Life”
If you have a moment before the New Year, this is truly worth the moments it takes to view. It is a wonderful rendition of “It’s a Wonderful Life” with the past and the new.
Smile in remembering and smile in knowing… not much has changed.
Striking Time
Tick, ticking striking out of the past,
no one hears the silent sounds
of the before, setting tones of today.
Hushed noised of the irreversible day,
passable times of yore,
left only in forgotten memory.
Cobwebbed shelves building into
the minds of the ones left behind,
to sustain the awareness of time.
Rhythm, slow ticking, echoes loudly
as dusty sounds of a year
stored in moth scented rooms of the past.
Tones of hours, twisted,
tenor of richness strikes the dome
of pendulums’ sounds.
Wound springs of life, unwinding
movements in celebration of life
and the poignant tones of death.
The world evolves, revolves,
the clock ticks winding its hours
tightly around the past.
Irreversible paradox of beginnings
going toward the endings,
reaching into uncertainty.
copyrighted: CMM 2004-2005
Eagle and Child Inkling 