poet

ice tea a summer drink

Goes with runs

And and summer fun

Ice tea

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!

In the distance

A early morning howl

Waking the crickets

As the full moons hides

Yard dog starts to bark

A silhouette in the clouds

A dinosaur chases a wolf

A storm ushers a day

Of spring …

CMM ©️2023

I woke wondering

What should I do

I poured my coffee

And tied my shoes

I guess I will run

That is who I am

The beauty of the sunrise

My day begins again

Copyright ©️ CMM 2023

I know that if God decided to return me back to earth to be

he would decide to return me back within the sea.

There where life is motion, smell, wind and air

then among the seashells you will find me there.

I will be mystery of change within the sand;

you will hear me as the water reaches the land.

Across the waves haunting seagulls will sing

The symphony of sounds I will bring.

Safely on the grass, spotted on the beach,

you will see my human steps, the lessons they teach.

Teaching although for a moment gone by,

the sounds of the ocean you will hear my sigh.

It is now your turn to capture the essence of you.

to share this essence ; your purpose be true.

Deep within life’s cycle with yesterdays and me,

I see a familiar reflection within the sea.

As it will mirror the beauty of what is left to say,

and look no further than your own gifted way.

Leaving behind with you the love that is divine,

this love that will transcend beyond the shore of time.

“Sharing Poetic Expressions, Beauty, Sublime and Mysticism in Occidental Culture”

Chapter: Tuning Forks of the Soul, Christine McNeill-Matteson

copyrighted: ISBN 978-94-007-0759-7

DOI 10.1007/978-94007-0760-3

Springer Dordrecht Heidelburg London New York

Sharing Poetic Expressions; Anna-Teresa Tymieniecka

You are the spring in my life.

Your words strong and bonding.

Gentle into the falling rain.

Soft sun strengthens the tulips

but just for a season in passing

they draw near to the heavens

knowing they are for a moment.

Love springs eternal

“I will still take your hand.”

CMM. copyrighted 2023

I jaunt in the morning moon

My thoughts are miles away

I give up way too soon

So I can start my day

But I will always be

Jaunting again tomorrow .

CMM ©️ 2023

The saints woke,

Walking to their place of meditation

They lift their heads and kneel.

Remembering the prayers of the faithful

Their voices go to the ears of angels.

And ride the wings into the heavens. 

Where miracles abide and worries subside

The dance of the prayers of the saints.

Christine McNeill-Matteson

copyrighted 2023

Artist: Christine McNeill Matteson