Before the pain,
there was laughter
sharing of wits
the morning after
before the pain
there were smiles
all night conversations
lingering for a while
before the pain
she felt safe to know
he was there
they would grow
before the pain
all was everything
no needs
before the pain
Copyrighted: 2017 CMM
That four poster bed and me at the foot…
was the beginnings of beginnings
and the irony it took.
My Mother’s plight to come back home,
when our Father’s fights,
were all we had known.
Grandparents adjusting
and opening their doors,
no one needed to sleep on the floor.
The nights we laid, kittens in bed,
me at the foot,
as they snuggled at the head.
Quilts laid busy acoss us just right,
four poster jammed,
with three quite a sight.
As we grew older and given each a bed,
I will never forget the four poster bed,
me at the foot and they at the head.
I wonder in life when all things askew
and the trials I endured
whether old or renewed.
If being at the foot of this bed
gave me the will to survive,
in keeping my head.
© CMM 2002
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: 2007
The middle aged professor with half a balding spot
stands upon his desk yelling expletives and nots’.
The ‘f’s’ and the ‘f’s’ don’t you understand,
‘malfunctioning world, is as I explain of man.’
After all I am brilliant and have a degree,
some call me elitist, some a pedigree.
You are the fools that sit here in your desk,
as I postulate and rage without your protest.
I have lost my semblance of professional and poise,
you will hear me teach and it only sounds like noise.
Where do we get these educators yelling at the youth,
claiming this is intelligence and pretending it is couth.
Disorganized and frayed, they walk late into the class,
wasting money called tuition, they bleed from the mass.
So please Mr. Professor, get down from your chair,
try to get outside yourself and pretend you care.
Try to think we have value and a few little brains,
impart your wisdom and learn to pronounce our names.
Copyrighted: 2006 CMM
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
I pulled aside upon my path
my kickstand now down…
The wheels that turned for so long,
Now stays upon the ground…
The wind has changed and now still,
The grass no longer green
the last ride has been complete
the rider no longer seen…
I have stopped for the last time
and pause to say good-bye
I hope to see you on the trail
somewhere on the other side…
Copyright: CMM 2011
Dedicated to a friend who lost his battle with Mesothelioma
I remember the little white package.
It was a rippled red ribbon so neatly tied.
Crossbow over the square gift.
Placed just under the 3 ft. Christmas Tree.
Set on a table with white cotton tree skirt.
“It’s not much,” she would say.
“Oh, Grandma, anything you give is always too
much.”
We would smile as her trembling hands reached for the gift.
“Thank you Grandma,” as we opened the gift gingerly.
There in the little gift was a pair of sheer stockings.
“Grandma, how did you know, this is just what I needed.”
She would smile delightfully with light behind her blue eyes.
You see, the gift of love was one she could not wrap in paper.
The caring hands were never measured by a moment.
Her memory is not in just one generation, but many.
Her gift, I treasure, it was the gift of love left lingering.
Copyrighted: December 2016 CMM
I looked past the window pane and saw the gray bleak sky,
and felt the chill left in the house where all the quiet abides.
I’m not sure which bird I heard but off in distance it sings,
And I listen until the quiet resumes, then hear him once again.
Ice has passed and snow’s to come, blanketing frozen ground,
as I walked among the woods a breaking crunching sound
of frozen earth reminds me of the labored year has passed.
We look for good news to come, and hope that will surpass.
This hope was birthed among the timbers and quiet baby born,
yet the world goes on the same, even after Christmas morn.
Listen, as the year ends, Father times bids us farewell,
while the story remains anew among the promised tale
of birth and baby, poverty persist and still it overcomes,
rage and war and even death as life brought by a son.
Copyrighted: CMM 2008
Christmas lights flicker
into colors, green and red.
The silence of the season
hangs in what is not said.
It is the knowing you are not here
your smile I miss the most,
The quiet way you made it so
a holiday Christmas toast.
I will miss our first Christmas
with you not around.
I will miss all the other Christmas’
in memory do resound.
Copyrighted: 2011 CMM
I turn to see a shoe I missed
It was my Mother’s slippers
I thought I could climb the stairs
with even sounds of flippers.
I stepped into the stairway
and much to my surprise.
I lost the one, kept the other
I felt it gone and realized
I still had one on the other foot
and that was ok you see.
I will continue on in venture
carrying my mother’s shoe with me.
So such is life in little things
our children do take with him.
The climb the shoe and little
one too and leave a shoe with them.
© CMM 2015
