Cowlick


I was born with a cowlick,

as they say in the South

It is nowhere related

to parts of a mouth.

If you looked real close

nothing laid down.

Hair stood up everywhere

even the crown

People would notice

then look away.

See only the  pretty girls

no cowlicks, got to stay.

But, even born with a cowlick

isn’t too bad.

Cause it won’t make you happy

and it won’t make you sad.

That’s got to come way deep inside

learning to take cowlicks  all in stride.

©   CMM   2012

In My Garden


There are secrets in my garden

You need but walk a piece

You will stumble on a flower

And a butterfly at ease

Walk but just a couple steps

You almost see them grow

The purple and the yellow

But please walk a little slow

There are secrets in my garden

A prairie dog you might  see

A pansy or a daisy

However please be quiet

Not to disturb the frog so lazy

Or the fountains where angels sit

I invite you in my garden

Where joy is laid and kept

Copyright:  2017 CMM

Lost Valentine


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 

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before the pain

all was everything

no needs 

before the pain 

Copyrighted:  2017 CMM

Four Poster Bed


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

Keat’s Rose


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

Profane Professor


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

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 CMMimg_4953