As the chickadee finds its nest,
among the prickly leaf…
The labored Mother sighs
as birthing finds relief…
Then nature joins a chorus,
among the star they sing…
Humanity realized His birth
of the Resurrection King…
He came among the world
in quiet winter’s rest…
Chickadee without notice
continues to make his nest…
Copyrighted: CMM 2003
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.
Copyright: 2011 CMM
Literature and Art Studies
- CHRISTINE McNEILL-MATTESON, A Walk among the Brushes. A Personal Reflection
of Anna-Teresa Tymieniecka: The Poet
flickering morning fire
quietly throws warmth
across the shadows
no sleep lifts me up
from my warm bed
to sit in the dark
praying in resolution
knowing the day
will be full
copyright: 2017 CMM
All Soul’s Day, has come to past,
just in time to remind at last,
we are very temporary here
snow has fallen early this year
So as the day brings us to see
The souls and saints among the trees
Symbols passing in nature agrees.
Copyrighted : CMM 2017
Witches and apples, fallen leaves and rot,
Has come to this the Hallow night of
full moon with goblins and steamy pots.
Shadows in night that pass among trees
of little costumes of scary ghost among
dressed up monsters of make believes…
An eve of frightening rituals
where all one’s fears are mimicked and mocked
with humor and timeless habituals.
So call on All Saints , who listen this night,
as the children grow tired from the cold dark streets,
and guard them home safely from the eve of fright.
© CMM 2013
I remember the dirt drive laden in gravel just
off the main asphalt country road.
named after generations of people,
who came before me;
We called family.
I wonder how many trips were
taken in and out,
and for what reasons
as we came and went to this place;
we called home.
Generations of successors grounded
into the beginnings of a southern family.
Two world wars and aromas in the kitchen
with Sunday afternoon get-togethers;
everybody knew everybody
An echo of memories sounds into the tomorrows,
old becomes new and the new often forgetting
the once was, just off the gravel road
leading back to the circled drive grounded into a name;
for generations now forgotten.
© CMM 2008
I talk myself into my run
one foot in front of the other
climbing upwards challenged
laboring a little
just enough to remind me
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