Poetry

It is cold today and quiet, the sun will rise soon.

The day will begin; without notice of   

the freedom we feel, when we watch the geese.

The quietness we will feel, when we stand alone.  

The sky is still blue for us, but not for all in the world.

CMM. 2023

I sat down to my quiet desk,

the end of the day,

I will try to rest.

I look and see there left behind

a golden dragon spread wings

with eyes so kind.

I called my son and said you forgot

your dragon is still here

on my table top.

He quietly paused

with a soft voice replied,

the dragon is there to stay by your side.

Dragons are fun,

but they are brave and strong

he is on your desk where he belongs.

copyrighted: 2023 CMM

Is the night of ghost and goblins?

near as frightful as the days.

coming from the battled streets,

crying from the warrior’s haze.

Crisp the humid fallen golden,

tis moist and wetting dew.

Comes the flowing ghost and goblins.

hallooing from behind the stew.

Yet the truth be more the scarier

dying souls of sand pit graves.

Hence, we need to be more mindful.

battling through mayhem waves.

Yes, this season of the Hallow,

souls and saints remembered here.

While the innocent still living,

live within the streets of fear.

Pray the saints we beckon this,

a night of memory, night of fright.

Soon the only horror faced,

is just the tales of all hallows night.

copyrighted: 2004 CMM.

I roll the dough between my hands

The crumbs drop off into the pan.

I was drawn to a kitchen from long ago

My Scottish Grandma , I remember so.

Hands with a dish towel she rang ,

I remember how often she sang.

Amazing Grace, she chorused the home.

Scottish aired from her among the scones.

The whirl of the smell drifted toward me.

I in my memory can still see .

©️CMM 2023

ice tea a summer drink

Goes with runs

And and summer fun

Ice tea

I think I see

A coke and smile

I will walk

a million miles

just for a coke,

and smile.

copyrighted 2023 CMM 

My DNA is from the Scots 

Legacy of 6 generations of women sit on the piano.

The music from the isles of Scotland 

plays in my veins, carrying the rhythm of the past.

Giving me the song of promise.

Let me dance with echo’s, let me sing with voices.

Reminding me to not let them down.

They cried, they laughed, and they lived in hope.

It is in that hope they bore the tides of their wombs.

Rushing onto the promises of tomorrow, 

the slipping sands grip into the current of time.

I share the apron of hope to the beauty left behind.

Christine McNeill-Matteson

copyright : 2023

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