Time

circles and rhytmns

time pushes out

round and round

decays of lies

placed in forgotten

rings of covered maskings

and the circles and rhythms

continue on,

growing into to a stump

to cut into history

rediscovering it still

exist…

copyrighted:  2017

Rushing

towards me in rhythm

pushing, pulling in tides

of undertow and strong currents.

I rest, for the tides of my soul

are brought into the life of the sea.

Copyrighted:  CMM  2011

Opening day, it’s now time to play, the game found in cornfields and parks.

American way, a game that will stay, the home run you want before dark.

Hammering’ Hank, Mickey, the Yankee Clipper, Smokey Joe, and all the greats,

brings every little boy hopes and dreams as he enters for the first time their gates.

DiMaggio and Galvin echoes at the bat as America starts the baseball season’s fun.

Major Leagues, Minors, town teams and little leagues all strive for the famous home run.

A moment of summer in sweltering heat, the sun changes position at your back,

Let’s cheer our team and share a time of America with peanuts in a paper sack.

One, Two, Three Strikes “You’re Out”,they yell as another approaches the bat.

Root toot, toot for the home team, as the dust cloud forms at the mat…

copyrighted: 2001 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

If I could pick up the pieces

and build a bridge from me to you, 

we’d brush our hair with scents of yesterday’s living,

color our lips with stains of mauve secrets.

There would be miles of many years,

across miles of tears and sacred truths. 

We’d hang the railings with aprons tied together,

and our bras that covered our bosoms of nurturing souls.

Bridging over rivers from birthing beds wet with sweat and fluids from the womb, 

we would cry the storms with tears of sorrow, spring rains with tears of joy.

If I could pick the pieces of all our pain and build the hopes with the strength remain,

we would hear the chorus of all before us and harmony welcome  those to come.

copyrighted:  2012

It was just a drop.

     “What drop?”

     “You know the drop.”

“Tell me, but first tell me why?”

     “Why?”  “We cried.”

      “Because of the drop.”

“What drop!?”

      “One who humanity denied.”

      “Because, it was a drop.”

“Because of the drop?”

      “The brown paper bag.”

      “Matched the drop they denied.”

“But, we still cried.”

     “We still cry.”

      “Each time they deny.”

Copyrighted:  2016  CMM