Bleached white and muted grey wood line
Covered with spots of unthawed snow,
Patches of green grass left from summer.
The smoky grey morning clouds hang heavy
As the morning light breaks into a shadow cast.
Winter has taken hold into arctic temperatures
And still nature stays attentive to coming storms.
Sitting at my desk I am taken aback as one brave
Bird dares to break the silence and sing of spring
Yeats
Yeats in his epitah does say,
chiseled in stone of gray
“If there is one left to cry,
horseman pass me by.”
Trojan men, painted clone,
equestrian power, chiseled stone.
Oh, steed the poet’s cry,
witness to the final sigh.
The pen, the ride, united quest,
invites you near, as their guest.
But when the final blow does come,
please leave by in open run.
I will in spirit lope to see,
all the poets following me.
copyright: CMM
We have walked into
our beginnings as far as
we can go…
now the sea calls us each to our purpose,
all that is left is to climb…
©Christine McNeill summer 2004
(dedicated to Jonathan the most wonderful
son )
Baseball
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
Intelligence
Intelligence
Einstein played with imagination and sought
deep in reason, deep in thought.
No one to match his statistical mind
no one dead or alive, so far in time.
Mozart’s fingers crossed over the keys,
giving them melody and symphonies.
Practiced till his days were long
celebrated now in concert and song.
Freud who delved deep in the mind,
knew he had found the perplexed kind.
The id, Ego, and Super Ego distinct
put them together, the missing links.
Yet we look for original thought,
seeking harshly by scientist wrought.
Brilliant in their ways of thinking
only disappear among the sinking.
What is to say, what is smart,
if we only finish with what we start?
Or apply what is already known,
moving an inch from where its grown.
Time and space and Neanderthal man
has carried history from where it began.
Intelligent mind and the brain has grown,
yet still with intellect so little is known.
Copyrighted: CMM June 2007
Dragon and Me
Dragon and Me So, I was looking out past the glass, when my best friend Green Dragon resting next to me, turned and asked, “When you grow up will you take me too?” I stood and pondered, and wondered a while, I looked past buildings that went on and on, and thought of being bigger […]
Striking Time
Tick, ticking striking out of the past,
no one hears the silent sounds
of the before, setting tones of today.
Hushed noised of the irreversible day,
passable times of yore,
left only in forgotten memory.
Cobwebbed shelves building into
the minds of the ones left behind,
to sustain the awareness of time.
Rhythm, slow ticking, echoes loudly
as dusty sounds of a year
stored in moth scented rooms of the past.
Tones of hours, twisted,
tenor of richness strikes the dome
of pendulums’ sounds.
Wound springs of life, unwinding
movements in celebration of life
and the poignant tones of death.
The world evolves, revolves,
the clock ticks winding its hours
tightly around the past.
Irreversible paradox of beginnings
going toward the endings,
reaching into uncertainty.
copyrighted: CMM 2004-2005
Winter’s White
Preserved
limbs
frosted…
Linger
settled
crystals…
Quiet
sounds
lights…
Winter’s
hoarfrost
paints…
Portrait
frozen
white…
copyrighted: CMM 2002
Winter’s Solstice
Winter’s gray and silver sky.
Pry upon my watchful eye,
as I see the sun go down
setting shadows on the ground.
Yet I know and then I hope
when darkness comes that I will cope
with the fact that this will be
0nly temporarily.
For after December 21st
the snow will come from winter’s burst.
The sun will once again begin to shine
taking up more of the time
of day to give back to me;
my longing sense of sanity…
Copyrighted: 2010 CMM
Moments Soup
It is the parsley speckles floating in my soup,
as I sit looking outside the French doors.
Winter’s drizzle leaves traces downward
as time has left the traces which bring me to reflect.
Warm soup lifts in the steam left over
from the heat of the pot recently served,
brings warm thoughts of a time
brought by the seasons of another time.
A moment on a still chilled morning,
browns from the outer doors,
the dripping from the roof makes
all else in the world un-felt by it’s nature.
In this morning’s nature of warm soup and rain,
I have sat my day’s readings aside written of women’s
conflict and strife to feel the privilege testimony
that only a morning of notice would allow.
I think of the histories of history and I go.
I go far back to the shadows of Grandma and Mother.
I feel their aroma in the warmth of my soup.
With a clandestine smile, I have realized the ingredients
which made them survive—
copyrighted: CMM 2005
revised: CMM 2012
revised: CMM 2012
Eagle and Child Inkling 