The Holidays

christmas decorations

Another holiday alone
leads one to take a pause;
to ponder over days gone by
and wonder at the cause.

I always thought I leant myself
to others needs and cares.
Perhaps I just deceived myself
with well wishes and prayers.

But hey, there is still life to live
and time to make a change.
So next year I won’t be alone
a party I’ll arrange.

I’ll start tomorrow getting out
to make some friends anew,
tomorrow or the next day that’s
perhaps what I will do.
c.d.m. 11/17/15

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Posted by on November 25, 2015 in family, life stories, ohio poets, poetry, Society, Writing


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La-la Land

English cottage garden

Strange how the mind can trick us to
believe deceit and lies.
Excusing the offenders when
the truth we realize.

I guess believing more lies seems
to ease the pain we feel.
Cause ‘La-la Land’ is kinder than
the cold hard truth that’s real.

I guess you meant more to me then
I ever meant to you.
To face that cold reality
is what I must now do.

It won’t be easy, I know that
I’ve tried for years  I vow,
that I am leaving ‘La-la Land’
my journey begins now.

cdm 11/20/15

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Posted by on November 20, 2015 in angels, family, life stories, old barns, poetry, Society, Writing


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Excuse Me

Mountain Healer

If we lived in a gentler time
my words would kinder be.
The harshness of terrain these days
can get the best of me.

So please excuse the coarseness of
my language now and then,
I only mean to speak my mind
and never to offend.

The writing lets the steam off so
I don’t explode; for real!
Believe me I hold most inside
else volumes I would fill.



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An Answer to Obama and Shep Smith


Excuse us Sir, if we say ‘pass’
not welcome to the masses.
As they slip through the net YOU threw
to; come kill our asses.

How stupid do you think we are?
Not half as dumb as you.
We won’t sit down with snakes to eat,
because YOU tell us to.

Listen to Trump and others and
just aid them over there.
Cause from their midst come murderers
and we don’t need them here.

cdm 11/17/15


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Take The Helm


When Peewee Herman’s at the helm
all nerves are set on edge.
World feels like a teeter totter
that dangles on a ledge.

Voice your concern and Tiny Tim’s
in a world-wide melt down.
The fact that any question him
makes Timmy scowl and frown.

Each point of disagreement draws
the race card from the deck.
With Peewee Herman at the helm
our angst predicts shipwreck.

But there’s a Captain on the rise
to take the helm in hand.
Perhaps he’ll guide our battered ship
from storm-tossed sea to land.

cdm 11/17/15


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Dead at Heart


How could it be that I grieve so
yet you never remember me?
Try to move on, forward not back
but my head and heart can’t agree.

How’s one pretend, it matters not?
One half of a whole’s still the same.
Missed that class in the school of life.
I flinch each time I hear your name.

What made your heart grow cold and hard?
How do you take a breath these days?
You now exist, while dead at heart
as the smile on your face displays.

cdm 11/13/15


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Grow Up Quentin


Quentin Tarantino,
what’s the matter with you?
Tell me what is that
makes you do what you do.

You make ‘would be’ movies
with no reason or rhyme.
None that have a moral;
only glorify crime.

Your soul is so twisted
it’s effected your face.
Now you’re out mouthing off
it’s a total disgrace.

Laying blame on the ones
who protect us each day.
Who’s the idiot that’s
telling you what to say?

No truth in your words and
no facts can you provide.
Just running your mouth on
the false accusers side.

You need to go home ask
your family to forgive,
Next time you call for help
then maybe you will live.


cdm 11/5/15


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Harry’s Legacy


Well you’ve broken my heart, sweet Harry
by saying you will not run again.
To speak sentiments very clearly
to this paper I have put my pen.

You’ve lied and connived your whole ‘career’
while creating this ‘progressive’ trend,
a dream coming true, living to see
your tyrannical reign finally end.

You have led the charge ever bravely
to knock all the ‘right’ out of the way.
By hook and by crook you determined
you would cripple our nation some day.

Now you are done, so you’re going home
reap richly of that, which you have sown.
May every stray dog in Nevada
cock its leg on ‘old Harry’s’ headstone.

c.d.m. 3/27/15

bye-bye Harry

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Posted by on November 4, 2015 in life stories, ohio poets, poetry, Society, Writing


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Shake It Off


If there is a God in heaven,
then here is what He’ll do.
He’ll make a special place in hell
Hillary just for you.

Not only will He make it a
well deserving abode.
He’ll shorten your life on this earth
to give you, all you’re owed.

I do believe in Karma and,
a God upon His throne.
So I await your judgement in
His fire and brimstone.

So go ahead and smile like;
you have done nothing wrong.
When God judge’s for Benghazi
you’ll sing a diff’rent song.

You won’t be singin ‘Shake It off’
cause it will stick like glue.
A fitting end is what you’ll reap
a special hell for you.

c.d.m. 10/22/15

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Posted by on October 23, 2015 in ohio poets, open door, poetry, Society, Uncategorized


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Quibble squabble, spit and spat.

faded glory

Eeny meeny miny moe
safest bet is Uncle Joe.
Murderer or socialist,
settle for the nations Jest.

You ask,” Why a democrat?”
I would love to address that.
The ‘Right’s’ grown so far apart,
lost before the battle’s start.

I want this! I must have that!
Quibble squabble, spit and spat.
My picks not in! My picks out!
Think I’ll just stay home and pout!

He said this, and she did that!
Quibble squabble, spit and spat.
Steady feast of news and net,
source of angst; result regret.

Eeny meeny miny moe
safest bet is Uncle Joe.
Murderer or socialist,
settle for the nations Jest.

10/10/15 cdm


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The Fix


 I’ve seen a sadness in your eyes
that breaks my heart to see.
Yet all the while you try to hide
your feelings far from me.

We’ve known each other far too long
to hide such emotion.
So I’ve laid my pen to paper to;
rid you of that toxin.

The words, “I’m sorry,” aren’t hard,
I’ve said it many times.
If you would try it; you would find
the joy of our pastimes.

I would, if I thought it could change
the wrong that you have done.
But it’s your turn to scale the walls
to see this wrong undone.

8/27/15 c.d.m.

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Posted by on August 27, 2015 in angels, family, life stories, ohio poets, poetry, Writing


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The End

A Mommy somewhere is crying
a child’s alone tonight
A mate tries to face tomorrow
while Dad sheds tears out of sight.

One mourns a friend gone forever
someones plan seems to be lost.
There’s none left untouched by warfare,
while too many count the cost.

Since time began, it has been so
bullets or words start the fight.
The end result remains the same
someone is crying tonight.


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Hear US Roar


What is it you wait for; our question to you?
When will you get to, what we sent you to do?
We sent money, made phone calls, voted and prayed,
and wait to behold all the dragons you’ve slayed.

Why in DC, are promises forgotten;
alliances made, allegiances boughten?
While we who have sent you,fight off unbelief
refusing to see, you will not send relief.

We gave you the congress, the senate floor too
yet still you sit silent refusing to do
what we the people have fought to deliver;
power to take back our land from the fakir*.

McConnell and Boehner to name just a few
have forsaken the faithful,sad but it’s true.
Though I’m but one voice, I hope that you hear me,
for soon you will hear the roar of the many.


*A fakir, or faqir, derived from faqr,
is a Muslim Sufi ascetic in the Middle East and South Asia.
The faqirs were wandering Dervishes
teaching Islam and living on alms.


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Fresh Start


To start from the beginning
is difficult at best.
At least it’s cost me nothing
my hard drive laid to rest.

Baby steps come one by one
as we begin once more.
Jewel and I, are back in tune
poetry to explore.

Four long months; have crept on by
since she took a nose dive.
No keyboard to write upon
no files to archive.

Now Jewel has a new hard drive
and I have found notepad.
I lay fingers on the keys
is this poem really bad?

cdm 7/25/15


Posted by on July 25, 2015 in humor, life stories, ohio poets, open door


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Truth for Benghazi


[Truth for All of US.]

‘ Move to the sound of the gun’s.’
Run to the sound of battle.
Respond to the call for help.
Rise as the sabre’s rattle.

Never retreat and then hide.
Nor lie to cover our shame.
As brave American’s died,
a video bore the blame.

For many whose hands were bound,
couldn’t respond to the sound
and they knew right from the start,
the video had no part.

Remain no longer silent,
now’s the time to speak your piece.
Display your hearts so valiant;
make this horrid lie to cease.

That ‘we’ may hold our heads high;
Americans one and all.
No more our hearts or hands bound,
we all may answer the call.

c.d.m. 5/1/14


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A Word for Christians Suffering around the World


The First Martyr’s Testimony

Stephen lived sometime ago
in a land of great turmoil.
When those in power served themselves
the mass’ were their spoil.

So as others all around him
Stephens hopes grew very dim.
Til the day he heard Yeshua speak
and hope revived in him.

He was tried; as conflict rose
from those he’d known the best.
But his Saviour’s all consuming love
withstood with ease that test.

With joy and great conviction
he would daily testify.
Til the maddened unbelievers
screamed out Stephen you must die.

With every blow the life ebbed from
his broken earthly form.
Yet his “spirit man”, ascended
dancing high above the storm.

Stephen sang out, “I see Jesus,
mercy Father” was his cry.
The grace in his heart touched the hearts
of some who had stood by.

Today we often hear the tales
of little bodies broken.
While witness’ recount the scene
defence is left unspoken.

Does Jesus’ words still transform
the hearts and lives of men?
Have we enough of Christ in us;
to live and die as Him?

book of Acts 6:5—7:54-60                                      C.D.M. 2009


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Easter Morning [from my friend]


Easter Morning

“The Easter Bunny came,” he cried
without  a trace someone had lied.
“Yes my son the rabbit came,
but we both know it’s just a game.”
” Can we go to hunt the Easter eggs,
when we get dressed?” the small one begs.
“Yes we shall but first let’s pray
It’s more than ‘just’ a holiday.”

“The Easter bunny’s not the one
who gave me you my only son.”
“He’s too small to understand,”
Grandma said patting my hand.
“The Easter bunny is all he knows,
he’ll learn the truth as he grows.”

All though my Mother raised me well,
I did stumble and I fell.
I want to do the best I can,
to raise this boy to a wise old man.

Suddenly a soft voice said,
as if He was inside my head,
“If the boy learns on his own,
too many years he’ll walk alone.
Time and truth are best at hand,
to raise your boy to a wise old man.
For if he is wisest of them all
all will stumble, all will fall.”

Connie Jean VanMatre  Easter 1980
[from front page of Perry County Tribune]


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VLUU L100, M100  / Samsung L100, M100

Almost two years have come and gone
without a word between us two.
I ponder do you think of me
as I so often think of you.

I can’t believe the bond we shared
could be destroyed on such a whim.
That life goes on empty and bare
as memories have now grown dim.

To throw away a lifetime shared
seems to me; to be such a shame.
For passing fancies of the day
I bear the brunt of all the blame.


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Posted by on February 7, 2015 in family, life stories, ohio poets, poetry, Writing


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The Promise


I heard geese flying over
in the sky today.
It was like Mother nature
was trying to say,
“Cheer up little girl on
this blustery day,
I promise you that spring time
is well on its way!”

cdm 1/26/15


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The Shepherd of the Spotted Lamb


Cold and shivering, he came forth,
into this world that night.
his  breath of life shone clearly
in the moon’s cascading light.
His Mother gently loving him
her darling baby boy,
his spots did not disquiet her
nor steal that Mother’s joy.

The Shepherd checked in on them
just before the break of dawn.
The spotted lamb was nursing,
shaking legs he stood upon.
The shepherd knew the value
of his herd had just went down.
For spotted lambs, went cheaply
at the market sale in town.

Cold and shivering, He came forth
into this world that night.
His  Breath of Life, shone clearly
in the moon’s cascading light.
His Mother, gently loving Him
Her darling Baby Boy.
There He laid; The Spotless Lamb
Source of Eternal Joy.

The shepherds came to worship
called by Angel’s; from above.
There in a lowly manger
they beheld; the Father’s Love.
The value of the spotted lambs
was costly; now they knew,.
The Spotless, came as ransom
for the spotted; me and you.

c.d.m.  9-29-10

For there is not one without sin, or spot amongst us, thank God for the good Shepherd.


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Believe in Santa




What’s wrong with believing in Santa Clause?
Or other sweet dreams of childhood?
I think if more grown-ups still held out hope;
for all of us it would be good.

There’s so much that’s harsh in this big old world;
dear Santa might soften things up.
Beginning with hearts that wrote Santa off;
when children turned into grown-ups.

See old hearts don’t shine with the Christmas light;
at least not like young hearts shine through.
I think grown-ups should believe in Santa,
may brighten us up if we do.




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Home for Christmas


No home to go to for Christmas,
more than just the homeless can tout.
There’s other’s alone on Christmas;
so that’s what this short poem’s about.

Many my age do get lonely
especially at this time of year.
As children grow-up and marry
and parents must move to the rear.

I made those choices long ago.
That’s when I decided to stay;
at home with my kids for Christmas.
So kids with the new toys could play.

Now years later, too late I fear;
I think that I made a mistake.
I should have went home for Christmas.
Home’s one place we should not forsake.

Now there is no ‘ home’ to go to,
for mother and dad have passed on.
Sadly I taught my own children;
and my chance to go home is gone.

            c.d.m.  12/ 24/13


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A Tale of Christmas Eve, by a friend

T’christmas decorations

T’was Christmas eve with no snow on the way
Grandma and Grandpa had called it a day.
There was he in his boxers and her in a gown
they’d turned off the TV and went to lay down.

When out in the driveway they heard a loud clatter;
doors slamming and lots of voices in chatter.
Looked from window to cold ground below,
to see their children with grandkids in tow.

Gramps rushed to the door ‘fore they tried old keys,
from a long-lost time when they were kiddies.
“Surprise they shouted while coming in view;
our presence’s our Christmas present to you.”

Go to Facebook and your eyes will behold
Grandma and Grandpa looking tired and old.
In gowns, no make-up, no teeth, messy hair
please delete that finger that’s up in the air.

                                                                          Connie J. VanMatre 12/24/13


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Michele Genee 1973

I once had a friend, Michele Genee was her name.
She watched my back, for her I did the same.
We lived out in the streets, some how we always got by.
But it really was a miracle, we both didn’t die.

We worked by day, wnd we partied by night.
We helped each other out, and we seldom had a fight.
We really tore up the streets, of old Akron town.
The life that we led made, both our mama’s frown,.

I bet your wonderin what happened to, Michele Genee.
Why it is in the past-tense, that you hear of her from me.
If you care to read further, the sad story I’ll tell.
Of what came between us, and sent our friendship to hell.

Michele was the elder, between her and me.
But I’d lived out there longer, I had street maturity.
She one day met a man, ‘Pretty Charles’ by name.
I knew from the streets that, pimpin was his game.

I tried to tell her, she said, ” Thats not what he’s about.”
I said, ” Watch and I’ll show you, I’ll leave room for no doubt.”
My plan was to get him, interested in me.
To catch his eye, so he’d drop Michele Genee.

It didn’t take him long to see, that I knew the score.
Between me and Michele, he knew I’d make him more.
He dropped her like a hot potatoe, and came after me.
That was the end of my friendship, with Michele Genee.

Well I laughed at ‘Pretty Charles’, and said, ” Listen man,
I am not so stupid, as to fall for your plan,
why would I need you, if what I’m sellin is me,? ”
I guess I had to much of that, street maturity.

So Michele Genee, this is a message to you
I didn’t mean to hurt you I did what I had to do.
He would have used you up, then threw you in a garbage can.
That’s all you would have gotten from that, pimpin man.
Peace out from me.                                3/10/09


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Appalachian Lullaby


I left my heart in West Virginia
at the tender age of nine years old.
For a place somewhere up in Ohio
where there were jobs Daddy had been told.

It was a land of promise up in Ohio
where a man could feed his family.
But what use has food to a soul that’s dying
it seemed a poor exchange to me.

To the earth’s four corners a generation scattered,
far from their roots of generations past.
They did not know as the family parted,
a tree with shallow roots can never last.
An Appalachian lullaby
I can still hear the mountains cry.
As people left everything they’d known
Seeking for a better job and home.
It was the end of family
an all American tragedy.
an Appalachian lullaby
makes you hang your head and cry.

There were trips back home til Grandma departed
Then the trips grew fewer through the years.
Had Grandma known what was to follow
Her sweet blue eyes would have flowed with tears.

Now my Daddy’s buried up in Ohio
The children are scattered to the winds.
Far from their roots in West Virginia
Where this child’s heart has always been.

To the earth’s four corners a generation scattered,
Far from their roots of generations past.
They did not know as the family parted,
A tree with shallow roots can never last.
An Appalachian lullaby,
I can still hear the mountains cry.
As people left everything they’d known,
Seeking for a better job and home.
It was the end of family,
an all American tragedy.
an Appalachian lullaby,
makes me hang my head and cry.

’cause I left my heart in West Virginia ,
at the tender age, of 9 years old.



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The Page Has Turned


A page has turned, and you are gone
I do not wonder where.
For long before we parted ways
you weren’t really there.

Now that you’re gone, I do not care
I seldom shed a tear,
The page has turned, no turning back
you made this choice I fear.

c.d.m. 10/3/14


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Mommy always called me Gypsy


Mommy always called me Gypsy
after Gypsy Rose Lee.
Seems I loved high-heels and jewelry
they fascinated me.
My wardrobe held the cast-offs of
the ‘Ladies’  from upstairs.
I’d watch them do thier make-up and
do what they called ‘coiffures’ *
To see them dressed up for the town
gave my young heart delight.
They’d stumble up apartment stairs
at all hours of the night.
There was Sophie, Grace and Carol,
and my favorite Kaye,
it seemed that they all worked at night,
then slept most of the day.
Mom acted strange when I told her,
“I want to be like them”.
Told Daddy,”We will have to move,
or face a big problem”.
It wasn’t long before we moved
seemed very sad to me.
Cause after that, Mommy never
called me Gypsy Rose Lee.

      7-28-11             c.d.m.

*In these ladies dialect, ‘coiffures’, rhymes with ‘upstairs’.


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A Cry for Help

American tragedy

Akira bowed, to get beneath
shelter the cliffs could provide.
Amidst strangers and family
all seeking a place to hide.

Her little one clinging to her
cried loudly for food to eat.
She staggered in sheer exhaustion
from fear and sweltering heat.

A cacophony of voices,
echo questions and debate
wondering, now where do we go
oh God, what will be our fate?

To be driven out like stray dogs
because of faith and belief,
they ponder over the future
and if it will bring relief.

Some have died while on this sojourn
covered by dust starved for rain.
No time to mourn their passing,
too burdened with angst and pain.

Hiding there they hold their breath and
wait in anticipation,
that help will come from somewhere else
for Christians in their nation.

Then far off in the distance they
can hear the comforting sound
of someone raising a standard;
and mortars pounding the ground.

Time to defend the innocent
and defy the cowards hand.
A call to the Christian nations
to gather and take a stand.

Cheryl Davis Miller 8/8/14


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I once knew an orangutan
who loved to drink iced tea.
He would come by for a visit
just to entertain me.

We would meet beneath the willows
and sit there side by side.
Me listening as he spoke of
his journeys far and wide.

He only would grow quiet as
he sipped at his iced tea.
That traveling orangutan
who people called ‘ Charlie.’

He’d lived through famine and plenty,
he saw good times and bad.
Surviving long wars and peace times
still he was seldom sad.

He’d share the reason of his hope
and high expectancy;
his trust was in the Lord’s great love
for all humanity.

Friend if you question my stories;
true legitimacy.
Go talk to the orangutan
who’s simply called ‘ Charlie.’

Cheryl Davis Miller 7/31/14


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The Farm’s Story


While driving a back road, the other day
came across an old farm in sad decay.
I pulled off to the side, to view the site.
Wondered how this farm, fell into this plight.

Searching I pictured sights from; long ago.
The farmhouse was blanketed by the snow.
Smoke curled from the chimney, by night and day.
Kids ignored the cold, while busy at play.

Looked once again and saw Spring drawing nigh.
As play was replaced, by chores by and by.
All hands were required, to work the farm.
With each generation; farm life lost charm.

With summer came work, from daylight to dark
and seldom a chance for, a play-day lark.
A dip in the creek; seemed a rare treasure.
Life on a farm, left small time for pleasure.

With Fall’s arrival, came new work to do.
There’s meat and tators; to mention a few.
Cords of dry wood, to stack neatly in rows.
Then stock the larder, and fill the silos.

Winter comes to offer, a brief repose.
Dad works on the books and Mama she sews.
Kids all enjoy; what seems a holiday.
Climbing the hill, to ride down on a sleigh.

Each passing year, the desire has waned.
“Jobs are in town,” all the children explained.
Venturing off, they all leave one by one,
parents pass on and the farm; it is done.

Farm life’s been replaced, by sad memories,
I thought as I sat there, beneath the trees.
A life style forgotten and left behind.
One trip pass that farm, brought this all to mind.

   Cheryl Davis Miller 2010


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The Moon’s Woe


Moon has danced within Earth’s orbit,
gliding by her through the night.
Watching her throughout the ages,
then beholds a woeful sight.

When up is down, and down is up;
in is out; and out is in,
good is bad; right always is wrong,
Earth falls in a mad tail-spin.

Close the door, turn down the madness,
for she can’t take anymore!
Someone stop the Earth from trembling
please show mercy, I implore.

Fear she’ll tilt right off her axis
if she is not lent a hand.
All this madness has her reeling.
Sigh; she does not understand.

Mens inhumanity to men
acted out in wars and strife.
Innocents caught up in madness,
never have a chance at life.

Raging Red; for blood is seeping,
someone, please stem the wounds flow.
Lest all’s lost with no survivors.
Moon reflects, a wistful woe.

Cheryl Davis Miller  7/23/14


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A Cheap Trade

American tragedy

Thought I missed you, but realized
you’ve been gone many years.
So long in fact, I wonder why
that I would still shed tears.

You made a choice to disregard
all that you have been taught.
Then sold yourself, to later find
it’s not all that you thought.

Thinking you’d caught a big fish who’d
provide security,
only to find you’re now a slave
your life’s blood is the fee.

I hate to say this but I know
the worst is yet to come,
when seeds you’ve sown in dis-regard
take root to then blossom.

I’ll ask you now before that day,
” Do you still ‘ like it ‘ ?” or
are you just holding your breath at
what you know lies in store.

For you left all behind in search
of lame security,
only to find that he provide’s
not but anxiety.

cheryl davis miller 7/23/14


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If I could roll this fury up
into a tight-knit ball;
I’d drop it in a deep dark pit
of bitterness and gall.

Those rancid acids would destroy
it to the very core;
so I could face tomorrow with
out anger anymore.

Then I’d unfurl the tentacles
that’s held joy captive;
so once again in peace and love
my battered soul could live.

Cheryl Davis Miller 7/9/14


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Going Back


I oft-times wish, I could go back
and live my life again.
With knowledge gained from ups and downs
and places I have been.

I’d love to know, what I know now
and feel as I did then,
I’d change so many choices made
if I could live again.

That’s not the way life works out though
and sad as it may seem,
we can’t go back but must go on
to go back’s just a dream.

 Cheryl Davis Miller  7/9/14


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Sometimes I’d Love to..

wed. pink lillys 003

Sometimes I’d love to run away,
go to a wilderness.
There I’d live a quiet life far
from business and stress.

I’d find a stream, or hidden bay
and make my home right there.
Without neighbors, wars or strife
no worries, stress or care.

I’d raise a garden, gather nuts
and fish my heart content.
No job, no bills, no phones to ring
no car payments or rent.

Towards eve, I’d build a lovely fire
to roast my fish upon.
Eat and then dance ‘neath starlit sky
until the break of dawn.

Then climb into my blankets warm
to sleep and dream all night,
with no alarms to wake me up,
each day would start out right.

Sometimes, I’d love to run away…

Cheryl Davis Miller 7/9/14


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Jive Talk

Jesus saves

Speaking to the air, there is no one there
who is it you’re talking too?
You turn from the Light; deny the might of
the Savior, Who died for you.

Said now you have found, a ‘new way’ that it’s
one of many, so ‘they’ say.
Not so, according to Jesus; Who said,
” I’m the Truth, the Life, the Way.”

I weep for the path you’ve chosen today,
for the destinations sure.
Apart from the Lord, you’ll find nothing there’s
no future; no hope; no cure.

You claim that you’re now enlightened and feel
pity for close-minded me.
My mind’s one with the Eternal One, so
you can save your sympathy.

Cheryl Davis Miller 6/14/14


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The Vision


The shadows on the window blind
said all I need to know.
A heartless tryst as plain as day
just like a picture show.

It left me shaken, broke in half
my thoughts in dis-array.
The vision I stumbled upon
while seeking you today.

Of course you say, ” It matters not,
it was a huge mistake.”
You’re unaware to me it is
far more than I can take.

I’d like to say, that I’ll be fine
and my life will go on,
but for tonight I only hope
I’ll live to see the dawn.

Cheryl Davis Miller 6/11/14


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The Catawbas

Cheryl pics 302

The Catawba’s are in bloom
bringing back sweet memories
of you and I there, beneath
that stand of Catawba trees.

The sunlight dancing over
the water trickling by;
reflected in your dark eyes
from a cloudless summer sky.

I hear you whisper softly,
black hair blowing in the breeze.
Birds singing as they watch us
beneath our Catawba trees.

Fifty years seem to pass by
and I travel back with ease;
as I behold the white blooms
of those old Catawba trees.

Cheryl Davis Miller 6/9/14


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A Trilogy of Age




Who’ll shed a tear, when they are gone?
Their lives who shall recall?
Who’ll lay a wreath at their tombstone?
Will any visit at all?

Lives they gladly lived for others,
for children and family,
for church friends, neighbors and strangers,
they gave their lives lovingly.

Now they have grown old and feeble,
all strength and wealth now is gone.
No knocks at the door, nor phone calls.
Who’ll weep when they have gone on?



What’s the cause of her pessimistic view,
and oft spoken remark,” Oh well.”
She flows from a child-like joyful state
right into a mean doubtful spell.

I can tell that it is a learned practice,
not part of her nature at all.
What made her lose hope in the future?
and made her heart bitter as gall?

Heartache and loss are the culprits of what,
drove her to this gloomy outlook.
The twinkle in her eyes has told me so,
I can read her, just like a book.

I pray a change comes and turns things around,
dispelling her woe-full despair.
That the Lord, touches her family soon,
and remembers Dorothy’s prayer.



Alone with his thoughts, going round and round.
He sits quietly seldom making a sound.
I ponder where his thoughts would take him to,
he’s seen a lot; being he’s ninety-two.

He’s spoke of clearing a virgin wood stand.
He and his father cut them all by hand.
There ‘ neath the shadow of huge hemlock trees;
the boy laid the ground for the man’s stories.

His eyes would shine brightly as he’d recall;
how they cut them down with a two-man saw.
Then just as quickly his eyes turn dark;
he grows quiet and his mood becomes stark.

You know then to hush; and just let him be.
He’s turned from the past to eternity.
His greatest adventure’s out there somewhere.
Unseen as yet; it’s one he cannot share.


          Cheryl Davis Miller 5/28/14


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Thirty Minute Stall

American tragedy

The longest half-hour of all time;
the last thirty minutes of a shift.
You wonder,” Will someone relieve you?”
Or just leave you stranded and adrift.

Those thoughts cross your mind, as the clock ticks.
Each tick seems forever and a day.
A hand turns the knob, someone enters.
Then you are finally on your way.

Such is the life of caregivers and
to most it’s a matter very small.
But if you have been a care-giver,
you know of the thirty minute stall.

                   c.d.m. 5/26/14


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A Daughter, a Friend


A daughter begins as a
babe in your arms.
She blossoms and grows into
a doll full of charms.

There are worries and doubts as
the teen years roll round.
But time will fly like the wind
with hardly a sound.

One day you look; childhood
has come to an end.
Don’t be sad, for then you’ll find
she’ll now be your friend.

So the circle goes around
same as in the past.
Love shared by mom and daughter
will forever last.

c.d.m.  5/7/14

Photo courtesy of Terri Jean’s Photography


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Missing Mom


I’ve thought of Mom a lot today
as Mother’s Day draws near.
Remembering the little things
I’ve missed of her this year.

Like how she loved vegetable soup
or soup of any kind.
A yard sale and the Dollar Store;
where treasures she would find.

Slippers made of gold lame and
dusters in every hue.
A simple gift from one of us
no matter what; would do.

I miss sharing life’s ups and downs
in her I could confide.
No matter right; no matter wrong
she’d still be on my side.

I miss her smile; I miss her wit;
her humor, and her love.
I miss her but I know some day
I’ll meet her up above.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

c.d.m. 5/7/14


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Heart of Hospice


They will enter in smiling,
with ‘oh so much’ concern.
May appear to be angelic,
unless you can discern.

They desire to bring an ending,
to all the suffering;
with cloaks disguising what in fact
they truly want to bring.

The baggage that they carry in
hold’s what they wish to hide;
Kevorkian’s own methods of
stark death will be applied.

Hospice root’s run deep within the
Hemlock society.
Mercy killings on the menu
for weak or elderly.

It started with the infants and
moved to the elderly.
Next it will be the crippled or
defective mentally.

Then they’ll move on up the ranks to
all those who do not work.
The plan at the heart of Hospice.
This world’s gone berserk.

Cheryl Davis Miller 5/2/14


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Little Jay Carney and Friends

faded glory

A limerick for little Jay Carney.
Whose filled with political blarney.
His boss tells him jump!
Jay being a chump;
lies more than a Carnival ‘carny.’

Try telling the truth Jay, you may find your mouth stops twisting. :)

Al Gore swears’ the earth is heating,’
cause us ranchers have cows eating.
Say’s they then pass gas,
and will soon surpass,
the fumes his jet’s excreting.

Have you heard about Hillary?
She thinks she and horny Billy
deserve one more chance
to at the ball dance.
That our doubts are all just silly.

Tis the tale of Eric Holder.
If he could somehow be bolder.
He’d perhaps grow a chin
fill the office he’s in;
release the I.R.S. folder.

Did you see Nancy Pelosi
behind Obama so cosy
when she rose to her feet
sitting down missed her seat
she had all four cheeks, then rosy.

 Cheryl Davis Miller 5/1/14


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Fox in the Whitehouse

hen and chicks

Fox in the Whitehouse

 ‘Fox’ is in Obama’s Whitehouse; what do you say?
That old Rooster blames ‘Fox News’, more every day.

Other Networks could ask questions, and let us know.
Perhaps they’d have more viewers like; O’Reilly’s show.

I know, it’s hard to speak out from Obama’s butt;
the ‘Lame Stream’ media stays in that, same old rut.

Go on; blame Fox Network, if that’s the best you can.
When ‘Fox’ is all that’s left perhaps; you’ll understand.

c.d.m. 1/5/14


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An Answer to ‘Time’


‘ Time ‘ declares,” The Tea Partie’s done.”
and ” We have them on the run.”
We’ll let them believe what they will;
those liberals on the hill.

For out here; in the middle land
we prepare to take a stand.
While they ‘think’ the Tea Partie’s done,
we say, “We have just begun!”

We declare,”Enough is enough,
of all that pen and phone stuff!”
We believe that we have a say,
’bout all those taxes we pay.

‘We the People’; want to be heard,
no more of our laws altered.
So you think the Tea Partie’s done?
That’s what they thought in Boston*.

             c.d.m. 4/24/14

*Home of the original ‘ Tea Party.’


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To Live Free


If I could find a place to dwell
where I’d no more be found,
I run to that most blessed place;
let quietness abound.

There in that precious place of peace
where no eyes look on me,
no more the shame of failure’s weight;
I would at last be free.

Free from all man’s expectancy;
and judgement of the same.
Freed from my lack of self-esteem
and constant sense of blame.

There I would hide and celebrate
no more to suffer shame.
To live free of that hurtful voice;
my silence overcame.



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What The Shoe Spoke


That lady threw a shoe, at you
but we wanted it to be a hatchet.
She got to throw a shoe at you;
and the rest of us wish we could match it.

You deserve much more Hillary.
That’s what she was trying to show to you.
Should have been a pair Hillary.
Hoping karma’s not ‘out done’ by a shoe.

Close to forty years Hillary.
You have tried to both rule and destroy us.
Pay-day’s way past due, Hillary.
Just reward for all of your corrupt-ness.



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