Go Away Snow,A Prayer

From the North, to the South,
and the East, to the West,
Nasty Old Man Winter,
has tried his very best.

To blanket us over
with cold, wet snow.
To cause giant ice-sickles
to grow and grow.

To bury us alive
in layers of white.
And create icy roadways
to give us all a fright.

Even the children
now say, ” It’s ENOUGH !”
They are tired of chapped lips
and cheek’s red and rough.

Who wants to go on looking
like that fat Michelin Man?
We are tired of this snow
we’ve stood all we can stand!

So now with one objective
and in one accord;
We pray SNOW GO AWAY
In the name of our Lord…
AMEN
c.d.m.2-8-11

 

A Poetry Night

Last night was another, ‘Poetry Night,’
seem’s to happen quite often, while I’m at work,
I’ve learned to just grab, some paper and a pen,
all though my duties, I try never to shirk,
I know it seem’s odd, to wrestle with words,
organising thoughts,into a rhyming form,
But see a ‘Poet’ must follow, the poetry,
for the ‘Poet’, it is simply ‘the norm’,
A story or a phrase, spoken ‘here’ or ‘there’,
and off goe’s the ‘Poet’s’ mind, in a whirl,
They’ll plan it in their mind, put it down in print,
smoothing it, like an oyster’s pearl,
Conceiving, then seeing the thought take shape,
is an experience, as exciting as can be,
Caught up in the ‘flow’, of structure and rhyme,
just another night of writing, ‘Poetry’.

                           c.d.m.3-4-11

for another look at writing go to

https://whispersoftheday.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/in-search-of/

 

Go Away Snow

Go Away Snow

 I looked out, to see the sunlight dance,

 across ice, and snow today,

 I could not help, but speak the word’s,

 “snow please, go away”,

 Enough of trying to accept, the season’s,

 as they come, with piety,

 I’ve had enough, of winter’s cold,

 for spring to come, I plea,

Come spring, with bloom’s of daffodil,

 crocus, and green grass,

 Come sweet spring, with warm sun’s kiss,

 which cause’s cold, to pass,

 To feel the sun’s warmth, upon my face,

 and hand, is what I pray,

 And so I break my vow, and whisper,

 “please snow, just go away”…

c.d.m.1-23-11

 

Naked Arms

I looked up today to see,
the naked arms, of a sycamore tree,
As I beheld its bare arm beauty,
these rambling thoughts, occured to me,
Winter  surely is a coming,
it is headed, straight my way,
I’m sure there won’t be many more,
of these sunny, autumn days,
Soon my only view will be,
winter’s  cold, and blustery sights,
I’ll be grabbing extra blankets,
just to keep me warm, at night,
Or I’ll be sitting near the fire,
with hot chocolate, in my cup,
Or wiping up the snow and mud,
that is tracked in, by my pup,
I love a day when wind and snow,
tend to keep, my loved ones in,
Safe and warm at home with me,
‘this old clucking , Mother hen’,
Sheltered there beneath my wings,
it will seem  so sweet, to me,
All these thoughts came to my mind,
at the sight of that naked, sycamore tree.

                      c.d.m.11-4-10

 

Leave the Light on Mommie

 

“Leave the Light on Mommie”,
her small voice made request,
“The Light makes darkness go away,
and that’s when I sleep best”,

So Mommie left the door a-jar,
for the Light to make It’s way,
Into Jennie’s bedroom,
so the dark would go away,

Some friends warned “you spoil her,
you’ll let her grow up weak”,
But Mommie did what she thought best,
for her Jennie was unique,

Her Jennie was bold as bold can be,
in the light of day,
She’d conquer any obstacle,
that dared get in her way,

She marched through life with a bravery,
most ‘sighted’ children lack,
But to overcome fear of the night,
she had yet to gain the knack,

She peeked in on her babe asleep,
with Light upon her face,
Wrapped in the safety of the Light,
cocooned with-in It’s grace,

Somehow Jennie sensed the Light,
and so could be at rest,
So Mommie left the door a-jar,
and did what she thought best.

                                  c.d.m. 8-30-10

 

Catastrophe

I wondered, why my circumstance,
 had turned out, as it had,
What had I done, to cause,
 a situation,quite this bad,
When finally, I asked the Lord,
‘How did I, get in this mess’,
He said,’ you opened up a door,
allowing it, more or less ‘,
I thought,’ oh no that can not be,
I did not, seek this out ‘,
Why didn’t ‘you’, stop me Lord,
I whispered, with a pout,
That’s when, he showed me,
how my path, had wandered off so far,
He said,’ you did not ask me,
that’s why you’re, where you are’,
I knew, what he was speaking,
Tho devastating,still was true,
I also knew, that at one time,
it was something, I would never do,
I had no choice, except to fall,
before, His throne of grace,
To seek, what I had long ignored,
His voice, His heart, His face,
As I lay broken, listening,
there in that, holy place,
His Light, resolved my catastrophe,
and swept away, all trace.

         c.d.m.7-5-10

 

A Warm September Day…

She pushed the hair back from her face, as sweat ran down her cheek,
Then bent down over her washboard, and her laundry for the week,
Methodically her hands moved, scrubbing clothes against the board,
As her mind turned back to thankfulness, and she talked to the Lord,
She was thanking Him for shade, beneath the walnut tree that day,
Thanking Him for touching Jessie, Gram and little Ray,
For the pork roast in the oven, the potato crop this year,
Then she heard the sound that cause’s, any mining town to fear,
She scooped her baby up in arms, grabbed little Ray by the hand,
To scramble down the mountain path, beneath the forest’s stand,
As she neared the footpaths end, she could see the church’s spire,
She caught her breath and hurried forth, to carefully inquire,
For hearts are carried on the sleeve, when tragedy’s transpire,
An accident in mine’s can mean, explosion’s, flood, or fire,
Most every one has lost a man, a son, a Dad, or brother,
The greatest comfort folks can find, is in God and one another,
Gathering together to pray and weep, is what they do,
It’s hard when someone else’s loss, can mean good news for you,
Babies cry and women weep, and men try to be men,
But heartache will touch every one, be it family or friend,
They wait as mining families have, all down through the years,
Weariness drowns out the rage,  wail’s turn to silent tears,
The ticking clock set’s nerve’s on edge, with its unending sound,
They wait as mining families have, for loved one’s to be found,
About sun rise they hear a sound, as siren’s once more wail,
They rush forth then with bated breath, this day will tell the tale,
 ‘How close did death come to my door’, is what’s on each ones mind,
Oh God please let a miracle, be what our town’s folk find,
She’s standing there beneath a tree, with both her young in tow,
When her eye’s spot a grimy man, who’s black from head to toe,
She knows the gait of her man’s walk, she would know him anywhere,
She stumbles forth to greet him, as she offers up a prayer,
One of thankfulness and humble heart, and a prayer for those less blessed,
And one for guidance from above, ‘Show me Lord, how to help the rest’.
                                                                               AMEN
 
                                       c.d.m.4-7-10

In honor of the miner’s and mining town’s,with gratefulness  for your efforts,  and prayers for your loved one’s and families. As a young girl growing up in West Virginia, I can still recall the sound of the sirens, and feel the mantle of fear that fell upon our little community. A dreadlful hush would fall upon the hollow, even the youngest child felt the need to be quiet. So my heart is truly with you and my prayer is for a miracle.         Cheryl

 

Still have a Gypsy Heart,

Gypsy Heart

Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I’m shocked at what I see,
I wonder who that Lady is, who’s staring back at me,
She appears somewhat familiar, yet a stranger too she seems,
While sleeping soundly in the night, she sometimes raids my dreams,

I search inside the mirror in vain, trying again to find,
The girl who use to look back at me, once upon a time,
That girl was not a Lady, no she was wild at heart,
Loving each and every day, embracing each new start,

Celebrating life,  searching for any excuse to dance,
Excepting change  not as an enemy, but an exciting new romance,
Sleeping out in open air, watched over by the stars,
Moving on to greener fields, via rides in strangers cars,

Today it may be Ohio, tomorrow Tennesee,
To pick up and go was nothing, that was the Gypsy heart in me,
Where is that little Gypsy girl, who danced in sun or rain,
How come the roots that she put down, have now brought her such pain,

When did the roots begin to grow, and over take her soul,
Strangling her Gypsy heart, and gaining full control,
Roots were mean’t for comfort, not troubling of the soul,
Roots were mean’t to strengthen, not to take control,

So if you’ve encountered this problem, and a solution you can see,
Share the answer here with her, so she too can be free,
Free to wake up daily, and choose to go or stay,
Free to let her Gypsy heart, just carry her away.

c.d.m.3-5-10

 

The Tale of the little Handmaid,

 

We have heard the song of, the Drummer Boy, and the gift that he gave to the Lord,

But have you heard the tale of, the little Handmaid, and the gift she could afford,

Many gave wealth and substance to, our Lord, while He walked in this earth,

The little Handmaid, had nothing to bring, that she felt was of any worth,

Her mother taught her, as a little child, to gather flowers of necessity,

That they could then sale, in the market place, for she was born into poverty,

She had often beheld Jesus teaching, in the market, at the center of town,

Sometimes while gathering flowers,she would follow, His disciples around,

She watched others minister to Him, like the lady, with the alabaster box,

But all she ever had, in her possession, was periwinkle, rose of Sharon, and phlox,

Then one day the crowd, seemed to turn on Him, and they nailed Him to a cross,

She wandered, on the hills of Jerusalem, weeping over her loss,

She watched, as His loved ones took Him, to lay His sweet body to rest,

As they scrambled to find cloth, and burial balm, they tried their very best,

Then suddenly it occurred to her,what she’d gathered, in the folds of her gown,

Was exactly, what was needed to tend to Him, to lay His sweet body  down,

With tears of both joy, and sorrow, she ran to the Savior’s tomb,

And as she sprinkled her blossoms, upon His form, her gifts essence filled the room,

The reason I’ve put pen to paper, is to point something out, to you,

You are special just like, the little Handmaid, and your gift is precious too.

                                                      c.d.m. 2-27-10