February 2019
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Words By MLM

Wouldn't it be Funny?

Wouldn't it be funny...
If all the tales were true?
And when at last I close my eyes-
My spirit would see you.

And all the things that meant so much,
To the flesh of our existence,
Would seem no more than drifting,
Misty shadows in the distance.

Alone at last with all our hopes
for things we wish to be,
Unconfined by nature's chains,
our love at last set free!
The pieces that were separate.
The halves that were not whole.
The yearning ache that's lived so long,
so deep inside my soul.

Forever gone the need to hide!
Forever gone the pain!
Forever gone the untold times
I called for you in vain!

I wonder … as I often do.
Why fate has put me here,
And put you somewhere out of sight,
So far and yet so near?

I know this longing touches me,
And I know it touches you.
But it's left us weak and languishing,
Not knowing what to do.
Except wait until the end of time,
And see if dreams come true.
How lonely to have lived as one...
When we could have lived as two.


snow storm

A New England Winter's Day

The Banshees are upon us!
You can hear them in the wind.
They are on the track of some lost soul.
And determined to get in!

They rattle at the windows.
Hurl branches at the door.
But, I'm not going out there !
It's not me they're looking for.

You can hear them on the roof now!
Flapping cloaks and thumping staffs-
They want to be let in!
But my brave walls won't let them pass!

When they find they have no power here­-
They wail their keening call!
Then caterwaul off down the beach.
A Howling Winter Squall!


Sleep's Double View

That Ancient place that fills my dreams.
I knew again the rocks and sea.
A well-worn path and cliffs I see.
Those gentle faces smile at me.

The air is chill and wet with spray.
The evening sky is leaden-gray.
Up rough hewn steps, we make our way.
Our baskets filled. Our spirits gay.
Behind each stone Sea Fairies play.

I shiver, but I do not fear.
I am not alone - My friends are here.
There is Warmth and food and fire near.
We share our Twilight Songs of Rite.
Bless Silver Moon. Praise Bright Star Light.
Then gather close to spend the night.

I search until I find that face.
That firmly holds me in this space.
then slip into my special place.
To sleep the night in sweet embrace.

My dreams in that world bring me here!
All things I know there disappear.
And only my time here seems clear.

Do you too have this double view?
This sleeping-waking rendezvous?
Or is this my dream world?
And that life true?

The Saltbox House circa 1640

How sadly sits the Saltbox House, at the center of this seacoast town.
It's snowy whitewash out of place. It's salty silver shingles,
Just a reflective flash in modem glass.
Its way of life is long forgotten here­ where summer people come to play.

Tall city walls rise up on every side. Great Victorian bricks soaking up the last rays of sun,
Until only cinnamon-stained wisps of light float down to glint off primitive window panes.
A passer-by must wonder why, the builders chose to build it here?
Amidst the suntan lotion and fast-food fish.

It's then you must see past the bricks, and past the docks,. And see back and back. . . to how it truly was.
For once this Saltbox house stood tall and proud. A stark white gleam against the rocky shore.
A bright beacon to those weary men, "At home at last from sea!" Once more.

Brave souls have built this fortress here. Safe shelter in an unknown land.
They lashed their hopes to this rugged coast. Then in freedom's name, they made their stand.
Their closest neighbor out of reach, Across miles of jagged rocks to walk...
But still a mindful comfort, being so close, When winter snows begin to blow.
They labored on their hard won soil to grow their food. But still had time for lilacs, phlox and holly-hocks, To brighten up the constant view.
A few ancient plants survive today,
To wave their cheery blossoms in the sultry summer breeze.
But, what of the builders of this steadfast Saltbox House? Are they gone forever?
Do they weep from the Heavens, for their tiny home, Lost and adrift in this choppy modem world?
No! They. do not weep! For they have done what they intended to.
They firmly anchored life upon these once­ "Far distant shores".


Stars to Catch

And so another day winds down.
But I am not yet ready to still my mind.
Not yet ready to relax my waking grip_
And drift the way-worn currents
and eddies of forgetful sleep.

For with letting go...
I must bid, "Fare ever well" to this day's promise.

…And slip back one day farther, from my dreams fulfilled.
For it is here in waking that I truly dream.
My sleep is no more than pearly promises-
Dissolving in the mist on the fen.

The salty sea breeze cools the air.The city sounds are hushed to welcome quiet.
Daylight creatures have long since found their beds.
A lonely car breaks the stillness… Then is gone.

My sleepy cat wonders at my delay-
Still, I cannot let go the Dream.
"To sleep perchance to dream?"
Or "To sleep perchance to wake, to dream again?"

 But, that I will pursue tomorrow...
For I see that they have come for me at last!
They whisper "Greetings" from their wooden shoe.
Their golden nets are poised and ready.
And I shall make them wait no longer...

 For sleep's tide is on the ebb... And we have stars to catch!


  • An Unheard Voice

    From the stony, granite bones
    of this ancient,
    rock-tossed seascape,
    one brazen, young bush
    screams out in
    Autumn carmine
    it's defiance of this
    mundane vista!Unaware that
    it's radiant,
    molten screech,
    is just another unheard
    gull's cry-
    Lost in the roaring  waves
    ever pounding this eternal,
    changeless shore.


    ‘Kat! Kat!’
    Warns the
    Blue Jay!
    The smaller
    birds take flight
    in terror.

    Is that a smirk
    on his face
    as he pecks
    open a seed?

    A bright
    blue blotch
    at the

A Glimmer Near

A Glimmer Near

I've pulled my armchair over there
in hopes of watching
my shoulders square.
I'm waiting for that spark to flare.

I hold my page with tender care.
My pen is poised and held mid-air.
I've planned to strip my spirit bare.
But there's no Flair. It's just not there!

The thoughts are there.
But not quite words.
It seems I'd rather watch the birds,
than make my poignant message heard.
To rhyme right just seems absurd!

I have to say I'm getting vexed!
There's no excuse. I've no pretext.
This poem thing's getting too complex.
Why...I don't even need this text!
I don’t where I'm going next...

But it's not to scribble down a thought.
What's the need now? I forgot!
All my rhyming’ misbegot!
My mind's a tiny, fiery knot!
It's time to quit!
Oh, no...It’s not!

And that is why I linger here.
Even though my mind's a blear.
I can't admit, "I can't" I fear.
I'll crack through this thin veneer.
I know that there's a glimmer near!
So...I'll wait it out. I'll Persevere.

The Widow's Walk

A Cupola or 'Widows Walk' is found atop many
New England east coast mansions- It is a tiny, aerial fenced-in landing
where the Wife of the Captain’s house had the lofty privilege to first see his
returning ship crest 
above the horizon.

As this sad name suggests...
many times the anxiously watched for ships did not return.

The Widow's Walk

...And so she climbs again the stairs,
That lead up to her prison where,
She spends her day in anxious prayer.
She wrings her hands in her despair.

She paces out her tiny cell.
Where everyday she's drawn to dwell.
As if bewitched by some strange spell
She stands a seaward-staring sentinel.

She sees no mast cut through the sky.
No flash of sailcloth greets her eye.
The screaming sea gulls laugh and cry.
Is it joy or doom that they prophesy?

She wonders at her Captain's fate?
What unknown danger makes him late?
And for her sons...she also waits-
As she braids and un-braids her worried plaits.

She regards the town from her woeful nest.
It is quiet, yes- But there's no rest.
She knows each home must brave this test.
There is a nagging dread in every breast.

  She clutches tight her shawl of lace.
A tender gift from some distant place.
And she scans the sea for some faint trace.
Numb to the frosty day's embrace.

  The sky is fearful lucid clear.
No mist to hide their presence near.
No distant speck to still her fear.
No callused hand to catch her tear.

 Cruel evening bells are sadly rung.
Her day's watch wanes with the setting sun.
Another barren day is done.

Cruel evening bells are sadly rung.
 Her day's watch wanes with the setting sun.
 Another barren day is done.
She drowns in sleep's oblivion.

 Till dawning wakes her with a start!
 A new day's come! Hope fills her heart!
She sees her weeks of fears depart.
Praying "Today will end our days apart!"

And so she climbs again the stairs,
 That lead up to her prison where,
 She spends her day in anxious prayer.
 She wrings her hands in her despair..



Salt Marsh Roses

Salt marsh roses blazing in the sweltering summer sun.
A filigree of tangled thorny branches,
Crown this winding row of carefully piled stones.
Stones that have stood here the centuries.
The centuries since they were drudgingly dragged from
Every inch of this ancient ice scrapped land.

A winding wall of stones, a mark of early settlement.
For here once gardens grew!
The sea in time has shifted its fickle profile,
Placing this hard-worked dirt too near the tide,
To be of any planting use today.
And so this abandoned plot grows in unkempt.
Unvisited by the scythe and plow.

Now the rampant roses reign unchecked.
Every inch of sun-baked stone is thick with clinging vines.
The vines are glazed with ice-pink blossoms,
That glow like incandescent snow upon the ancient bark.
The tiny wind blown petals drift down,
To lay a luminous carpet upon the dank and salty soil.

The seething canopy of bees interlace shadows,
As they frantically gather their sacred golden pollen.
Their selfish efforts unwittingly secure the birds survival.
For later on, the fertile rose hips will swell and ripen-
In the abundant harvest the cooler weather will bring.

For now the birds are content to wait.
They nestle luxuriously in the fragrant matted vines.
Every rocky crook is lined with sweet salt hay;
Carried excitedly from some adjacent meadow.

The ancestral nests are perpetually kept readiness.
For even in this soothing, welcome warmth...
The ocean's crashing waves...
Count out the waning summer seconds.

For here among the winding rocks and salt marsh roses,
Not even the flaming glory of the molten summer sun...
Can entirely erase the menacing memory of icy winter winds.

For summer here is just a precious lull.
A reflect-full, healing warmth before the leaves begin to change...
And all brave hearts must turn once more-

To face the arctic breath of screaming winter gales.


The Yin and The Yang

I wanted to write something
drenched in deep meaning.
What is Life? Where's Gods Wife?
Towards verbose, I was leaning.

Then, I thought Nah…
I'll write something light.
I'll have a chuckle at life.
Then I thought that’s not right.

It is the union of both.
Yes, the Yin and the Yang.
Equal halves make the whole.
As it's been since… The Bang?

You can look at the halves
and the wholes that they make-
Without Death there's no Life.
Without Sleep there's no Wake.

Without Night there's no Day.
Without Sky there's no Earth.
Without Young there's no Old.
Without Dying no Birth.

Without One there's no Million.
Without Hot there's no Cold.
Without Fat there's no Skinny.
Without Shy there's no Bold.
Without Dark there's no Light.
Without False there's no True.
Without Wet there's no Dry.
Without Me there's no You.

Just half of a whole
is the loneliest state-
So why have the Gods chosen
that as my fate?

The Dolphin and The Diver

Does the dolphin jump into the air,
like the diver dives into the sea?
To explore for stolen moments,
a diverse Reality?

Does the dolphin seek the warmth,
as the diver seeks the cold?
Or perhaps, he seeks a fleeting glimpse,
of what Dolphin Fairy Legends told?

Strange creatures that can live in dry!
As we marvel at their liquid keep.
Lost brothers from an ancient past.
One took to land. One chose The deep.

An alien world, ours must appear.
Closed and hostile to their watery race.
Do you think they probe the ocean's depths?
As we turn our eyes to outer space?

A thin margin between Sky and Sea.
An overlap of time worn sands.
Each knows he may not cross for long.
This finite fact each understands.

The dolphin steals a glimpse of sky.
The diver swims beneath the sea.
Does a kindred yearning bring them here
in common curiosity?

Perhaps The Dolphin and The Diver's,
mirrored arcs upon The Sky and Sea,
Reflect lost siblings reaching out
for a reunion both of us can see.