Time

It's all about time......how much time do you have left......no time like the present to take the time.....time flies........the time is ripe........make the time......time is fleeting......keep track of time....mind the time....waste some time....just in time.....have the time of your life.....all in good time....call time.....time out...... on borrowed time.....it's high time.....time is money.......when the time is right..... Right place, wrong time.....Two time....keep time.......buy time......the sands of time....bide your time......the big time.......full time, part time.......time and a half.....time off......doing time....time served.......ahead of the times......behind the times......long time, no see.....start the timer....as time goes by......your timing is impeccable.......time will tell.....time marches on.....time comes to a standstill.......once upon a time.......prime time........a stitch in time........time heals all wounds.......hard time......kill time......call time.....crunch time.......on company time.....the test of time.....time is money.....spare time.......downtime....times running.....timeless......one day at a time......lost track of time......pass the time........it's high time......for the time being......time on your hands......in a timely manner.....take your time....time is on your side.......timing is everything....what time is it?.....be on time.......ain't nobody got time for that.....spare time.....a question of time......in the nick of time.....from time to time....and time and time again.....time flies.......watch the time.....pressed for time....a race against time....no time to lose......keep time.....overtime......before your time......out of time........times up....too much time on my hands ~©MCM 2014

Such sparkling stars on a blackened timeless sky, like a quilt of the millennium....each star having leant itself to twinkling through myth and fiction and folklore. The beauty.....No wonder man has looked up in awe and created fantastic scenarios to explain just why the stars shine and who they represent. gods and magical beings. And together create hunters and archers and crabs. The same stars shone on the unfinished pyramids as as on the dinosaurs as on the primordial lava churn. And tonight they look down upon me......and they chuckle. To think this insignificant human would dare to think herself special. Oh, but I am. Such a magnificent world I get to inhabit. Shine on! ~MCM ©2014

Reaching up into the heavens, I pull the blind down to shut away the sun. My eyes prefer the darkness where conversations blur at the end of evenings, when secrets tumble from the lips like spit. ~ MCM 2014

The sun comes up over the mist-shrouded mountain as the purple-crayoned sky drips into my orange juice, conjuring up a shit green pallette. It is morning......I think it's good.

Thoughts on the ride home...........So at the close of the day as the journey draws to an end, the question remains 'just how does one allow themself to lose touch when connections are so crucial to the human condition?' In all the celebration and pleasantries of the return to ones own lost family, is there the slightest flash of anger, of resentment for all that was missed, all that was left behind? In between all the 'ive missed you, ive loved you all these years, a sight for sore eyes, ive thought of you often' is there the hurt of abandonment, of one 'choosing' busyness over the effort of connection? And late in the evening as a stack of laminated wake cards is pulled out of a drawer, shocking in the sheer size of the pile, perhaps as many as 100 or more, of all the family members who have passed over in the 30 years that have elapsed, this cousin, that grandfather, that child and we sit around a beaten beer can strewn kitchen table weathered by all the years of tragedies, drinking cold ones while the prodigal son expresses condolences for those who he has memories of and those he never even knew existed, my sister turns to me and whispers about the absurdity of it all. And I agree. And now we head on back down the New York State Thruway, knowing that sometime in the future the phone will ring and there will be funerals to attend and we will carry on the family business of comforting the living and burying our dead. And I will hope that one old man found the contrition and absolution and the comfort of acceptance he was after, hoping he will stay in touch now. Family is more than photographs and memories, it is hearts and souls and hands reaching out to connect. Hold on tight people. Dont let go. So important. So damn important.

What the fuck?, she asked as she stepped into my head. I never intended to answer her. I had no motivation, no pursuit in life except to live in the moment, to feel each second ticking off as I took my next breath. Slowly my lungs filled and for just an instant the world stopped spinning, gravity was all but lost and I was thrown through time and space, slamming into the concrete wall of reality. To think that I have been sober in my most thought provoking moments. How can my collective consciousness depend on my intellect awakening the monster that I mostly choose not to acknowledge exists? We are each the product of our own circus of experiences, even those we choose not to remember. What the fuck? I asked, returning the vulgarity as if a favor. Why the fuck do you think its okay for you to invade my thoughts? For you to stomp your feet and hold my memories hostage within a tattered scrapbook of bullshit laden black and white photographs. Shall I keep a civil tongue about me while you pull out your well-honed dagger and ask me to turn around to give you my back? Its time for a drink, I muttered. Something that will give me the courage I need to scratch out her eyes. Perhaps a double served up neat. The battle will ensue shortly. The night is too fleeting and for all my bravado, I am afraid. ~MCM ©2014

There is no god in heaven, No devil wearing shoes
Just misguided dollars being thrown fast at the ruse.
The collar's just a costume, the crusades are almost lost
And beheadings are on Utube at a mighty heady cost
we keep driving bentleys, pumping gas tanks full of gold
watching porn on laptops while sex slaves are being sold
Gay marriage at the forefront while gay kids are being killed
pot is just a scapegoat while big pharma's highly thrilled
Yep there's an app for that, but nothing ever satisfies
Politicians blow smoke up your ass, fill your head with lies
Seems nobody really cares unless they're making bucks
And me I'm writing song lyrics to a score that I know sucks
Nobodies ever gonna listen, never gonna walk the walk
people love to bitch and moan just to hear themselves talk
So we all turn off the tvs so we don't have to hear the news
And Leonard Cohen keeps on singing something about the blues
We take care of our animals and then turn our blinded eyes
Just like the Germans did when the ashes filled the skies.
pretend we don't see the truth, we don't smell the smell
The devils ensconced in heaven, fallen angels ruling hell
morals wax nostalgic in a world where right is wrong
And I just keep on writing another top ten song.
~MCM ©2014

                   Down Beach
Summer is here and the shore, it's a 'calling
Sand getting cold as the nighttime is falling
Where once stood castles just memories now
Waiting for darkness to come take its bow
Sunsets a beauty, rippled water is glistening
Waves coming in with a roar, are you listening?
Shorts, a sweat jacket, sleeves pushed to the elbow
Flip flops a'slappin', familiar sound that you know
Walking the boards, shoot the shit with your honey
Playing the games, every year costs more money
Gorilla guy with the girlfriend he had to win for
Stuffed animal, big as his ego won't fit in the car door
Smell the salt in the air, feel the breeze in your hair
And it's down to the water for a moonlight stroll there
Toes in the sand as the surf rushes to meet them
Build a bonfire, roast marshmallows and eat them
A make out session among the dunes on the beach
The seasons only beginning, all dreams still within reach.
Big earth movers drone as they groom up the sand
To get ready for tomorrow in Neptune's magic playland.
~©MCM 2014

My Wish for You

My wish for you today, is to have your life change in some dramatic way. Not that I wish any heartache into your world, but by losing that which you think is important, sometimes you find out what really matters. These are the five universal regrets of the dying: "Number one: I wish I hadn't worked so hard. Number two: I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends. Number three: I wish I had let myself be happier. Number four: I wish I'd had the courage to express my true self. And number five: I wish I'd lived a life true to my dreams, instead of what others expected of me."....I wish you would embrace these truths before you are on your death bed so that you have the time to live them....for me it was an injury that would change everything, for others, perhaps super storm Sandy having wiped out their world. I have gone back to my roots, I have reclaimed my friends and even made new ones. I have welcomed me back and will no longer live for others, I will no longer be who others think I should be, I have searched for the truths other people tried to hide from me and i have learned first-hand the terrible price of waiting too long.  There isn't always another day.  I have learned not to listen to fairy tales but to believe in myself and to know that in the end, there are no second chances. There is no better life than this one.  Live for the moment.  No regrets. ~MCM 2012

Shades of green.

.............Shades of green...........
Sometimes I try to tell you things you need to know
My mind locked as a prison, cold steel bars I can't let go
Open bloody wounds, White knuckles holding tight,
Stay awake or demons might clutch me in the night.
This little girl you let go
This child loved you so
only half of me, Still can't find the other missing pieces
searching all my life, grains of sand upon dark beaches.
Slipping through my fingers, dreams always seem to chase
Forever waking up as I'm about to know your face
they say you were a good man
But I'll never really understand
Concrete blood stained canvas, Monkey bars, chalk outline
got all the greyscale photos, But that never made you mine
I never sought possessions, Never fought with juried reason
In my critics mind so simple, Forever dead, a man, a season.
~©MCM 2014

Ruminations on a Cold Winter's Night

Ruminations on a Cold Winter's Night.....

The wind is whistling, whipping through the forsaken naked trees and as they do their frigid dance, the trees a' moaning. The ice encapsulated trunks are crackling like cat-o-nine-
tail whips and the ice laden branches let go of their encrustations, sounding like a million shattered shards of candy glass stabbing the frozen mantle below. Tis the dead of winter, no smell of spring in dreams tonight.
~MCM 2014

Born and Bred

Born and Bred
This city, girl, will eat you up and spit you out for breakfast
Making you wish you never dared step foot on bedrock
A town that doesn't want to know your name
Or care one damn bit where you cut your teeth
It's the music of the trains as they go clacking by
It's the hot breath of the steam vent dragons
And don't be askin' for a map to the stars
They walk over the bums and put change in the cups
Just like everyone else who then pretends not to see
Easing their conscience, spending even more for a coffee
It's the nannies pickin' up the school kids in yellow taxis
It's gambling and chickens hanging down in Chinatown
So easy getting around the joint if you just remember
The aves run north and south and the streets go across
Except for the village maze, always worth getting lost in
the real foods on second ave and under all the bridges
It's the Wall Street thieves in their Brooks Brothers suits
It's the shows going on every night up on broadway.
City so jaded no one dreams anymore cept'n cabbies
Paying a mortgage to rent a million dollar medallion
Of Course they're rippin' you off, comes free with the ride
Just the name of the game, ain't no Cash Cab for you.
It's the marijuana delivery boys on messenger bikes
It's the carriage horses dropping dead, still shackled
Skyscrapers, brownstones and a gentrified lower east side
A punk ass freedom tower cause they didn't have the balls
To build something taller and better, a fuck you to the past
A bull runs up broadway and Billy Joel's in the Garden
It's the canyon of heroes, clubland meat packing district
It's Trinity graveyard and B-ball in the fenced courts
He reminds us, theres a big red nuclear target on our backs
Yes, we know Mr President, we've seen the planes
And the grey ghosts of the living streaming over bridges
While children waited for their parents to come home
It's the biggest, the baddest, the rudest, the nameless
It's Battery landfill and perilous cranes swinging overhead
So girl, you just put your head down and your collar up
And walk with all you've got against the wind, pushin'
Cause if you slow the pace they'll walk right through you
And some street artist will use your blood as his paint.
©MCM~2014

A Season of Erotica

On her knees as her hand goes up to to brush the hair back from her eyes, eyes shyly looking down, and away, a hint of a smile as if embarrassed to have been caught. Sweat glistens on the upper lip, mouth slightly agape, as she whispers ever so softly, encouraging, imploring, lovingly. She uses the back of her hand to gently caress and nuzzle, while the other hand in rhythm pets the delicate petals. Just a few fingers seek it's yielding quarry. A deep earthy scent fills her lungs and she breathes fully and eagerly, again and again, tasting the heady aroma of spring on her tongue. The daffodils are awakening and she is in her glory. ~MCM ©2014

No requiem

No Requiem
If poetry is dead, I never received that call in the middle of the night.  There was no death notice or obituary, no viewing, no remembrances or memorials, no online memory book.  No final words, no gasps or rattles, no hand holding, no I love yous. There was no service or eulogy, bagpipers or dirges. No wailing widows dressed in black, no ushers, pallbearers, no undertakers or gravediggers.  No embalming fluid, teardrops or whiskey spilled.  There was no immediate family, no dear old friends, out-of-town relatives or mistresses discreet behind the veil.  There were no flowers sent, no casseroles, cold cut platters and no fruit baskets.  No mourning coats, burial outfits or polished shoes. No hearses or limos, rides past the houses or cars with headlights on. No muffled laughter, wracking sobs or offered condolences. There was no death certificate, official cause of death or coroners inquest.  No shovels of earth, or dust to dust, no roses at the gravesite. No cleaning out of closets, no passing downs of antiques, no last will and testament. I remain unconvinced, I write. ~MCM ©2014

Tree

Tree

I heard the shotgun crack of the tree splinter and the cascade of boughs as it took down the smaller trees in its path, felt the solid thud as it met hard-packed earth. No amount of moss could cushion the towering plummet. It did not die a silent death, but moaned and groaned, twisted in its death dance and paid no heed to whether anyone was there to hear it or not. For just one moment the world was silent as if mute of shock, everything ceasing to take in the profundity. Inordinate stillness. Eventually the scurrying resumed, the small birds chirped and the large ones cawed, each going about their own living business. It was the tree your grandfathers grandfather planted and it had seen much. A tree whose roots encamped on the slight hillside to stay the mud from flowing to the orchard, keeping the planting lands plantable. It was a sentinel guard for the homestead a quarter mile away, just one in a row of soldiers chosen for its heartiness. It knew the secrets and traditions, the injustices and the triumphs, never once giving over to betrayal. It stood watching, each year getting taller, broader, the scope of its vision vaster, till it was royalty among bark-laden behemoths. And to what end? To lay broken, just the diagonal side of the triangle where earth meets trunk, meets bole. Forest botany giving way to rotting geometry among the moist ferns of the overgrown acreage. In time to become detritus, after the insects had devoured the fibers and left their own crispy carcasses mixed in with the loam. Yes, it was a tree, a mighty tree, a warrior whose end had come only to nourish the underbrush. And with it's passing the sun shone down brightly on parts where no light had reached for many, many years. A photoerotic process which breathed life where darkness had only dwelled. And the rain fed the spongy moss. Absurd to become such rich fertilizer for a field that no one would ever plow again. The wind howled and the rusty For Sale sign buckled.~MCM ©2014