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Archive for August, 2017

It Hasn’t Been That Long


Ihasn’t been that long, has it?

Five decades, you say?
Is that a long time?
If measured in human life expectancies, then yes, I suppose so.
But if measured in eternities, in an endless universe,
Where infinity is the shortest line
And forever is the first second on the clock,

then not so long, really.

Photo of eclipse reflections and poem by MJC


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Hot and Sultry Summers














Today, yesterday, the day before,
tomorrow,
steam rolls off the grass,sun melts hot colors of summer flowersshade comes in sliced piecesshattered by tall grasseswind sneaks through bushes, frenetically waving.
Black and white of winter, browns and oranges of autumn.
Disappeared forgotten.
Orange lilies bob their headsreaching out above the hydrangeasdelicate flickering petals flyingsedately touching summer hot streams of light.

Red poppies appear.
Last year it was hot pink phlox.

The garden shifts its mooddepending uponwhich way the seeds blowhow the seedlings survive winter storms,which roots drink in cold spring rainabsorb or radiate this simmering heatsometimes leaves just shrugging down and hanging therewaiting for water. 


Watercolor painting and poem by MJC


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My Child


Have you ever met a child more beautiful than mine?
Look at those eyes,
Those cheeks, that big forehead, and silly smile.
It is mine, all mine.  Yours too, of course, And his and hers.
Already grown and gone to other places,
Held in my arms, for a second, so it seems,
Until this sweet little soft head and beaming cheeks became one of us.
And now I cannot imagine this child of mine,
Over there, with someone else and
Wondering,

Have I ever met a child more beautiful than theirs?


Poem and photo by MJC

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Fire and Fury

False actions, reactions, didacticisms, confabulations, blatant theatrics

I slip into thistle behavior, prickly, doubtful.
Why can’t I write a poem about daisies and rudbekia
as an effective sedative to revengeful narcissistic actions. 
I read nonstop, no relief, anywhere. 
Bouncing off my ceiling, me feeling feckle
What the heckle, ha ha, stop laughing.
This world is struggling to keep it together, yet
I am back to holding rabbits without reason.

Poem and sketch by MJC

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Does it Matter?

Why do I care where the shore is, if traveling to the other side there is none? 

Here, the beach eroded, no longer discernible, sharks departing years ago.

Turmoil stopped its lively churning, waters calm. 
Once powerful figures, ancient lions of the sea, 
giant spectacles of brilliant corals,
steely boulders of whales,
fluttering movers of shifting underwaters, float on top, still and grey.

Strangled in plastic, caught in nets, hit by propellers of great boats.

I fear, in this kayak, of drowning in my own tears.

They are gone. As are we, soon.

Watercolor painting and poem by MJC

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