M M. Marshall
Fort Scott, Kansas, USA
M M. MarshallFort Scott, Kansas, USA |
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M. M. Marshall is a retired school teacher who has written poetry and prose for many years. She is active in church, music organizations, and the Kansas Authors club. She has given poetry readings for school children, civic and social clubs, and senior adults. M. M. Marshall has poetry published in two area newspapers, four national magazines and periodicals, and by the National Library of Poetry. She has also published a chapbook, Main Street Musings, which may be purchased for $7.00 postpaid. M.M. Marshall states, "Poetry elevates life beyond the mediocre, brings laughter to the heart, rekindles memories of the past, and provides moments of joy to the soul." |
On CloningIf I were cloned which would I be,I, myself, yours truly, or me? Coud my clone be me and I'd be she, Our beings used interchangeably? Would my thoughts be shared by my clone, Would I never think on my own? If my clone and I were placed on a shelf, Would that mean I was beside myself? If we all had clones would we find There could never be one of a kind? What of my need to be alone, Is there no privacy with a clone? If I were cloned like peas in a pod, Would this confound and upset God? My ego is such I want to be free From ever knowing there's another like me. | His LoveLike a rose that blooms in the desertIs my Savior's love for me. Its petals unfold at the dawning, Sweet and pure eternally. Like a lark that sings at evening Is my Savior's love for me. Its melody stills the yearning, With song in my memory. Such love extends to greatest heights Beyond earthly hopes and fears. A child sheltered in the darkest night; Abiding love that transcends years. | Tree HouseA few boards here and there;A remembrance of when you were six And needed escape from the humdrum of reality. Dad and you sawed and hammered in the mulberry tree, So you could be a pirate sailing the Seven Seas, Or a stowaway in a rocket ship to the moon. It was your refuge from hairy monsters And a sanctuary from growing up. Only traces of chilhood left In branches where birds nest. No young boy hiding out to shape his dreams now; You became a man. But tucked away in the corner of my heart I keep A memory of a lad climbing toward the stars. |