Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele

Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele Poems

A child missing for a year in remote Nepal,
re-emerges now 'The Enlightened one, '
the reincarnated Buddha, cross-legged
beneath a tree. No sign of ten months

The autistic child’s fingers fly across
the keys releasing inaudible syllables
of joy, floating upward between
his fingers.

A charred piece of bread doesn't care
if it is given the name of “toast.”
Neither does a bird pause its song
to see itself properly identified

A fragile robin’s egg lies in my path, unbroken

about forty-five feet below it’s mother’s nest.

Awakened in haste,
I threw my cotton sheets
into random creases, capturing
my startled dreams.

An infectious disease
spread through the air
or blood.

I had just accidentally smashed
my boyfriend Howard in the forehead
with a horseshoe. The blood surged
through his eight year old fingers,

Our sons and daughters conceived in
strawberry fields have talked dad
into tying his hair back and mom
into wearing a bra and conforming

Will music fall flat
upon my ears? Could
the sun rising become
only the day's light?

Silence sings, if you listen.

earthly frequencies

Once again Einstein rules
the universe, this time
his 'dark energy' viewed
through Hubble's eyes

A child's ear on the track listening
to low vibrations first. Slight fear
and trepidations hum.

Sharing their space
breathing in their air
I could not see them.

useful parts of me
have not fallen off.
Thoughts are not missing
yet. These eyes can

Our light producing,
heat giving, ever shining
center of our universe
does not require being

Crammed into snowsuits like overstuffed
sausages, rainbow colored scarves
hid determined grins. Clouds of warmth
billowed up from our bellies as we marched,

It's the words
beneath the words
that frighten me.

One day Rosa Parks was just too tired
of accepting that's how things are.
Martin Luther King had a prophetic vision
he wouldn't live to see the mountaintop.

I'm staring at the ketchup
but I've lost the words.
'Mon amis' I must leave again.
The razor sharp scent of

Life swirls around me.
I am out of gear, out
of sync, one beat off.
Nothing makes sense.

Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele Biography

Retired FEMA inspector, environmentalist, activist, Unitarian Universalist, special education teacher and poet, lives and writes in Montgomery, Alabama. I have attended workshops with Franz Wright in Provincetown, MA in Oct.2005 and with Robert Pinsky in Camden, NJ at Rutgers in 2005. I am published in Write On, Poetic Hours, Penwood Review, Down in the Dirt, Distinguished Writings, Bell's Letters, Alabama Anthology 2006 and Alabama Poet's Society 2006. I have a Master's Degree in Public Administration from Penn State University and a Masters in Education from Alabama State University.)

The Best Poem Of Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele

Manifestation Of A Buddha

A child missing for a year in remote Nepal,
re-emerges now 'The Enlightened one, '
the reincarnated Buddha, cross-legged
beneath a tree. No sign of ten months
of hunger or thirst for anything but silent prayer.
Bamjon, last seen by tens of thousands
in 2005 now has shoulder length hair
with his body wrapped in a simple white cloth.
People are walking to see him, to be touched
by a God, some believe. These terrible times
have called him forth. Molding him into
Buddha himself, who said, “All that we are
is the result of what we have thought.
The mind is everything. What we think
we become.”
And so he has.

Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele Comments

Cheryl Lynn Moyer-peele 29 January 2017

Thank you Madhabi Banerjee!

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Madhabi Banerjee 29 January 2017

thanks. I love your poem and enjoy much

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Tushar Ray 19 February 2015

Thanks, I deeply enjoyed your poem. This is a fascinating true story that I also read about, and believe on his rebirth in a new body. I came to read your poem as a cross reference from my poem on Lord Buddha. Please come to read mine.

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Chris Mendros 23 July 2008

Technically sound but spontaneous as a hot ember after a fire, Cheryl's poetry pushes the limits of the American-English dialect. By combining the structural soundness of a studied poet with the curious wonder of a child-like spirit, her work illustrates the potential of the American mind. While Cheryl does God’s work “for a living, ” the youthful exuberance of her creative writing, juxtaposed with an honest real-world perception, conveys an indomitable joy that dwells in her heart- in defiance of troubling realties- to produce poetry that should stand strong among the treasures of the American canon. Or, more accurately and concisely, what Carole said: >)

1 0 Reply
Carole Clark 19 May 2007

rebirthing without a psychiatrist or midwife

1 0 Reply

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