The Poetry Marathon

Butterfly Kites

Soaring through the air, streaks

of black and yellow meet

the clouds. Little laughs sing

on the breeze, fingers wrapped

in white string, not letting

their joy fly away.

Observing a Writer

She sits hunched, perched

like a bird but ready to pounce

hovering

fingers poised above the keyboard,

waiting to touch the letters

but doesn’t

brow furrowed, lips slightly parted

staring at the white screen before her

but looking right past the page

in another world

and then suddenly

she moves

typing faster than imagined

she presses hard on each key

and seemingly randomly – and magically –

her write page becomes strewn with black

with lips now curled into a smile,

she creates

A Poem Puzzle

Our Words

little               seem        dance               our

        whispers          to              across             air

lonely                try          hide               empty

             we              and           words               thoughts

but                catch           fling           precious

          don’t             don’t            our                   little

sounds         stay             linger            lost

            say            and                but                they

are               you              me                until

     reclaimed         lost             only                 then

(Little whispers seem to dance across our air.

Lonely whispers try to hide across empty air.

Lonely, we try and hide words, empty thoughts.

But we catch and fling words, precious thoughts

but don’t catch, don’t fling. Our precious little

sounds say stay and linger. But lost they

are. Say, you and me. But until they

are reclaimed, you lost me. Only until then.)

Twos Teacher

Weebles wobble, toddlers toddle,

what could they possibly do? Open

your eyes, make sure they’re always wide.

You never know what’s in store behind

that big brown classroom door. Blocks

stacked up to the cabinets, puddles

oddly on the carpet, dinosaurs

eating dollies, Ms. Mommy watch

what tall bin I can climb inside!

What Love Is:

watching him walk down

fingers entwined with her, lost

but only in her

eyes as she clutches the white

bouquet that means forever

you

brown leather jacket worn at the elbows

top button missing and collar frayed

wisp of blond lost near blue eyes, hanging

loose before I slowly brush it away

cinnamon cologne clinging to car seats

long after the windows cleared and air cooled

fingertips tremoring as they glide

across my cheek, one last kiss goodbye

Seasons

You can’t keep everything that’s beautiful:

Fall’s first red leaf popping brightly beneath

the green, a hidden gem waiting for death

to reveal a new type of beautiful life.

The crawdads splash, pitters on the water.

You can’t keep everything that’s beautiful,

the ripples seem to say. A child’s net

courses through the creek to catch little lives.

Crystal lights reflect on fallen snow. White

turns gray, trodden with heavy boots, reminding:

you can’t keep everything that’s beautiful,

only wait until the next storm comes.

A baby’s first cry, etched on waiting ears

pierces the untouched places of hearts.

But time always swoops away moments held dear.

You can’t keep everything that’s beautiful.

Love Birds

Love like flamingos:

stand tall when beaten by wind,

blistered by warm sun

Cherry Trees

Papaw Kidd’s branches sway with each tickle

of the wind. Look at big they are, Mamaw

gasps, eyes hugging the trunks grown green with moss.

Aunt Vivy nods, If only we could still climb.

Shade covers the lawn as leaves and blossoms

stretch across the sky, the two trees reaching

for a lover’s embrace. Mamaw looks at the bird,

hopeful for a place to land, We can

when we dream. Perched on a twig, it begins

singing. Do you hear that? Aunt Vivy closes

her eyes. Mamaw sighs, Yes, he’s just like us.