The Poetry Marathon

Images of

Sweet pinkness of cheeks,

Searching mouth, the

Smell of newborn breath,

Bursting forth of joy, the

Overwhelming need to protect,

Prayers for an easy delivery…

A stifled scream,

A final push…

“He is coming, and I am here.”

–– this last line is from The Time Traveler’s Wife, Audrey Niffenegger

It’s out of focus!

All the things I thought I remembered from

those days are a blur,

Names and faces somehow indistinct,

separating memory from my imagination becomes

unnecessary some days and critical on others.

Mother says: “It didn’t happen that way,

No matter what you say. I was there.”

But, I protest, it’s right here in the picture.

Then She argues.

“It’s out of focus!

I made that cake long before you came home.” said Mother.

“What about the time we rode the train

From Baltimore and back again, I know

that memory is genuine, the conductor’s hat is

as real as yesterday!” I replied.

“Nope, we never rode the train together. It

may have been your grandmother and you.”

All the things I thought I remembered from

days gone by are a blur.

It’s out of focus.

Remembering a long, lost childhood is but a dream.

I’m old now, you are older yet.

Let us find a bridge we won’t forget.

Come, hold my arm, and steady your vision.

Life is fragile, love is eternal, memories are precious.

“Look, Mom, I see the bridge, don’t you?”

“Sorry, Daughter, it’s out of focus.”

Windows of hope

the promise of cleansing

elements appearing untouchable

protective barricades along

the narrow pathway

suddenly refusing passage

to the loading ramp

for shipwrecked lives

praying for rescue by the Ark

empty seats

fill the theater of reflection

souls lost to despair

unable to believe in Hope

their ship sails in another direction

while those who climb the barricades

believe rescue is coming

reach out to those

losing faith in Love that awaits

And so it begins or so it ends

Clarity, confusion, chaos

All, on your World View, depends

Your World view depends on all you’ve seen,

What you’ve read, and where you’ve been

Are your roots dug deep in words or planted in

The chaos of sin?

Perhaps your roots yanked up just as fresh growth could begin

–Just as life’s understanding desired to expand,

Perhaps your World view moved no further

Than the three-hundred-sixty degrees to be seen from your

Native soil and the exact spot you where were born

Perhaps wanderlust took you far and wide

Allowing you to cast preconceived, and elder taught ideals aside

Wiring so different for creatives and strategists causing divides,

Healing requires putting opinions aside

Your truth is yours to own, and mine is my own,

The foundation, for which, will one day be known

And the consequences individually we own.

Here we are, June 26th, 2021!! Time to start and tech monsters already showing up. No matter, we forge ahead. My name is Kathleen Kidder, although I use Katie, Kat, or Kathy online. May it inspire us, refresh us, and deepen our perspective on the world we now live in. Best wishes to all.

For weeks, Gigi’s roommate paced the floor

“You are really stressing me friend,

I can’t take it anymore.

Dinah, this may be the end.”

Gigi left and came back three days later.

Dinah was pacing faster.

The questions poured out

Both got loud and began to shout

and Dinah left the room

“What’s wrong with you, Dinah?”

Gigi heard music from the kitchen

another voice called out, “Listen!”

“Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah.”

“There’s a few in the kitchen, you know.”

“Wait! I’ll tell you,”

“They’re drinking a whole pot of Joe.”

“Somebody better tell me the whole story!”

(“I’ll tell you the whole story in a few days.” Excerpt from DEAD SEA RISING by Jerry Jenkins)

Somewhere on a mountaintop in a Holy Land

There is a spot that waits for me to stand

Wrapped in grace, white robes, barefoot in the sand

The air is sweet-tasting and pure and soft on my skin

Yes, soft like a kiss.

It is a place where we cannot see the color of skin

It is translucent and flawless, fluid and yet solid

I could hold you if you were there

and you would feel only love,

my love

And while I’d love to hold you there,

It’s only about His love that I ultimately care.

There are those who’ve loved Him here and said

They wanted to drink His cup and go with Him, ultimately some did.

Brave and dearly beloved, they followed Him faithfully.

No matter how I might, it is only by His grace for me.

I see them in the distance, highly favored

now, with the many crowns they lay at His feet.

So many crowns, the jewels light up the day

There is no night, no one is tired, no one is too hot

Or too cold. There are none who are sick or weak

Strength and joy are everywhere. People I know

Laughing and singing and welcoming newcomers.

There is a feeling of tenderness and peace and knowing all

It seems I’ve been here once before, but I don’t remember how.

I only know that place waits for me one day.

There’s always a silver lining,

be it shrouded in pain.

Every loss brings a gift of gain,

A perspective not often shared.

Sightedness depends not on eyes

But rather, on soul vision

Sound waves hitting our ears

Don’t always ring true

It’s that intuition in me and you

It’s the truth that’s planted deep

In our psyche to keep us alive

Alive in our spirit asking questions

Questions too huge to answer till

We are ready to see false truth

For what it is.

Till we are ready to acknowledge

Lies when confronted.

Who do I trust?

Why do I trust?

How do I know I can trust?

If faced with a heavy loss, what then?

Will I think my usefulness at an end?

No, not I. My future is bright and hopeful.

My end is just my beginning.

It is the release from dependence

On who I am, what I can do, from me, my, mine.

It is the culmination of the new birth

In understanding everything and needing

Nothing more than Jesus.

Lethargic and drunk, the strange old man

with bottle in hand, meandered across the field.

Staring ahead as best he could, held onto his hat

With vision zooming this way and that.

There stood a cottage at the edge of the treeline,

“Shelter from this scorching heat, and just in time.”

The man guzzled down what remained of his Rye,

Delirious and deranged, strange lights did he spy.

On further inspection he claimed them to be

“Ten tiny fairies, belonging to me.”

Swiftly he trapped them in that not-quite-empty bottle

He demanded they dance or threatened to throttle

They flew, and they flew, growing rapidly dimmer

In all that heat they simply did simmer

Till all of a sudden, his ‘fairies’ were drunk

Poor little fireflies, to the bottom they sunk.

I hear you rustling through the trees hunting a safe place

What once felt serenely secure, you must now guard.

Protect the young ones and keep innocence alive and well

Last year was my first to meet you and your lovely family

Winter came, and I wondered if you survived.

I’ve never been the ‘hunted.’

Watching you care for your brood, I realize

how blessed I’ve been.

Four walls and a roof to keep the wolves away, unlike you

Moving your little boy and the twins,

along with your older daughter and her offspring,

from place to place under trees and behind sheds.

Foraging for food where you could find it.

I cheered for your survival each time I saw the

scars on your back. I knew the attacker fared

worse than you. It brought joy to me

when you accepted food I wanted to share. So,

Winter came and I prayed you’d make it.

Spring came, many didn’t make it. I couldn’t go

look for you, again I prayed.

Last week Summer came and so you returned

with two new babies, precious,

spotted babies, you let me see.

This week your son returned with three

velvet-spiked pals to show off.

Handsome yearlings, for certain, will want

to meet his sisters and once again,

I will hear you rustling through the trees

hunting a safe place to

Protect the young ones and keep innocence alive.