The Poetry Marathon

There they are.

Moving through the square shoulder to shoulder

in determined advance.

An army of two-legged soldiers on alert to procure

what they wait all night for.

There on the pavement, between blades of grass;

there lay the prize they will surely not pass.

There’s plenty for all, and a little for each.

It is right there, placed right within reach.

“Run quick” called the Pigeon. “Grab what you need.

Here come the Starlings! Meet you back at the tree!”

 

The corners of my mouth

lift slightly, long before

my eyes sense

the dance of daybreak.

Sweet voices

on my windowsill.

Younger ones

reply, eagerly awaiting

something squirmy

Ground beans releasing

their nutty aroma

Hiss and gurgle

into the pot beneath

Bacon spitting at

potatoes crisping

in a neighboring pan

Long, peaceful stretches,

no angry muscles

Puppy-love licks as

my feet hit the floor

Sweet embrace as I meet

my love at the

boudoir door.

Overnight hunger

banished, we clink

hot creamy mugs

Toasting a day

of celebrating

His eyes

wordlessly, not silently,

tell me he’d do it again,

remembers every detail

Quick, pack the basket

with warm, fudgy brownies,

Colby cubes, grapes, and

strawberries in cream

Water or wine,

whichever you please

– just hurry

We can’t waste

moments like these

A blanket beneath

watching ships on the sea

Sun fading in crimson

over the bay

Snuggling close

ends a perfect day.

 

 

edited version:

I Feel You

 

This biting wind comes too soon.

It feels brittle under this sandy canopy.

Though apart, we share

the same night sky.

Can you see what my eyes behold?

Are there stars shining to brighten you,

with dreams of what is to come?

Or is your night too dark, too deep

with pain? Are you longing,

for loved ones to come and lift

you from your couch?

I long to wrap you in love, so sweet

all else feels like a distant memory.

Do not despair.

Weep, if you must.

You are never far from my thoughts.

I am missing the beauty of your song,

your stories, your laughter.

Oh, precious one, remember how,

even at this distance, I feel you

in the uniqueness of

Love’s heart. I sense it

when there is joy. I feel it

when your bones hurt.

I rejoice when your spirit is light.

Listen, close, to hear the

God, who loves us both.

Yes, the world has placed

cruel chains on all of us.

What comfort knowing freedom

those chains cannot hold.

 

I wept when we reached Sherwood Lane

and learned we’d not see your smiling eyes again.

Sis and I traveled far praying we would reach you in time.

Many hours in the air,

clenching armrests on our chair, we shared our hearts and hopes.

More than that we shared our prayers.

Prattling down I-5 with a brave brother-in-law at the wheel,

we wanted only to make it to your side as our tears we tried to hide.

The oldest and the youngest of your daughters,

facing years of unspoken words to offer you.

Finding a strange peace in the humming

of your old truck’s engine and trees moving quickly by.

Days that followed now seem like a blurred dream.

Words said in eulogy.

Songs read, not sung.

Memories, stories, photos, all shared with love.

I still weep knowing it will be awhile till

I see you again, but I smile knowing I will.

Forgiveness begins with me,

Love began with His Son.

I love you, Dad.  See you soon.

Kathy

Trusting one’s own perception is often flawed

The ideas sweep by faster than the mind records

Productivity restricted by imagining future rewards

Promises of happy endings for a young girl’s efforts

Broken-hearted realization of self-delusion

Faithfully pursued, creating confusion

Hope dies not, valiant tries in deepest thought

Study, read, talk it out,

Search for truth and what it’s about

Foundational teaching at Pappa’s knee

Precious words he would read

Juxtaposed against the world

Belief in God her heart would hold

Understanding dreams might wait

Answers may come very late

Hope dies not, valiant tries in deepest thought

Success for others seems always there

Why not her? Doesn’t He care?

Standards set so high, will they be met?

A deeper look for what is that truth in she,

Reveals a self-fulfilling prophecy

Forgiving and holiness must begin with me.

Ingredients:

1. Unconditional Love
2. Old yard shoes
3. A bit of strength
4. A supply of small plastic bags
5. Unlimited imagination

Early morning wake-ups

often delivered by wet noses of those you treasure

If at first, you don’t respond,

Your anxious pet may move on to drastic measures

Apply copious amounts of unconditional love wrapped in hugs and praise

Now, throw on those old yard shoes and quickly your body raise

Grab a leash of suitable length, and a small supply of plastic bags

Throwdown some coffee, a bit of strength, before encountering smelly gags

Converse in whatever means you can, with unlimited imagination,

Head quickly, quietly for some vegetation.

Keep applying more unconditional love each step of the way

Love them like children and have a grand day, I hope!

You decide

Was it privilege or pride?

Poverty or prosperity?

Let’s look inside and see.

In 1924

Little Grace entered Life’s door.

Tiny father

Tiny mother

Six sisters

Six brothers

All were giants in her eyes.

Her life became bigger, to their surprise

She didn’t like school

Often broke the rules

But she had important goals

A child selling onions, radishes door to door

Many doors slammed on the girl who looked poor

One needed cash

To build her stash

Books and words she treasured

By them, a life she measured

Poetry, novels, all the great ones

Masters of wordplay and puns

She wrote her first story

A twelve-year-old writer! Oh, glory!

So many mouths to feed, poor father

So much love to give, dear mother

Little Grace, raised in the Word,

Longed to teach children what she had heard

And a teacher she became

Students around the world would know her name.

She’d write many more stories in her life and others

For rescuing students who failed,

Parents would offer praise and regale

Grace grew big in the eyes of the learned

They called her to travel, not spurn it

Her route to this honored place

Cost much in the life of Grace

She left her mark on me that remains

Which is why I pen these simple refrains

kjkidder 6/7/2020 9:51 am est

 

 

 

 

Looking back, it feels like we just finished the last one, and then like it is the first time. I still get butterflies thinking about putting my words out there. Such a need for feedback and camaraderie still amazes me after all these years. Twelve hours feels like such a hurdle, I don’t know how you full-marathoners do it! Maybe this year I’ll submit to the anthology instead of hiding. Wishing you all poetic dreams and inspiration! See you in the morning!

Kat (Kathleen Kidder)

Are you warming up your weary, quarantined brain? I think I’m still in a state of shock over the events and non-events of this year. So, I’m cracking my knuckles, stacking up paper, sharpening pencils, and stocking up on cheese, fruit, peanut butter, and yogurt. Did I mention coffee??? Good night, I’ll see you Saturday morning!