The Poetry Marathon

Good morning

Daddy, Are you there?

I am, Child, and I care

To see where.

You are going

What do you ask today?

It is wisdom I seek

Is your muse feeling weak?

Come closer, let’s peek

I Am is all knowing…

Is it wisdom or play

Abba, oh Father,

You know me so well.

Words I am wanting to playfully tell.

Fear not, I am here to offer my help;

I Am that I Am is wisdom itself.

She sits across from me with
tousled brown hair,
calico dress, and
rosy cheeks fair,
painted eyes,
and turned up nose,
no shoes or paint,
upon her toes.
Lace petticoat
helps cover her legs.
Arms stretched out,
a hug she begs.
She must be mute;
She does not hear.
We communicate with telepathy,
my charming muse and me.
Words, unspoken,
come streaming through.
Phrases old and
sentences new;
a thousand things
I feel her say.
Yet unnamed, even to
this day.
Perhaps the time
has arrived for
giving my muse
a proper handle,
Perchance she’ll
know I love her more
than ever I loved
my muse before.
She’s up in years, that
Brings me to tears,
When I think of
the love that made her.
I think I’ll call her…
‘Peggy Jean’.

© 2017 Kathleen J Kidder
8/5/2017 Hour Twelve – Half Marathon

Silver sand takes on a crimson glow,
Slowly giving way to pale purple waves
Splashing their frothy form across the jetty.
Smells of salty seaweed fill the air,
Seagulls soaring just below a salmon colored sky.
Sandpipers skipping to and fro hunting
Sea snails and insects burrowing at the edge of the surf.
Sand crabs flipping through the outgoing tide,
Seeking escape from their feathered foes.
Sun is up and day begins with
Shining shells soon cracked by bills;
Scattered screeching of Terns and hens
Sucking shells of Turtle eggs unhatched,
Strewing pieces across their nests.
Seems a shame, but the creator knows best,
Saving some… and feeding the rest.

© 2017 Kathleen J Kidder
8/5/2017 Hour Eleven – Half Marathon

The pink of her cheeks,
The softness of new baby skin,
Rosebud-colored lips framing her mouth,
Deep chocolate-black hair, smooth and fine,
Tiny fingers wrapped around mine,
Blue-black eyes open, not seeing,
Ears hear my voice, head turns my way,
She’s pulling my finger, her mouth to taste;
Void of the nectar her mom holds for her.
Room full of family waiting, their turn to hold,
This precious child is one of their fold
Only days old, her future is planned
Nursery at home waits for her presence with gifts
Crib filled with white teddy and blankets of pink ruffles
Bella, she is and Bella’s her name
This family’s world no longer the same.

© 2017 Kathleen J Kidder
8/5/2017 Hour Ten – Half Marathon

Clever little critter, laboring
through the evening, to spin
his lovely, patterned, tacky carpet;
Inviting tasty prey, he hoped, to walk or step upon.

Down to the gutter and out over
the Holly; then back again to
wrap the downspout with
a tidy tablecloth of glue.

A gust of wind catches his just-spun cloth of
cloth of silky strand, tossing
him soundly against the waiting door.
“‘Just spin another wider web and glue it down again.”

Busy little spider,
failed to spot the bigger threat,
who came down to see what she might eat;
a lonely lady needing food to fill her reddened belly.

Ah, but have no fear. The lady cannot wed;
she lays some eggs and bids him come offer up
offer up his treasure. No strings attached, just nature’s way.
Persuaded by her beauty, he complied to be her dinner.

© 2017 Kathleen J Kidder
8/5/2017 Hour Nine – Half Marathon

Be a nurse her family persuaded. The
Future looks secure in a medical career, girl
There’s no money in art or writing or in
Acting. She followed their dream; in the
Unsettled struggle that came, her glass
Was empty more than full in the end. The truth is
Finding what fills you up and fires up your
Soul. Jesus did that and she calls him her friend.

by Kathleen J Kidder 8/5/2017 at 3:56 PM

The original line of inspiration for this poem is “The girl in the glass is your friend.” By Pat Conigliaro

I hear the chilling sound of his voice
as I recognize behind me–the
cold click-clack of the shotgun loading.

Barely able to breathe, I lift my eyes from
the plates in my hands to
see his reflection, in the
window over the sink. I see his evil smirk.

“Are you ready to finish that fight now?”
My heart racing, electricity
surging through my body, in slow
motion, I turn to face him.

Fear so intense I lose
control of my body; seeing me
standing in my own puddle, he
laughs and walks out again.

Humiliated and terrified, I
drop to the floor and
weep for my babies, praying
they will never know this terror.

© 2017 Kathleen J Kidder
8/5/2017 Hour Seven – Half Marathon

Little amber eyed gal

A man’s best pal

Cuts her teeth on his chair

While she watches him stare

She’s lost her home twice

You’d think she would learn to be nice

Arms to cuddle and hold you

Food to feed and uphold you

Little amber-eyed lady

Don’t be so shady!

By Kathleen J Kidder at 1:42 PM 8/5/2015

Shortly after

Christmas in 1952

She had a little broom

To sweep a little room

But found it held surprises

Held high enough from it to hang

Stretching she could swing

With great ease that she did

Till sweaty tiny hands did slip

Down she went to

The floor with a crash

And in her chin a gash

Laughs and giggles

Disappeared amongst

The tears and

Stitches saved that

Winter day on

MuenchStreet in old

Harrisburg, PA

By Kathleen J Kidder at 12:59 PM on 8/5/2017

Don’t know why there seems such a fuss
Surely there’s a twelve-step program for us
Playing with words is much more than fun
A ‘Player’ can’t stop once they’ve begun

Delicious words spill from our fingers
Uplifting, teasing, or maybe just zingers
It’s raucous, exhilarating writing a pun
No, a ‘Player’ can’t stop once they’ve begun

When feeling munificent his words can be healing
When his rhyme is perhaps great, it’s fodder for stealing
But rest ye assured, word police are watching all words under the sun
Because unscrupulous ‘Players’ can’t stop, once they’ve begun

So with all this in mind and so many words in our head
Whatever your oeuvre, be hopeful instead
That you never grow weary of words having fun
And with pride be a ‘Player’– don’t stop you’ve begun

By Kathleen J Kidder at 11:47 on 8/5/2017