Hour One–Ready, Set
Fire applied to water
Water gurgling through coffee
Slippered feet touching earth
Now if only I can find more than
Wind between my ears
Wind, Water, Earth, and Fire
Prancing renegade
flowing over the meadow
and through the grass
Unmeasured cadence
tiptoeing, twirling, cajoling
active and silent.
Gushing torrent
crashing vividly
continuously
Giggling with interaction
flirting as silk drapes
moving forcefully onward.
The gargoyle’s
long hard glances
are everlasting and petrifying
Monstrous yet motionless
affecting time itself
symbiotically, methodically, unwavering.
Flitting hellion
desirous and onerous
doesn’t relate to moderation
Ever-increasingly ravenous
and totally unhinged, effervescent spirit
of the mighty.
Control without mastery
are obviously
ignored
They have no intention, no direction
without a maestro
feeling and oriented.
Imagination at play
throws caution and
moves erratically
often stopped dead
but flickering,
alive in the interactions
of the four colossi
Training and grasping but
never tight enough
or long enough
or delicately enough
to withstand the
intentionless march.
Children
at the feet of ancients
excitedly collecting scraps
Unaware in bliss
of the emptiness
and senseless violence of time.
Extracurricular
What do you want?
Endless road or cul-de-sac?
You know the way to work,
Their schools, music lessons.
Not needed.
Throw out the Rand McNally and Garmin.
Make your own MapQuest.
Explore a new path
Or stay within your gated community,
Safe.
Make new business. Get busy.
Clean out that clutter you’ve collected.
Quick. Find a hobby.
Don’t think.
Keep the feelings you know.
It’s all extracurricular now.
No program.
Change or more of the same?
IT’S ELEMENTAL MY FRIEND
It’s elemental my friend.
Some declare it is the end…
ah, but eternity goes on forever;
pays no mind to any weather.
Apocalyptic birth pangs again;
heavens pour down stones and rain.
Thunder roars above the plain;
lightning sparks the cleansing flame.
Nothing old remains the same;
naught but Yahweh’s holy name.
Living water from his side,
to wash away, not hide.
Blood to cover sins of man;
a sacrifice… no other can.
© 2017 Kathleen J Kidder
8/5/2017 Hour One – Half Marathon
Summer (2017)
Early sunrise and late sunset
Popsicles and iced tea
Camping and barbecues
Road trips and family vacations
School time anticipation
Swimming and hiking
Bike rides and marathons
Staying up late and sleeping in
Sunshine on my face
Sunburns and dehydration
Family reunions and sporting events
Starry night skies
Blazing heat and forest fires
Fireworks and festivities
The Gardener
The Gardener
Unprepared and precious,
I lift them out with two hands.
I find in the dirt of my new garden
decrepit plastic whiffle balls,
cracked open like an eggshell on one side
where nothing has escaped,
empty from inception,
and chunk pieces of cinderblock
foundation. I dig in my own dirt
of my own yard, and lift a metal padlock,
or unearth a round rock
paving stone
or gray orb, egg unbroken by
water and air and fire of the sky
which beat onto the rocks and me,
the dirt of the new beds,
my seedlings,
the dog in the yard,
and the used porch furniture
rescued from the neighbors’ curbs.
All the green and plastic life they wet, and breathe, and heat
measure out in my shovels of dirt.
1. The Big Chill
I feel like I’m in a movie
Stuck in our own weird version of The Big Chill
We’ve gathered
Because a friend is gone
Gone far too soon
And by his own hand
We gather
Because that’s what you do
Words were spoken last night that warmed my heart
And brought tears to my eyes
We are family
We will always be family
No matter where we go or how bad things get
In the end
We always come back to each other
We always come back to family
So… we’re here
We have gathered to bury our dead
We have come to mourn
We have come to drink and get drunk
We have come to laugh
We have come to cry
And we have come to heal each other
Stretch Marks:
there to remind you that tanktops
are for layering and second helpings
are for skinny girls and not everyone has
room to grow.
and That Thing your stepfather said two
years ago still echoes in your mind every
time hunger curls in the bottom of your
stomach like a snake coiling around its prey,
waiting for you to give in, for your friends
to put the food in front of you because they
noticed you haven’t been packing lunches
lately, for the cool water slipping
down your throat like an animal
into the empty night to stop
filling you.
when you were four years old you
would dance around the room naked
at bathtime, delight in the smoothness
of your skin, the air embracing every
part of you. your grandparents thought
it was adorable. growing pains meant you
were getting stronger and
you ran your fingers absentmindedly
over your stomach that stuck out
like a toddler’s tongue.
now you undress quickly without
glancing in the mirror, refuse to count
calories like your mother does because
if you start now you’ll never stop. your
grandfather refers to your mother, who is
two pant sizes smaller than you, as
not a skinny woman and you take those words
onto the scale with you.
Starting Line
The wind blows my hair away
But it’s neither cool nor soothing
It burns like those flames
Which engulf my whole being.
A shaky breath, hands full of dirt
No amount of water could clean
Not even the mightiest earthquakes
Could shake a resolve so deep.
I look up through the sweat and tears
With a final smile and start running
Reaching out my hand to get hold
Of the passion I could always feel.
Telling myself to give my all
Here at the starting line of my dreams.