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Best Kathryn Collins Poems

Below are the all-time best Kathryn Collins poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Where did the time Go


Where did the time Go?

“Mom I think my finger’s falling off”
Not to worry I’ll be there in a second.

“Mom I think the roof caved in”
Get under the bed for now, I’m on the phone.

“Mom, Sister’s on the roof”
Sooooo?

“Mom, the house behind us is on fire”
Bring them a bucket; I’m drying my hair.

“Mom, there’s a black spider on my wall”
He’ll keep; I’m watching Days of Our Lives.

“Mom, the paper boy’s collecting”
I don’t have $2.  I’ll be at the bank. 

“Mom, there’s a policeman at the door”
Get Daddy.  Now.


 “Mom, I’m married with kids”
Where was I?


For Colette from Mama
Mother’s Day 2013


Details | Kathryn Collins Poem

Only Leaves

Only Leaves

Their numbers are overwhelming
golden and brown transversing my path.
I abandon every one in each step forward.

Green lives, lived,finally 
fallen to the battlefield of my morning walk,
some burning red, the last fire extinguished.

Others are dry and crisp,
burnt toast of maples,
drifting and rolling as Mariah scoots them.

Is it the wind;
or are these pointy little corpses
positioning for Halloween tricks?


Details | Kathryn Collins Poem

May is Mother's Month

May is Mother’s Month

May is green 
spawning inchworms.
I nest too
cleaning closets,

busily morphing 
contrary to my wont.
Even the slothful move,
to her blossom song. 

In a whistling fragrance
I recall how mother
loved lilacs and wearing
shorts to show a model’s leg.

This was her time, the spring.
Oh yes, and summer, I guess.
Fall and winter, too.

Quick now, the cycle is mine to ponder;
lo, youthfully to long for me
who follows me and calls me mother.

©Kathryn McL. Collins


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Writing's a Drag

The Drag of Writing

A smidgeon of silly,
a scintilla of sad,
a wee gong of rhyming wit,

a sentence to start me
a participle dangling
a lead to bring me to it,

a last ditch lurch to my
personal God, who says 
“this is not worthy of prayer”

six single words is all I need
for my fingers to fly with a flourish, 
a little ole ‘v’ to victory,

parse me up
and parse me down
I’ll carelessly click the keys,

till I alphabetically ache
and a roll of the dice 
brings a poem for the centuries

Is that how THEY did it
Longfellow and Poe?
I’m not so sure they were so slow.



©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
May 28, 2013


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Chamber Music Chopped

Chamber Music Chopped

Sailing to heaven,
the violin and viola
never noticed

the cello sleeping
dangling in the sky
until it was too late. 

their anchor was gone
and the trio became
a broken record.


©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
January 8, 2013


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Murder at the Prom

Murder at the Prom

Frankie Lyman shrilled his falsetto.
Gwendolyn Gould danced in stilettos.
So callously smothered,
they never recovered.
Poor little piggies, scrunched little toes.

©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
March 11, 2012


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Catch a Falling Star


I can’t quite recall
The feel of your fingers
In my hand and

The sound of your voice
Escapes me today,
But I’ll remember it.

What was that song we sang?
Solo I can’t quite get the tune.
No one else thinks it’s funny.

You thought putting
a falling star in your pocket
was silly.

But it’s rainy now
and I need one on this
starless night.


©March 28, 2003
Kathryn McL. Collins


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My Venerable Dad - memory snippet on Fathers Day

Lucky day!   Father McShane was on the altar.
I knelt in gratitude, in silent applause.

He said mass faster than the lead car in a drag race.  
Hosts flew and before we knew it: “Ite, missa est.” *

The nine a.m. ritual was well worth it on Sundays with daddy.
Out of the mist of sneezy incense, enclosed in glass tabernacles

food for the soul of another kind awaited us at the Brewster bakery.
Father and daughter a spiritual team of confectionary communicants, 

were in search of the one true doughnut, the absolute muffin.
My father kept us ever faithful. 

*Go, the Mass is ended 

©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
June 14, 2012


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Lazarus Walk


Boots
in the closet;
I wait for them to walk
so I can follow.

Wallet
in my drawer;
he needs his license, money,
not a lot, 

t-shirt,
pair of pants,
running shoes,
his watch,

binoculars,
field guide, 
floppy hat.
I won’t forget.

I’m ready, boots;
lead me;
it’s not too late;
it’s not.

©Kathryn Collins 
June 14, 2007



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Paper Plate


Paper Plate

serve me well friend poet;
flavor anew words I've
eaten all my life.

Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
July 16, 2011


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