Best Kathryn Poems
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
I went to the dance, all alone and shy
I sat in the corner, I have no idea why
They all seemed to be laughing and high
Dancing and having good times
As I sat in the corner, singing like a mime
I saw her over by the exit door
Tears in her eyes, sadness for sure
I saw in her heart
The loneliness that was mine
I understood at once, this was my time
To be a gentleman and do what’s right
So I took her slowly into my arms
I said so softly
Put your head on my shoulders
I held her in silence
As she drained all her tears
Then the song ended and I let her go
She smiles so sweetly and said thank-you dear Joe
Leaving me here, to dance alone
I have to confess it felt very nice
To consol a sweet gal
Even she left me with no vice
Giving it seems, is its own reward
Even for the lonely, my happiness restored
Bonus Stanza 1
Thirty years later, as I arrive home
I kiss my love on her enticing lips
Her blonde hair waves with her lovely hips
I love her still, like long ago
When I said so softly
Put your head on my shoulder
Bonus Stanza 2
A place to cry
Put your head on my shoulder
It doesn’t matter why
Only angels need to know
That you are special
This is simply so
Notes
This idea came to me reading one of Dave Woods poems, listening to Paul Anka and a poem called “A place to cry” by Kathryn Ramirez. Three completely unrelated events into one poem. The BlueRay version has more Bonus Stanza’s and is available for the low price of 99.99 per copy, Oh and also this is just a poem, there is no love for this dark poet
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
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
Only I Decide My Fate
By Kathryn Collins and Terry O'Leary
At times when I am dark and deep
joy but flickering dim,
I upon the portal keep
stilled like phantom limb.
Braced by winter's welkin wind,
distant clouds unfold,
where once the roar of laughter dinned
I taste the burning cold.
Stood in life's predicament
immobile on the sill,
I wait for grand encouragement,
to warm this awful chill.
Stranded in the winter bleak,
with breezes bitter blown
slicing like the sleet oblique
I find myself alone
If frozen at the brink I stand,
persist in stagnant stall,
my feet will melt to silken sand.
gone my soul, my all.
Paper Plate
serve me well friend poet;
flavor anew words I've
eaten all my life.
Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
July 16, 2011
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
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
Thinking About Angels
Here I am thinking
about angels, guardians
in the sky.
Funny thing: grief.
Well maybe ‘funny’
is the wrong word.
‘Volcanic’
‘Annihilating’
‘Illusionary’
‘Pulverizing’
‘Instantaneous’
‘Gasping’
‘Forever’ is
the kicker.
Here I am thinking
about angels, guardians
in the sky.
Kathryn Collins
February 26, 2014
Maidens, bloody maidens, I had me six of ‘em wenches, ye knowest
Fullsome Catherine of Aragon wrought havoc ‘tween me and the Pope
Besought a divorce, split from the church whilst Anne Boleyn caught mine eye
'Twas beheaded whenst in ‘er capacity to produce a male heir I lost hope
Mine affection waxed for Jane Seymour; I beseeched ‘er t’ marry me
Anne’s body not yet cold in the ground whenst Jane became mine queen
But after giving me a son, Jane withered, twas gone in two weeks
For ‘er I mourned two years, afore proposing to Anne of Cleves
Ye knowest this “Flanders Mare” twas not suited for mine royal court
Nay, ‘er domestic skills tweren’t becoming of a stately king’s wife
At mine auld age of 49, I grew enamored of young Kathryn Howard
She but 19 when I divorced Anne and beseeched ‘er t’ share mine life
But Kathryn had eyes for other blokes, made me look like a pompous joke
"Thou dost not deserve thine title," I declared, had ‘er executed
Twice widowed at the age of 31, Katherine Parr I settled for
This wench cared for me as I grew ill, thus is undisputed
Prithee t’ see after six attempts, I finally met mine match
Katherine inherited mine throne once mine body twas laid t’ rest
From heaven I look back fondly at mine spirited days of yore
Knowing that in a regal sense mine first wife twas truly mine best
* For Lisa Cooper’s “I Want Some Old English Scandal” contest
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
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
After the Second of Epona Plains
Part Seven
Gundar Nills..the Victor.
Your witch I'll burn
At the full moon
So precious to you
As my son was to me.
And Damn you all
For eternity.
So Gundar Nills
Ordered his men
To tie poor
Kathryn to a tree
In the forest
Of the Mystic
Mountains.
He sensed that
His love was in dire need
And rode all the
Day and into the night
Until his horse could go
no more.
On a hill the Young Prince
saw down in the valley
It was Kathryn
that night,
Burned at the stake....
He was too late
To save her.
He mourned.
Gundar Nills,
The Viking King,
Had his revenge,.
His son was
Atoned for at last.
But our Wiccan Princess...
An amulet she
Wore that night.
He said it had the power
To protect her
He said...
No fire or pain
Would she ever know...
As the flames grew around her..
You could hear
A sweet voice singing....
Until she just vanished....
Like smoke in
the air....
Our Prince
gathered his strength
And rode threw the night
To face Gundar Nills,
The Viking King,
A challenge
Was made
And honored.
At the Bay of Epona
They met for one last time..
They both fought
With shields and daggers
Circling each other
Until at last
They rushed head on
Like thunder.
Gundar Nills drove his blade
To the hilt....
He thought he had won the day
But to his dismay...
He felt the point
Of the young Prince's
Knife pierce his Blackened
Heart.....as he fell.
Gundar Nills, the viking King
Was dead.
.
But alas our Prince
was mortally wounded......
Oh Kathryn...he sighed with his
last dying breath,
My love will always yours.
From the day we shared
In the meadow......
Till this...
And our Prince closed his
Eyes forever.
Many did witness what happened next.
The heavens they did open
And Kathryn appeared
In a bright flash of light,
and took her lover
home.
From that day to this
You can see on the
Mountain,
Over looking the bay,
Carved deep
into rock....
Our Prince standing
Guard...
With Kathryn at
his side.
Ascend to Shakespearean summer sky.
I loved Shakespeare as a girl
When a sonnet was like a melody
And I was not admitting
Impediments to true minds.
Our mark is fixed with the
Demise of one as the only force
Powerful enough to cast our
Corporal union null.
And separation will be Doom each for the other.
If I remain, the grief will raze me and my
Only consolation in not having to hurt you.
If it is I who die, I’ll be with the bluebirds.
©Kathryn McL. Collins
April 13, 2004
Long-stemmed Promises
sweet babies
need sleep, sustenance and love.
Sounds easy enough.
Ask the sleepless mother
who feels the diaper rash more
than the infant.
Ask the mother whose child
is the bully or the bullied or
the social outcast.
Ask the mother of the child
Hooked on drink and drugs,
the troubled ones.
Ask the mother of the adult
child growing her own
long-stemmed promises.
Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
November 5, 2005