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Best Poems Written by Mary Kate Marozas

Below are the all-time best Mary Kate Marozas poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

The War Continues

I am feeling more marginalized.
Everyday I’m told to not comment or talk
While the men in my life are talking.

I so many ways they manipulate me
I doubt they realize what they are doing.
At least I hope their intention is pure.
What they must discuss is important, I guess.
More important than what I do or say.

“Stop being so oversensitive,” they complain.
Can you not see we are talking father and son?”
As if “overly sensitive” is even a word?
The dictionary defines sensitive as
1. endowed with sensation;
2. having perception through the senses.
3. readily or excessively affected by external agencies or influences.
4. having acute mental or emotional sensibility.
5. aware of and responsive to the feelings of others.
6. easily pained, annoyed, etc.
These are bad?
and when adding “over” to the adjective is defined as
1. excessively or unduly “sensitive”
Circulating back to the positive meanings that the root word tries to convey.

But I cannot stop there in my exegesis of this term
The men in my life throw at me.

WORDS RELATED TO OVERSENSITIVE
annoyed, contentious, exasperated, fractious, petulant, prickly, resentful, surly, testy, conscious, delicate, emotional, hypersensitive, keen, nervous, perceptive, precise,
receptive, responsive, susceptible

WTF do they intend to express?
While denying my participation anyway?
I know too much, being too accurate, or right?
Whom exactly are they talking about?
When this “oversensitive” word they decry
Is it meant for me to close my mouth?
go away?

Alas I know not
and careless and less to participate
In their ignorant misogynistic display.

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

Abandonment

I tried to write a poem to prove to you I could.
But time and distance got in my way.

I tried to write the perfect prose to demonstrate my skill.
But the memory of standing before a rose-covered coffin
Left me silent and enraged!

Isn’t it odd how time and distance distort what we perceive?
Warping sad memories, blackening our feelings
Where our unworthiness dwells.

It is not a type of weakness when we broken do not overcome.
Or some self-imposed prison of us seeking innocence lost and gone.
I suppose it is latent forgiveness that stays this poet’s pen.

And I fall to my knees, bowing my head,
Seeking God’s Grace again.

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

The Withered Garden

There is a withered garden many people do not see,
They walk passing around it, very busily.
Past parched grasses, withered blooms 
Shades of tan and palest gray, all colorless and dried.
Water’s not been shared or granted, in a long, long time.

Within the garden’s many trails, 
trampled mud paths show,
Busy travelers seeking shortcuts, rushing to and fro.
The chain-link fence, half-broken down
Keeps little children out; for the lonely little garden 
Is just not safe to play around.

Broken glass and rusty nails lay scattered throughout,
Even little creatures know – it’s not safe to stray about.
While on the sidewalk, others bane to walk swiftly past.
The aroma from feral animals and human garbage makes them gasp. 

This sad and lonely corner served a purpose once before;
It was a haven from the summer heat, a section of retreat – 
A place of momentary calm where people came to meet.
Pausing, to pass the unhurried time, a place to lie 
in sweet soft grass and watch billowed clouds race by.

I remember how lovers sauntered 
holding tightly; hand in hand,
Building memories of their early love 
With fragrance all around.

And yet, the garden is not tended.
This refuge lay in ruins, 
Its purpose lost: discarded, 
just a nuisance walked around.

What happened to this little place of serenity and calm?
Is this not a loss to all walking by this storied ground?

Why can we not rebuild it? 
Remove all fences, plow the ground?
Plant grass and seed for flowers. 
Add a fountain, maybe Benches, 
with shade trees placed around.

Everyone needs a garden, 
filled with peace and calm to share.
A safe and welcome feeling – 
Loves the language spoken here.

It welcomes all who cross your path 
seeking comfort, peace, and calm.
For every soul’s a garden with 
such rest and beauty there!

Open wide acceptance 
Share one cup of water.
Build blessings for a lifetime, 
Cultivate each heart with care.
 
Become that lovely garden, 
open graciously to all, 
A refuge of peace 
On life’s busy street, 
for everyone to share


 02/28/2019

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

Run

I ran to my garden alone today.
Ignoring the steps of repentance
blast through the temple of grace
As if in no need of perfect acceptance
or compassionate heavenly embrace.

Skipping the small rain of wisdom
without proper instruction in peace.
I pushed open the gate of remembrance in anger
seeking justification, for my rage of blame...

What had I hoped to find in this place?
What was the need for my haste?
Ignoring the promise of assurance and love
I sought respite from my sin and disgrace.

Then I heard the voice of my beloved Lord
Sweetly whisper to my enraged heart.
Biding me to stop and listen again.

"I am the Balm of Gilead,
Walk with me in your garden of faith.
Take my hand my chosen one
peace is made perfect in me."

He led me to another garden
I had not passed through here before.
It was so quiet, the gentle warm wind, 
calmed the torrent within.

As the fragrance flowers surrounded me
And floral colors I had never seen
I felt this calm and refreshment 
opened my soul to peace again.

“Where is this garden,” I asked my Lord?
Where is this place that I may return
when have I brought disgrace to all around me?
and need to hide again?”

His broad smile reached into my broken heart,
His forgiveness washed my soul clean.

“Run,” said my Lord, “Run as fast as you can.
I will always be waiting for you.
This is the garden I have built 
from your love and devotion to me.”

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

Reminiscence

How dim memories can slip away.
The decades of life highlighted in our thoughts
Sifting through the large colander
Of daily happenstance.
Leaving very few past images that can bring us gentle peace.

Only special celebrations can we access.
Moments of a wedding day
The first child's birth
So many firsts
are sealed away and hopefully stored
Safely within our minds.

A child's birth,
A newborn's first cry.
There are so many firsts that jumble and crumble
Seeking a place on memories first call.
We seek to remember everything every day.
A beloved Christmas
A happy birthday
The anticipation of all life ahead.
Blend into the years that are the journey of life.

We are distressed when the memory has faded and gone
Into the dark recesses of thoughts that are stored
Away from our recall, away from our grasp.
We vaguely remember these lost treasured images, but
The shadow of the joy felt remains.

It seems such a cruel joke of our creator's design,
As our memories slip past us when we are old
And life becomes quiet and we are alone.
No one seeks our company.
Our time is now empty and devoid
of the busy appropriation
life once threw our way.
Confused, we seek affirmation
That our time was well spent.
Successfully, with purpose and honor.
And painfully grieve
That memories vanish like smoke in the wind.

Grieve not these years of quiet and rest.
Wrap yourself in the warm shawl of abiding.
Believe and rejoice.
Your mansion awaits.
Built by the crowns you have won
Your race is not over
It has just begun.


Mary Kate Marozas
October 16, 2021

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

Sun Shower

A lone sunbeam washed over a sleeping face.
Soft fine curls swirled over the child’s head.
How lovely to watch a child in sleep,
Refreshing, renewing, the promise of youth.
Naptime was precious for this mother.
A time of quiet, a heartbeat of peace
This moment of miracles is sometimes missed.

This rambunctious child, never still, never quiet
An unending upheaval for all.
Too curious, too loud, 
Worrisome trouble most time
This older mother remained on continuous guard.
This creature of childhood kept the household hostage
Until the dynamo slept.

A careful choice lay open, as the mother viewed 
the peaceful, ethereal, sleeping, child.
Before the nap, storm clouds had gathered
And the summer storm was sure to be wild.
Blessed sleep had spared the child the worst of the storm.
The mother sighed with wisdom, as she sat next to her child. 
A swimsuit lay with purpose across her lap.


Have you ever noticed what is left behind
After a loud, scary storm? 
While the wind whipped, and thunder pounded?
The power of that storm stops everything.
As all hold their breath. 
How does one teach courage, trust, and faith?
What perfect moment allows that lesson caught?

I remember when I was that child. 
Life had not yet become a race that needed to be won
Between a mother and daughter that must be won.
Appearance and pride were not part of this game.
Just a terrible storm heading their way.

Childhood is such a crucial time
Playing is never just “playing a game.”
The lessons learned in those early years
Teaches that storms come, 
And may remain.
But magically leave after the rain.

I remember those moments as a treasure
When Mother would wake me from an afternoon nap.
“Awake little one there is a Sun Shower today.
The loud angry storm is passing away.
Put on your swimsuit and go play in the rain. “
Off I would run, unafraid of the storm.
I ran through the puddles and the softly falling rain.
Searching for treasures the storm left behind.
Alone I danced, unafraid of the rain. 
The wet grass my beach, the wet air my ocean.
Picking twigs and flowers that had covered the ground.

The Sun Rays poked through as more clouds moved away.
I scanned the sky for the Sun Shower to end.
Chasing to catch one last drop to fall.
I looked at the blue sky. 
watched the clouds float away.
Suddenly it was there, brilliant colors in the sky.
Blended like magic the colors filled my eyes.
I held up my scattered makeshift bouquet 
In tribute to the gift of the rainbow that day.

My mother caught me in a large warm towel as she smiled.
“Always remember what a storm leaves behind.
After the wind and the thunder go by.
Be sure to go out and play in the rain.”
Have courage, hold fast, the storm will abate.
Watch for the rainbows. 
Trust in God’s grace.

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

The Tribute

There are not enough words to describe
The devotion and compassion this poet's eyes beheld.

It was a plain room arranged for safety, 
comfort, and care.
A fine bantam table re-purposed with medical supplies 
for any emergent unplanned surprise.

An unexpected large bed filled the back right corner of the room.
Creating a barrier for an unsteady walk.
Soft pillows surrounded a determined man,
bent over, straining to stand, wanting to rise.
Pursuing some task, he had left undone.

Desperate for freedom, confused, lost in time.
Unaware of the witnesses standing aside,
A woman gently wrapped her arms around the man. 
Intertwined fingers completed a tender restraint.
Whispering, begging him to stay,
Seated beside him protecting the man.

This was a path I had walked before.
I knew it so well as I stood near the door.
Felt the terrible anguish of another parting too soon.
As a daughter held her father.

How unfair it seems to separate this pair.
Why must we rip ourselves apart?
As life starts closing doors.
What is this path we walk down carrying flowers with thorns?
This cruel bitter loss felt by all
as the daughter anointed the man with a gentle touch.
Reposing her head against his thin shoulder
to encouraging his rest.

My heart wanted to hold her, lessen her pain,
Offer her hope, ease the load.
But it was her watch to stand.

I recalled my own dark watches of the night.
The wretched tearing of the soul.
The desperate need to hold on,
Knowing the need to let go.

This was the daughter's obeisance to give away.
All that she was, her loving tribute will ever remain.
As a daughter released her hold on the man.

Details | Mary Kate Marozas Poem

The Poet's Pen

A Poem a Day
Seems an obtuse way
To bring blocked feelings out.

What can I say?
While alone,
Hidden away,
I seek meaningful rhymes to think about.

What is the plan here?
The mystery?
The Plot?
How does this mysterious game strategy work?

After all, playing with words,
As every poet keenly knows 
Can be rigged so that nothing comes out.

Is something more sinister in play?
Is there a twist in this plot?
A revelation, a purpose, only the game maker knows.
Or are we playing alone?


It is silly
How this poem a day
Dissects my mind, my spirit, my soul.
And in the end, this poet’s pen,
May have too much or too little to say.

However, this poet is sly 
And begins to suspect, a ghost player is playing along.
A Masterful agenda, with plot, twists unintended,
Hidden within this game.

Words wasted, let loose, and scattered;
When brought painfully 
back together 
Can reveal the games truthful intent.

The ethereal purpose and loving power
Of words lost, 
without order, 
abandoned,
scattered, 
unspent.
When set free 
Reveals Heaven's poetry resplendent
Residing within this poet’s pen.

Best Poems Written by Mary Kate Marozas

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Eulogy For a Lost Poem

The War Continues

Abandonment

The Withered Garden

Run

Reminiscence

Sun Shower

The Tribute

The Poet's Pen