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Poetry by June Kidd

Spontaneously written and never revised, my poetry was a form of therapy when life was very 'challenging.' I share with you to show that no matter how bleak the situation if you keep your feet on the ground and your eyes on the stars - and trust, you will eventually come to the surface and life will become easy again. Promise! June Kidd


Some time

when the world has turned into the distance,

when we no longer need to justify,

then we will have acknowledged our death.

And the rhetoric of mornings past

will sing an everglade hymn

to fat jowled priests

whose delivery of regular prayer

ensures that their virtue will never know

the agony of premature movement.

So it will be for fat grey fish


just out of reach in mountain pools

to wonder

at the uncertainty of love.


Twisting mercurial turning,

retrograde steps on an ice cold slab,

sinking depths of a tumbling mind

seeking its lair in the moldering earth

where expectation and secret thought

will rot into oblivion.

So, taste conformity, smell restriction,

sense the delicate grip

that primly sucks the optimism of youth.

But guard your soul

for if it becomes 'conditioned'

then you deserve to die.

(Notice the defiance at the end. This was a challenge to myself.)


Wooden Ceiling

The Fightback

Misty Woodland


Must I forever grind

under the pain of anticipation,

the malignant growth of fear

that night intensifies.

To lie and wait

when there is no beginning

to the end

that starts the perfect day.


I could not conform to the uniform sobbing.

Dread, only for a moment stirred echoes of the dark.

The misery seemed like a sudden night,

as fears joined like gatherings mists

and backs sought the walls of caves

for comfort and protection.

I could not conform to the uniform sobbing

but I took your soul to dance with mine

through the long grass.

Did you sense it?

Did you feel the sun on my face,

my outstretched hands

gathering life-giving rays

to quench the thirst of your fear?

I would not weep and add to your burden,

so I took your soul to dance with mine

in the yellow morning light.

I gave you the freedom of that spring morning,

the wind in my hair, earth cool to the touch,

a body light with youth, twisting soft circles of memory.

I could not conform to the uniform sobbing

but I went to the fields

and the gifts I laid at your sick-bed

were the joys of my life.


Golden Leaves

End of a Life



The wedding was a hollow

a pressure of expected joy

she stood inside the wedding dress

and watched confetti drift and die...


I longed for the time - a definite year.

I asked for the date -

the date of the ending

the change to not wanting

the peace of not needing

a time without feeling

a dullness to aching

the numbing of longing

the draining of passion

of empty emotion -

to kiss with detachment and feel no vibration -

like a timeless succession of waiting for nothing...

But my volatile form is soft with blue edges

and needs the fulfillment of aching and longing

and needing and giving

in laughter and loving

again and again and again.....


Road to Monument Valley

How Long...

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