Walking Away

Where do poems come from? Anyone who writes poetry asks that question and has that question asked of them by others who wonder how a poem comes to be. There are many articles and books on the subject, but still there is no single answer. Every poet writes differently and often in a lifetime writing patterns and habits might change, too.

To show you how oddly this can happen, I’ve decided to post a poem that appeared in my chapbook, Erasing the Doubt (published 2015 by Finishing Line Press). “Walking Away” is  a poem that has its own style, its own cadence and its own meaning. If I were to read this somewhere, I think I’d say it feels very much like an old fashioned poem, as if it echoes a voice from long ago. How did that happen? There is an unusual story behind this poem and how it came to be. It came to me as a whole poem when I was up late writing and suddenly became very, very tired. It appeared almost dreamlike to me. I typed it up quickly, read it once and went to bed. When I read it the next day, it didn’t feel or sound like me, but obviously I had written it. Strange indeed. This experience happened only once in my life.Was another poet speaking through me? Or was this merely a side freed from regular consciousness because of fatigue?

I’d love to hear your comments on this poem and what it means to you when you read it. Feel free to leave a message

I’ve recorded this poem if you care to listen as well as read. Just click on this link:

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Walking Away

 

When you go, where do you wander?
When you leave me, do you look back?
I sit here, book in hand, not reading.

           The wind blows fiercely through now.

 

They asked how long you had been silent,
And I answered with a lie, which
Was not the truth but might have been.

          The wind blows silently through now.

 

Did you hear me whispering to you?
Did you hear what I had to say? Or did
I turn away and only mouth the words?

          The wind blows piercingly through now.

 

Where do you go when you wander?
Tell me what you see. When you look
At me, I feel you walking away.

          Lamenting the darkness, the wind blows softly now.

 

 

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“Walking Away” was published in Erasing the Doubt by Mary Kendall (c) 2015, Finishing Line Press.

 

 

 

 

Memory’s Cup

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If you would like to hear me read this poem, please click on the audio link below. It will take a few seconds to load.

 

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Four Winter Haiku by Mary Kendall

How lovely to find out that Miriam Sagan has posted my Four Winter Haiku on Miriam’s Well.

Miriam's Well: Poetry, Land Art, and Beyond

 
 
night snow
boughs dreaming
of first blossoms
 
 
 
fog filled woods~
even the winter moon
has lost its way
 
 
 
a winter walk
footprints
tell no tales
 
 
 
the blue moon
silently closes the door
upon the year

***

First published Poets Online
© 2009 Mary Kendall

Later used as lyrics in “Winter Moon” by Paul Carey, a piece for women’s chorus in 2011.

(Posted on her blog, A Poet in Time, 2015, http://www.apoetintime.com)
 
 
 
 
 
 

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A flash of gold…(tanka)

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It is always an honor to have a poem appear in Moonbathing, A Journal of Women’s Tanka.
Issue 15
Fall/Winter 2016

Edited by Pamela A. Babusci

Searching for a tiny heart beat… (tankart)

 

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Published in CATTAILS, September 2016

 

A flurry of poems…

The fall issue of cattails is out at last. Due to a big switch around of editors, the September issue was delayed and is now published in December. What a big issue it is, full of so many poems to read. Many of my favorite poets are in this issue and there are some who are new to me still to be discovered.

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I have two haiku included in this issue:

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first blossoms –
I tell myself this year
will be different

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daybreak …
the birds wake us
song by song

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and a few senryu:

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long yawns …
breathing in
his boredom

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zafu zabuton zazen       zzzzz

 

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plus one tanka:

 

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long ago I heard
the sound of wuthering wind
blowing through the night –
a bleakness so forlorn,
a loneliness bereft of words   

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My thanks to all the editors of cattails for their hard work. I cannot begin to imagine the number of hours it takes to put together something this substantial.

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Crossing the road…(a tanka)

 

 

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Tanka by Mary Kendall
(c) 2016 Ripples in the Sand (TSA)