POEMS PUBLISHED IN 2021

This part of my blog includes poems and places in which my work has been published in 2021. To make this readable, the newest poems are at the TOP of this page. Your comments are always welcome. I love hearing responses from readers. It’s wonderful knowing people read my work, and I enjoy learning about what a poem means to each reader.

(Entries are in reverse chronological order) 

Here are some of my recent poems published in various journals.

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Tanka Society of America 2021 Anthology

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whipping egg whites
into the lightest foam . . .
I whisper my gratitude
to four brown eggs
still warm from their nest

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Modern Haiku  53:1. 2022  (one haiku)

 

waiting for a word
the day moon
dots the sky

 

 

Red Lights 2021

 A Tanka Sequence by Mary Kendall

(written about our changing world and climate change)

Changes 

 

faced with a world
in harm’s invisible way,
the wild branches
of corkscrew hazel
suddenly ready to sprout

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there was a time
when an oil slick rainbow
made us smile,
but now we see only
a spill of oil, too much oil

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out of the blue
an ivory-billed woodpecker
tapped out its story –
a vanishing act
for us to discover

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British Haiku Society 2021 Members’ Anthology

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deep in meditation
I am no bigger than
a single grain of sand
so easily forgotten,
so easily overlooked

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The Heron’s Nest (fall 2021)

(one haiku)

 

dust rag
our history
gone in a moment

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Ribbons (Tanka Society of America)

(17.3) 2021

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the barred owls’
caterwauling
startles the night—
all I ever longed for
was a gentle word

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Moonbathing: A Journal of Women’s Tanka

Issue 25, Fall 2021

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tangled arches
of untended rose stalks . . .
the mismatched grace
of old & new and what
it’s like to be forgotten

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Blithe Spirit 31.4

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sitting on your old bed,
I shake out a teddy bear –
dust light scatters
the many memories
of who you once were

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Presence #71 Fall 2022 (two haiku)

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lone crow
never the right place
for outliers

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all winter long
what do they dream about . . .
burrowing frogs

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Eucalypt: A Tanka Journal, Issue  31

Fall 2021

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words float
just beyond hearing
in the dark
foggy woodland
an owl’s call

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Haiku Society of America 2021 Anthology

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that look . . .
a skim coat of ice
in the bird bath

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(This haiku was first published in Modern Haiku, Volume 49.3, Fall 2018

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Kokako, Issue #35  2021 

(three haiku)

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first light –
a faint poem
spun in silk

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summer solstice –
balancing daylight
and starlight

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the broad span
of the copper beech –
my hand in yours

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Haiku Society of America

Frogpond  44:3 Autumn 2021

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plum blossoms—
the orchestra
begins to tune up

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Presence, Issue 70, Summer 2021

(two haiku and one tanka)

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 a tom cat at rest –
its tail becomes
a metronome

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scattered thoughts –
a charm of goldfinches
ravishes the sunflowers

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loons submerge
and surface far away –
they say names
are the first words
that disappear

 

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 Moonbathing: A Journal of Women’s Tanka

Issue 24, Summer 2021

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some nights
I wake from a deep sleep
knowing answers
to questions
I never asked

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 Eucalypt, A Tanka Journal, Issue 30,  2021

 (two tanka)

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sooty spirals
of chimney swifts
chittering as they soar—
so much of our lives
spent following others

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the cold touch
of ebony
and obsidian –
I am no stranger
to your darkness

Kokako Winter 2021

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snow drifts ~
the wild wind’s
last brief fling

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woodland colours
now grow pale
winter light

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arranging zinnias
in an old milk jug,
this pandemic silence
urges me to notice
the simplest things

Tanka Café @ Ribbons Winter 2021: Volume 17, Number 1    [theme: Escapes]

it isn’t a matter
of distance for me –
I learned by age five
how to slip deep inside
that passing cloud

GUSTS: Contemporary Tanka 33 (Tanka Canada)

 

a gathering basket
filled with rosehips & hazels –
why is it so hard
to put back all the bits
and pieces you left behind?

GUSTS: Contemporary Tanka 33 (Tanka Canada)

tongue tripping
in the Provençal patisserie
I shyly order my first
macarons au marrons
in French

GUSTS: Contemporary Tanka 33 (Tanka Canada)

life as we knew it
vanished in quarantine,
yet tiny helicopters
of maple seeds will twirl
& spin again one day

Frogpond, Vol. 44.1 Winter 2021

starry-eyed
the vast galaxy
of a child’s imagination

Blithe Spirit 31.1 2021

sleet storm –
a nagging thought
just won’t let go

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Blithe Spirit 31.1 2021

bleakness –
the lingering taste
of a bad dream

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Blithe Spirit 31.1 2021

cutting back roses
before winter sets in …
why must it sometimes
hurt so much
in order to grow?

 

Eucalypt 29 Winter 2020

 

rough edges worn down
on well-trodden paths,
each cobblestone
a reminder of how far
we’ve travelled

Redlights, Volume 17, No. 1, January 2021

a red-bellied woodpecker
flaunts his drumming skills—
below his tree I pause
to feel his thunder,
to hear his words

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whirlwinds of scarlet
and ochre leaves
flit across the square –
days of self-isolation spent
learning to slow down