I have included an audio clip of me reading the poem, Daybreak. To hear it, simply click on the link below and wait a few seconds for it to begin.
Early Morning at Bagnegrole (Photograph by Yolanda Litton)
Daybreak
The garden at daybreak. Before the sun dares to unveil the dawn.
Clouds and birds. Dew glimmering on grass.
Stillness.
Blurred trail of bats filing into the attic for rest.
Clouds bloom. Birds now singing. Morning shadows lead the way.
My thanks to friend and photographer, Yolanda Litton, for her beautiful photograph from the south of France. Seeing it inspired this poem after bringing back memories of my own travel to Provence.
The weeping willow is perhaps one of the loveliest trees of all. It certainly plays an important part of many myths and legends in different cultures, and it has stories linking it with full moons, protection and inspiration. I have always loved willows. One of my fondest memories is of living in Cambridge and walking through the Boston Public Gardens when the willows were out in full. On a hot day, you could sit under one and feel ten degrees cooler. The were also among the earliest trees to leaf in spring.
Old Tombstone with Weeping Willow
In the old, old cemetaries of Boston and Cambridge, willows adorned gravestones and iron work going back to Colonial times.
Lovely Iron Gate with Willow
In the beautiful North Carolina community in which I live there was once a beautiful lotus pond with a magnificent willow overlooking it. One night the tree came crashing down. Later the pond dried up and the lotuses were no more. This poem began quite some time ago, but it, too, lay dormant until I pulled out a forgotten draft of the first three stanzas. Strange how that can be–sometimes returning to a poem that was left unfinished so long ago is suddenly the very thing you need.
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Click on the link below if you’d like to listen to me reading this poem. It will take a few seconds before the clip begins so please be patient.
Weeping Willow Tree
Willow Branches
They said it was the drought that did it. Too many summers the pond dried up, Even the lotus pods soon went dormant.
Rainstorms came that June: day after Day the rain flooded the nearby creek And filled the small pond you graced.
It was just too much and all too fast. In the night you fell, your shallow roots Rudely ripped out of the raw wet earth.
The old gardener pulls up in his truck, Walks over with chain saw in hand, Ready to dismember branches and trunk.
I ask if I might take a few willow wands. He waits patiently and watches as I Cut three long sticks of fallen green.
I thank him and walk away. He nods, and smiles wryly after me, at the whimsy Of a stranger who was passing by.
The chain saw shrieks as it starts On its ruthless task as I continue By on my walk, recalling a story I love.
Carrying sticks of willow for protection, Orpheus, singer of sweet songs and poems, Wandered in dark and silent Hades.
We know the ending, how Eurydice Was soon lost forever. But the willow gifted Orpheus with music, songs so beautiful
Even the wild and rowdy winds stopped Blowing to listen to his broken heart. With Orpheus’ death, the lyre lay silenced.
Over the chain saw’s tuneless humming, I picture the willow’s nocturnal passing, And I weep for all who are lost too soon.
This poem began in a meadow up in the Scottish Highlands while my husband and I were visiting the ruins of a castle. He went inside to explore further, but I chose to stay behind and linger in the beautiful summer fields. As you have probably experienced yourself, this frequently leads the imagination to so many new places. It also presents an opportunity for a simple sensory awareness meditation. Just standing there looking and listening is a spiritual act in itself.
The challenge for me in this poem was to use a repeating word (“listen”) to create both mood and cadence in the lines. The decision to complete the poem with a repeating line (or couplet) was a very different way to close my own lyrical love song to nature.
[Note: the following two paragraphs were added here several months later when the poem was published by Dagda Publishing Company.]
On 3 March 2015, Dagda Publishing Company, a publisher of poetry and literature based in Nottingham, UK, featured this poem in their blog. It was a real honor to have had my poem chosen by this excellent publisher. This is what they had to say about the poem:
Today’s featured poem, and the first one in March, is this one from Mary Kendall. Inspired by a trip to Scotland, this piece has a naturalistic theme to it, and we feel is just perfect for this time of year, as we start to escape the cold and dark of winter and crawl toward summer and longer days. Musing upon the sounds of nature and imagining a song being sung by the choir of trees, flowers and the meadow itself, this piece has a touch of magical realism to it, of there being something fantastical just behind the ordinary and everyday. A poem full of the wonder of nature and the sense of being away from the familiarity of one’s normal life, we hope you enjoy this poem by Mary Kendall.
An audio clip of me reading this poem is included below. Click on the link below to hear it. It will take a few seconds to begin.
Meadow Song
Have you ever been a few thousand miles from somewhere, standing in meadow of sweet grass or barley and thistles, bright pink bells of foxglove swaying in the wind, and then you stop, just standing still and listening; listening to the wind song of the leaves and grasses.
I asked them to tell me the words they sang to those who stopped to listen. They heard me and replied, but I could not understand what it was they said.
I waited and waited until the wind resumed its blowing, the grasses their gentle whispering; the leaves sang loudest of all, and I listened. I listened the while.
I listened until the song ended, and then I went on my way. So far from home. So far from home.
A friend and former teaching colleague of mine, Patti Hardee Donnelly, is a superb photographer whose work I’ve long admired. A small offshoot of her photography has been her finding small HEARTS in many forms in nature and in life. I am often surprised, frequently amused, and always delighted by what Patti comes across in her daily life. This summer she posted this beautiful picture of an old tree stump she came across very early one morning on her daily run. I was mesmerized by the beauty of it, the color and texture and most of all by the image I saw within the heart. I know that if I had been walking that path that morning, I would have totally missed this beautiful creation of nature.
Thank you, Patti, for your amazing photo and talent. It immediately inspired me to write this poem, which is dedicated to you.
I’ve recorded an audio of me reading this poem. To hear it, simply click on the link below. It will take a few seconds before it begins.
Here is my reading of the poem, Back to Edinburgh:
Back to Edinburgh
We walk through the hidden streets of this city, The second day of spring and the wind gusts hard. People stop and wince, cupping their ears for warmth. The news said blustery winds up to 25 mph,
And it feels as if we might tumble down the street.
Looking for simple woolen hats to pull down
Over our frigid heads, we stop at a Royal Mile shop. I select gray, and you opt for black. I am grateful That your good felt hat is safe back at the hotel.
The street is so rich in history that it feels as if It could reach out and grab us by the arms, Pulling us down a small wynd or narrow close
That has a story to share,
And in the late afternoon gloaming, We might be wind swept and turned around Into some other time.
A Poet in Time 