Ribbons Spring/Summer 2017: Volume 13, Number 2
a soft rain falls
as you work in the garden …
what I’d give to read
the chapters of your life
you never share
Category Archives: lyrical poetry
In Memoriam: Maya Lyubenova
Last year I posted a request in a Face Book haiku/tanka writing group asking if anyone had a photo of Lily of the Valley that they were willing to share and allow me to use for a piece of tankart I was working on. A very quick response from the poet/photographer Maya Lyubenova gave me the perfect picture. I never really knew Maya. We’d never met, and we chatted only a few times on FaceBook in poetry groups and on Face Book Messenger. I was certainly a real fan of hers. Bulgarian by birth, Maya could compose gorgeous haiku in English. She could also pair her poems with her equally exquisite photographs to create haiga — visual poetry of the highest quality. I was touched by her generosity in allowing me to use the photo she had sent.
Only recently did I learn that Maya Lyubenova had passed away on December 30, 2016. Like so many, I mourn her loss as a person and as a poet and artist. I wish I had known her better, but I cannot change that. Her work still remains for us to look at, to study, to learn from and to be dazzled by … that will not end.
I’d like to dedicate my piece of tankart to Maya Lyubenova — our single connected piece of art. Thank you, Maya, for bringing so much beauty into this world. May you rest in peace.
Maya Lyubenova’s website:
http://mayalyubenova.wixsite.com/maya-lyubenova
The link to her amazing haiga:
http://mayalyubenova.wixsite.com/maya-lyubenova/haiga
Trying hard to hold on … (two tanka)
Red Lights, Volume 13, No. 2, June 2017
peeling an orange
in one long strand –
trying hard to hold on
to all I remember
of those now gone
a wooden pew
empty and waiting . . .
colored light
from stained glass
cupped in my hands
My thanks to editor and poet, Marilyn Hazelton, who published these tanka in the most excellent Red Lights.
Winter garden (a haiku)
This haiku is my first poem in the journal, Modern Haiku.
.
winter garden–
a lone crab apple
holds fast
Modern Haiku
Volume 48:1
Winter-Spring 2017
Just past sunrise . . . 4 small poems
Two of my haiku and two tanka were published in Blithe Spirit, Journal of the British Haiku Society, Volume 27, No. 2, 2017:
autumn morning—
sweeping away all
that drifts inside
washed up
in the sudden flood –
a baby’s shoe
just past sunrise
a single scull
glides down the river. . .
a flash of what it was
to be young
the tight cord slaps
against the flagpole
all night long
I dream of a father
who used few words
My thanks to Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy, the editor of Blithe Spirit, for selecting these four poems for publication.
Dark pebbles… (a tanka)
Note: Published by poet and artist, Pamela L. Babusci, Moonbathing is a journal of women’s tanka.
Willow branches (collaborative tankart)
This piece of tankart appeared in Frameless Sky 6 as part of an ongoing competitive challenge. In the last issue, a photograph I submitted was selected by a poet to go with her poem. Since my photo was selected, I was then asked, in turn, to contribute a tanka or haiku for the next issue. I wrote this tanka as a prompt. There were some wonderful pictures submitted, and it was very hard to select just one. In the end, I kept returning to this lovely ink drawing of a willow.. Terri Hale French, a distinguished and accomplished haiku poet was the artist. Our combined effort appeared in the latest issue of Frameless Sky. It’s a real honor to have this collaborative piece of tanka art published. Many thanks to Christine L. Villa, poet and editor of Frameless Sky.
Published in Frameless Sky 6, Summer 2017
Jasmine tea . . . (a tanka)
Skylark Summer 2017, Volume 5, Issue 1
from slabs
of common clay
delicate cups
that hold the scent
of jasmine tea
Mary Kendall (c) 2017
Tundra swans . . . (a tanka)
A new tanka just published in Skylark, Summer 2017, Volume 5, Issue 1
whistling wings
of Tundra swans
over the marshes
. . . what is this power
you hold over me
(c) 2017 Mary Kendall
Tundra Swans by Gerald Plowman
Between the Lines (a responsive tanka sequence)
This is the second responsive tanka sequence I’ve written and published with poet David Terelinck. A big thank you to editor Claire Everett for publishing this sequence in her beautiful journal, Skylark.
My thanks to David Terelinck for writing with me and guiding me all the way. You are the best mentor any poet could have.
Skylark Summer 2017, Volume 5, Issue 1
A responsive tanka sequence with Mary Kendall (USA) and David Terelinck (AUS)
Between the Lines
the conversation
turned so quickly
that morning in Paris . . .
your disapproval palpable
as you walked away
despite phrasebooks,
maps and interpreters
how often
we still lose our way
to understanding . . .
you sketch
a stranger’s likeness
with such ease –
how I hoped you could learn
to read between the lines
days spent
rehearsing a response –
why do those
who direct my life
now want to write the script
your practised words
sound right, but feel so wrong . . .
sifting through
shattered pots and ashes
left in an empty kiln
dementia steals
my name from her lips –
visiting hours,
relatives complete
the latest jigsaw
piecing together
from rumour and gossip
her final days –
I snake through minutiae
to make some sense
they contest
the unsigned will
. . . promises
we make to each other
but don’t intend to keep
© 2016 Mary Kendall & David Terelinck
Note: to my friends unfamiliar with responsive writing, David’s contributions are all in bold face type while mine are in ‘normal’ type.
Fire inhales . . . (tanka art)
It is a true joy to have a piece of tanka art accepted in Skylark. Sandi Pray is the new tanka art editor, and as all fans of contemporary haiga and tanka art know, Sandi is one of the most gifted creators of haiga and tanka art herself. Here is my contribution:
Skylark Summer 2017, Volume 5, Issue 1
This tanka art selection is dedicated to Joy McCall, a poet who inspires us all.
~
The first line of ‘us’
Gusts, Contemporary Tanka, one of my favorite print journals, arrived here in London this week. Edited by Kozue Uzawa, the journal is a publication of Tanka Canada. The tanka are placed on the page under a category heading such as “life,” “scent,” “moon,” or “relationships.” Many of my favorite tanka poets appear in this journal, and of course it’s always great to discover new poets or poets whose work I don’t know. The overall quality and standard is very high, and this makes for excellent reading and rereading. I’m pleased to say that three of my tanka appear in Gusts, no. 25, Contemporary Tanka, Spring/Summer 2017. I hope you enjoy reading them.
watching clouds
begin to drift
from your soft sable brushes –
you make the sky bluer
than blue, not grey
the shivery silk
of your words
slips around me –
the first line of us
now written
all that time waiting
to hear from you
I ascend the stairway
of a deserted station,
pale Freesias in hand
These three tanka were written by Mary Kendall, (c) 2017,
Gusts, no. 25, Contemporary Tanka, Spring/Summer 2017
Your glazing brush … (a tanka)
Ribbons, Winter 2017: Volume 13, Number 1
Journal of the Tanka Society of America
Edited by David Rice
Queen Anne’s lace …
I am always thrilled to have a haiku chosen for The Heron’s Nest. This is the first time a haiku of mine has been selected as an editors’ choice.
Queen Anne’s lace –
a childhood spent
in second-hand clothes
Haiku by Mary Kendall, published in The Heron’s Nest, Volume XIX, Number 1: March 2017
Here is a link so you can read the whole issue of The Heron’s Nest: http://www.theheronsnest.com/index.html
Scent of mock orange…
In the March issue of the haiku journal, Brass Bell, the theme was haiku by/about women. The offerings in the journal make for excellent reading. Please do go and enjoy the issue, edited by poet/editor, Zee Zahava, who always produces something worth enjoying.
scent of mock orange—
all the years spent
doubting myself
haiku by Mary Kendall (c) 2017 in Brass Bell, March 2017 Poems by Women
To read the full issue of Brass Bell, please go to: http://brassbellhaiku.blogspot.com or
http://brassbellhaiku.blogspot.co.uk
Unforgettable…
I’ve had two haiku and one haiga included in the newest edition of Wild Plum, a haiku journal, 3:1 Spring & Summer 2017.
unforgettable—
the taste of zinfandel
on your lips
forgiveness
the new year’s moon
lights the way
March brings lots of wonderful poetry journals. Another favorite of mine is
Wild Plum, a haiku journal, 3:1 Spring & Summer 2017. The journal is edited by Gabriel Sawicki. This journal is based in Poland, and it has a very international group of readers and contributors. The haiga editor is Maria Tomczak. I hope you will go to their journal directly and read it in full. It’s a very beautiful journal (lovely cover art by Azi Kuder. I’ve added a link at the bottom of this posting.
Here’s a link to the complete version of this lovely haiku journal:
Wild voices . . . an anthology by women poets and artists
It is very exciting to be part of a collection of poems and art by so many women I admire. Thanks to editor (and poet), Caroline Skanne, I have a haiku and three tanka included. The title and theme of “wild voices” was given to us to interpret in any way we chose. I urge those of you who love poetry to purchase a copy of this anthology for yourself and/or for a gift.
Wild Voices, An Anthology of Short Poetry & Art by Women
edited by Caroline Skanne, February 2017
***book available:https://wildflowerpoetrypress.wordpress.com/current-titles/
This title is also available on amazon.com or amazon.co.uk
Here are my poems that appear in this lovely anthology:
the softness
of a raspberry
on my tongue…
I remember our long
first kiss
wild honeysuckle
heady and sweet—
your hold
on me
just as strong
a softness of spring
flecked with apple blossoms ~
the morning you died
darkness swept in
lost and wild
foxglove—
danger hidden
in such beauty
Foxglove, also known as Digitalis purpurea
Meadow frost…
Fragrance of old books… (tanka)
Click on the link below if you care to hear me read this tanka:
My thanks to editor, Marilyn Hazelton, for publishing this tanka in Red Lights, one of the best tanka journals around.
Orion stands watch… (tanka)
If you choose to hear this tanka read aloud, simply click on this link:
I am so pleased to be published for the first time in Red Lights. Edited by Marilyn Hazelton, Red Lights is one of the quality tanka journals.
Four Winter Haiku by Mary Kendall
How lovely to find out that Miriam Sagan has posted my Four Winter Haiku on Miriam’s Well.
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)
A flash of gold…(tanka)
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)
Published in CATTAILS, September 2016
Crossing the road…(a tanka)
Tanka by Mary Kendall
(c) 2016 Ripples in the Sand (TSA)
A new silk scarf … (tanka art)
Published in Gnarled Oak, Issue 10: Dark Water, November 2016:
My deepest thanks goes to Mike Keville, poet, photographer and friend, who so willingly allowed me to use this photograph for this piece. His pictures are often so revealing, allowing viewers to see something we might otherwise miss.
Copyright (c) Mary Kendall and Mike Keville
My thanks also go to James Brush, editor of this lovely journal. I hope you will take some time and visit Gnarled Oak: http://gnarledoak.org/issue-10/a-new-silk-scarf/
When the Light Departs (a responsive tanka sequence)
Earlier this year, Australian poet and friend, David Terelinck, invited me to create a responsive tanka sequence with him. David is a poet I greatly admire, so it was a real honor to write with him. It was the first time I’d attempted anything like this, but under David’s very gentle and skilled tutelage, our sequence grew and grew. In creating this piece with David, I learned as much about trust as I did about the nuances of writing tanka.
When we finished our sequence, David asked, “Now where shall we send this sequence for publication?” I was dead silent, being a bit in shock that he felt this piece should be published. At his suggestion, we submitted it to Skylark, a Tanka Journal edited by Claire Everett. Claire is one of the world’s finest tanka poets and editors. She herself has written responsively with David, and he has provided the forward for her last book. Two of my favorite poets alive discussing publication and minor edits. What a wonderful thing to happen.
This month, Skylark, a Tanka Journal, Volume 4, Issue 2, Winter 2016 was published.Here is our tanka sequence, When the Light Departs. My thanks to you, David Terelinck, for being my teacher, mentor and friend.
~
[Note: David’s verses are in regular font and mine are in italics.]
Responsive tanka sequence between David Terelinck (AUS) & Mary Kendall (USA)
When the Light Departs
this alloy
of clouds & winter light –
it’s not what you said
but how you looked
as you said it . . .
still unable
to explain why the world
seems darker now . . .
all the frozen buds
on the camellia bush
days and days
of endless rain that swells
the window sills –
only two weeks left
in her first trimester
a sudden
knowing of what
may never be . . .
the silence of snowdrops
pooling on the lawn
not the way
she expected to wear
all white . . .
the greying of her thoughts
following sedation
winter storm,
a young dove lost
in a sea of mist
. . . my empty arms
grow heavy
she spends the morning
filling freshly turned beds
with crocus bulbs –
what else can a woman
of a certain age do?
when the light
departs, I put down
my paintbrush . . .
this world of colour
between earth and sky
© 2016 David Terelinck & Mary Kendall
Published in Skylark, a Tanka Journal, Volume 4, Issue 2, Winter 2016
Note: both photographs are from the public domain
Mask Maker
Who are we really? We can present ourself to the world in many ways, and we do. It’s been quite a while since I posted a longer poem on my blog, so today I offer you a poem called “Mask Maker.” It was written to an ekphrastic prompt on Rattle a few months back, but it was not selected. The two winning poems were brilliant and should have been chosen.
.
What’s great about writing to a good prompt is how an image can pull all sorts of ideas from us. The prompt was a picture of several sets of hands modeling in clay. I toyed with the idea for quite some time and discarded two other poems until I settled on the one that grew into this poem.
Mask Maker
Do you like this mask, the one I made
so carefully, molding it to the contours
of my face so it looks just like me?
I wear it day after day, occasionally
slipping it off and refashioning it a bit.
It changes as I change.
I was four when I made the first mask—
out of mud from the bare earth in the yard.
It blocked my fear, and hid my thoughts.
I was invisible to the world, hidden behind
this new cover. No one noticed when I wore it,
so I kept it on, and it protected me.
Once it nearly shattered during that long fall
down the stairs that he never spoke about.
Dazed, I woke up and checked the mask.
It was the one thing that hadn’t been hurt.
After that I knew I needed it to keep me safe,
to keep me quiet, to keep me out of the way.
When I closed my eyes, I could imagine it was
no longer a mask but just me, unseen by him.
It made me look like a normal girl, a good girl.
After many years and many masks, I became
quite good at molding a mask so flawlessly thin,
so delicate, transparent as a butterfly wing.
It was easy to slip on, and no one could tell
what was real and what was not, even up close.
It worked, and that’s all I ever wanted.
There is a small secret I learned from making
masks and wearing them day and night:
You must believe it’s you and not a mask.
It is you, but a different you, a you that won’t
cry out or tell secrets or even cringe too much
when unexpected blows come (and they do).
Close your eyes now. Imagine yourself this
way—in control and protected from the world,
safe from everything you fear, hidden far away
behind this lovely mask where you can watch
what’s going on, where you can be vigilant,
and where you are the real you only you can see.
Picking up a feather . . . (a tanka)
~
Chopin’s études . . . (a tanka)
This is my third tanka in the fall/winter 2016 issue of GUSTS, the journal of Tanka Canada and edited by Kozue Ozawa.
Tanka by Mary Kendall
Published in GUSTS, NO. 24, Contemporary Tanka, Fall/Winter 2016 (Tanka Canada)
We stroll along … (a tanka)
Smiles from strangers … (a tanka)
It’s an honor to have three tanka in the fall/winter 2016 issue of GUSTS, the journal of Tanka Canada and edited by Kozue Ozawa. Here is the first one:
smiles from strangers
amidst the ragged flow
of city streets —
stitching small holes
in the human heart
Tanka by Mary Kendall
Published in GUSTS, NO. 24, Contemporary Tanka, Fall/Winter 2016 (Tanka Canada)
Arrowheads rise…
It is always an honor to have a tanka published in , the Journal of the Tanka Society of America. My thanks to editor David Rice for selecting this poem.
arrowheads
rise to the surface
in a newly plowed field …
old memories
can be unexpected, too
Published:
Ribbons (Journal of the Tanka Society of America), Spring/Summer 2016, Volume 12, Number 2 (page 37)
I want to sing…
My thanks to Michael McClintock, editor of the Tanka Café in Ribbons, the Journal of the Tanka Society of America. The prompt was poems of spring and summer. Here is mine:
So many I loved now gone
In Frameless Sky 4, my tanka was set to this beautiful photograph of Irena Iris Szewczyk. My warmest thanks to Irena Iris Szewczyk and to Christine L. Villa, editor of Frameless Sky. I will be posting others from this fine video publication in the next week.
A link to me reading this tanka is given below:
A Few Extra Notes:
Irena Iris Szewczyk is both a distinguished photographer and haiku poet. Irina blogs at Iris Haiku where she posts her photographs and her haiku: http://iris-haiku.blogspot.com
Her artwork for Frameless Sky 4 can be seen here: http://framelesssky.weebly.com/artwork.html
Christine L. Villa is editor of Frameless Sky. She is a distinguished poet herself. Her blog is called Blossom Rain and is located here: http://blossomrain.blogspot.com
Frameless Sky can be found here: http://framelesssky.weebly.com
All the blame… (a tanka)
My thanks to editor and poet, Pamela A. Babusci for publishing this tanka in Moonbathing, a Journal of Women’s Tanka, Issue 14, June 2016
To listen to me read this tanka, click on the link below:
This inner fire …
My second tanka published this week in A Hundred Gourds:
A Hundred Gourds 5:3 June 2016
hospice…
The Heron’s Nest, Volume XVIII, Number 2: June 2016
Poem: On Viewing a Skull Painting by Georgia O’Keefe
I love Georgia O’Keefe’s quirky paintings and perspective. She did a lot of work using skulls, which seems quite natural. New Mexico must yield all sorts of bones in the mountains and deserts. Just as she studied and painted flowers, so she did the same with animal bones and skulls. She was very prolific in her work, painting a skull or pelvis in many views, often accompanied by a flower or other desert item. Many didn’t like her bone paintings, but that didn’t deter her in the slightest. Even her husband, photographer Alfred Stieglitz, was initially critical of them. He later relented, as did most critics. To find beauty in death and decomposition and to create art that is somehow mesmerizing and thoughtful is quite an accomplishment.
This poem is from my chapbook (Erasing the Doubt (c) 2015, Finishing Line Press). It is hidden amongst just a few of these wonderful paintings.
Georgia O’Keefe and cow skull
Bob’s Steer Head by Georgia O’Keefe (c) 1936
Cow’s Skull with Calico Roses by Georgia O’Keefe (c) 1931
On Viewing a Skull Painting by Georgia O’Keeffe
- The Artist’s View of the Skull as Form
The sinuous curve
hollowed circle
smooth chalky bone
worn smooth, it goes
beyond the form
behind the slow dip
of the arching eye
twisting and curving
back on itself
2. The Skull’s Perspective
At first it all felt wrong,
reversed, bent forward
in a geometric embrace
of mass and space,
the brush stroke
through the hollow eye
that will never see,
beyond to the delicate shell
of the brain
that will never again think,
moving slowly
into that shadow of light
the sky insinuates itself in color
and it is there
that you alone can wander,
deep inside the form that is me
Georgia O’Keeffe, Ram’s Skull with Hollyhock, (c) 1935
Deer’s Skull with Pedernal by Georgia O’Keefe (c) 1936
Bluebirds…
I recently had one tanka published in Skylark: A Tanka Journal. I’m thrilled to have a poem selected for publication by Claire Everett, the editor. She is one of the world’s foremost tanka poets and one whose work I love and admire.
Sunday Morning
The Ekphrastic Review: writing and art on art and writing, has published my poem, “Sunday Morning.”
Let me give you a brief “back story” on this poem. Many years ago, I stopped writing completely for around twenty-five years. Total silence in my life. I don’t know why it happened, but it did. After what can only be be termed a spiritual experience on a trip to the Fijordland in New Zealand, poetry somehow magically entered my life again. I can’t explain this. It just happened, and I know it happened for a reason. This poem was the first complete poem I wrote when my poetic “voice” returned, and it’s only been read by one other person until today. It’s taken me about fifteen years to gather courage to submit it anywhere. My deepest thanks to editor, Lorette C. Luzajic, for publishing this piece.
Here is the link to the journal: http://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic/april-21st-2016
Rijksmuseum, Out the Window (c) 2013 Mary Kendall
Sunday Morning
Hymns unsung, prayers unsaid,
I sat by the window and prayed
for forgiveness one more time;
one more time I begged.
Holding the cup of coffee in my hand,
I hoped the warmth would fill me
where your words had left me cold,
but I knew nothing could do that—
fire can burn for hours and be unfelt.
Hymns unsung, prayers unsaid,
I lay down on the empty bed, pulling
the blanket across my cheek, turning
from the window, from the sky
and the sun, praying for some rest.
Note: The window in the photo is not, of course, the window of the poem. I love taking pictures of windows when I travel, especially indside looking out. This photo was taken in June 2013 when my husband and I were in Amsterdam, visiting the beautiful Rijksmuseum.
Gusts ~ Tanka #2
Gusts ~ Tanka #1
I’ve had the good fortune to have three of my tanka published in the latest issue of GUSTS,
NO. 23, Contemporary Tanka, Spring/Summer 2016 (Tanka Canada). This is the first time my work has appeared in this beautiful poetry journal, and I’m most grateful to the editor, Kozue Uzawa.
I’ve decided to post each tanka separately here on my blog.
Morello Cherries
Artwork by Alexis Rotella (c) 2016
In the Tanka Café, RIBBONS: Journal of the American Tanka Society, Winter 2016: Volume 12, Number 1:
Note: I would like to thank poet/artist Alexis Rotella for her beautiful rendition of these Morello cherries. I’m honored that she would create and share this lovely piece of art with me.
Another Love Poem…
Photograph (c) 2010 by Patti Chronert
Another Love Poem…
If you’d like to hear me read this poem, please click on the link below. Wait a few seconds for it to load. I hope you enjoy both listening and reading this love poem.
Another Love Poem…
~ To my husband and partner of forty years ~
We walked along in the Tuileries
alone among the chestnut trees,
morning sky of crisp pale gold
so many paths we have strolled,
and still we wander, just us two,
my heart never very far from you.
We stop to sit and watch the birds
green park chairs, unspoken words,
plain sparrows chirp, so unadorned
no beauty lost, no beauty mourned.
Simple thoughts are often most true—
no man was ever loved more than you.
Heart Stone by Mary Kendall
Brushing Your Hair
Brushing Your Hair
In the last month you ask me a favor.
Will I brush your hair when you have passed?
You seem to want to greet whatever comes
looking your best. I give my promise.
Each day when I come home, I offer
to brush your hair, but you say no,
maintaining the independence
you have always shown.
Later, in hospice, I no longer ask.
I hold your hands, rubbing lotion in,
skin so fragile, like a butterfly wing.
It is time now to make the last ablutions.
I clean your face and brush your hair,
your sleeping eyes flicker
under paper-thin lids, pale blue veins
tracing their course across them.
I imagine your mother tenderly holding you,
stroking your cheek, watching you dream
in her arms—her newborn daughter
with milky breath.
Ninety-one years separate us, your two watchers.
One joyously bringing you into the world;
the other sitting silently in the dim-lit room,
keeping watch over you through the night.
The poem, “Brushing Your Hair” is from my chapbook, Erasing the Doubt (c) 2015, Finishing Line Press.
Mary, Mary…poem by Mary Kendall (SAME NAME Poetry and Prose Series)
A new poem just up at Silver Birch Press. Click at the bottom to get to the original on the SBP site.
Mary, Mary…
by Mary Kendall
Unwanted.
Unloved.
Shunned.
Spoiled.
Rude.
Aggressive.
Obstinate.
Outspoken.
Contrary.
Sour.
Gloomy.
Dismissive.
Shut away.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Your attributes, little Mary.
A long list.
No one liked you.
Except for me.
Not true. There were others.
Your sweet Indian Ayah, who fed you,
washed you, dressed you, taught you,
tolerated your contrary ways, angry words,
miserable frown. She held you close,
rocked you after nightmares and dark dreams,
fanned you in the hot Indian summers.
She sang to you—mellifluous, soothing songs.
Your mother denied your existence, hid you away from view,
just as later, you’d find your cousin Colin, hidden away, too.
Denial.
What damage it did.
What pain it caused.
Like a plant held too long in a small pot,
its roots pot-bound and crippled,
Colin, unwanted and denied like you.
Unwanted.
Unloved.
Denied.
My family separated when I was just five,
I felt…
View original post 514 more words
Winter Night Sky (a tanka)
Starry Sky (c) Kayaga
how could the moon
show its face
without light
…how could the stars
sing us songs?
Kamakura Beach 1333: Artist’s choice in Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge
I am both speechless and honored by the selection of my poem, “Kamakura Beach, 1333” as the artist’s choice of the October ekphrastic challenge by Rattle, one of the finest contemporary poetry journals. The artist/photographer is Ana Prundaru. My thanks go to Ana for selecting my poem for this challenge. I am deeply touched by her very thoughtful and generous comments.
To read the poem or listen to the audio on Rattle, here is the link:
http://www.rattle.com/poetry/kamakura-beach-1333-by-mary-kendall/
Note: there is an audio of me reading the poem on the Rattle page but I’ll include it here as well:
~
Kamakura Beach, 1333
The sea washed scarlet that night.
The tide rushed in—swelling and breaking—washing
all traces out to sea on the waves of Kamakura Beach.
You know nothing of this, you who long for adventure
and pleasure—youth who search desperately for meaning
in lives that are too rich, too busy, and still so poor.
Your small boats arrive in early evening, the carmine sunset
at your back, and you quickly gather driftwood, tinder, and
fallen black pine branches to burn. You light the fire.
A trail of smoke begins funneling up to the starry sky.
The fire burns hot and one by one, you feed it twigs, boughs,
pine cones bursting into streams of sparks and wild flames.
And in your wanton rambling, one girl grows silent—she alone
hears the hallowed chanting, the cries of battle, the shrieks
of arrows piercing skulls, the stench of life exiting too abruptly.
She wanders over shallow rocks, her hand touching stone,
knowing the pain hidden in the silence of eight hundred years.
The rest of you are unaware…you laugh too loudly, move
too fast, not noticing the shifting colors of the setting sun.
Listen and you will hear the shogun cries of warriors and farmers
that once shook the sacred sands of Kamakura Beach.
Can you smell the fierce fires, the burning buildings,
the blazing rafters crashing and lighting the darkening sky?
Can you hear the screams of those buried here long ago?
Time slipped by like swifts at dusk darting in the fading sky.
The fire raged on and on, and lives were ravished in a
single breath. It was our fate to die on Kamakura Beach.
With Samurai mind and clean, sharp blows, the sacred sword
was swift. One by one, we died…each of us choosing honor,
this bleak beach now strewn with bones, bodies and blood.
You who come to visit—feel the cool churning lapis blue water,
and see the late sun boldly brush red on sand, water and waves.
Remember us—we who lie buried on Kamakura Beach.
Let your fires roar, let them spark in comets to the stars.
Under the dark night skies long written in indigo and ink,
we will walk together here on Kamakura Beach.
Morning tide will come—swelling and breaking—washing
your presence out to sea— remembering our final night,
a night of fire and blood, bone and bodies on Kamakura Beach.
The sea washed scarlet that night.
~
Here is the broadside link:
Rattle also posted a download of a broadside that includes poem and picture side by side. It is so beautifully done with the shadows of the boat creating a subtle image under the poem. Very appropriate to this particular poem, I think.
The Gleam in His Lusty Eye
From the window
I watch the cardinal
shuck a sunflower seed,
and, beak to beak,
like a passionate kiss,
he passes it to her,
his paler partner.
I imagine then
that I see the gleam
in his lusty eye.
Note on Photograph: I can find no other attribution for this photograph other than it was taken in Woods Hole, Massachusetts in 2014. It has appeared in a number of online birding sites. My thanks to the anonymous (but talented) photographer for capturing this tender moment.
Who Am I?
Who Am I?
I am just a wisp,
a vision caught
at the edge of your eye.
I am just a thought,
a touch on the arm
you almost don’t feel.
I am just a memory
pulled back down to earth.
I am just an image
of what could be
but is not.
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To hear me reading this poem, simply click on the link below. Wait a few seconds for it to begin.
This poem originally appeared in The Aroostook Review, May 2006
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Note: the rainbow picture is my own, but the beautiful purple flower is by Yolanda Litton, one of my favorite photographers.
Sonnet: The Meteor Shower (Get Ready for the Perseids)
“Multi-photo composite showing Perseid meteors shooting from their radiant point in the constellation Perseus. This year’s Perseid shower will peak on August 12-13 (Wednesday night-Thursday morning) with a meteor a minute visible from a dark sky.” Credit: NASA
Excellent information source : http://www.universetoday.com/121599/kick-back-look-up-were-in-for-a-great-perseid-meteor-shower/
“Every August, the night sky is peppered with little bits of comet debris in what we call the annual Perseid meteor shower. In 2015, the Perseids will peak on Aug. 12 and 13, with up to 100 meteors per hour possible for observers with clear, dark skies, according to NASA. The Perseids are bits of the comet Swift-Tuttle and often create the most amazing meteor shower of the year.” (www.space.com)
Now that you know all about the great Perseid Meteor Shower of 2015, get your blankets ready, and go out before dawn on August 13.
My poem in honor of this spectacular celestial show is a sonnet called, “The Meteor Shower.” Written a few years back, it has never been published. I thought it would be nice to post it this week and share it with a few readers other than myself.
The sonnet form I chose was the Spenserian sonnet form, invented by poet Edmund Spenser:
a b a b bc b c c d c d e e
I’ve provided an audio clip below to listen to with the poem or while you look at the beautiful pictures above or the lovely one following the poem. (Note: audio takes a few seconds to begin after you press the play button.)
The Meteor Shower
But who can hold the stars? Let us look then,
Let us hear what songs the skies are singing
As we lie here on the dewy grass when
The Perseids start their wild summer dancing,
And we are so enraptured, not thinking
Of anything but this heavenly sight,
Unable to look away from shooting
Stars that sprint and leap, now left, then right.
Beneath this show, on such a timeless night
As life stands still, we glance at every star
In wonder that pieces of debris might
Create syncopated movement from afar.
Such beauty holds us quiet, but these thoughts
Betray the silence hidden in our hearts.
Two Tanka slip into Ribbons
I’ve had the good fortune of having two tanka published in RIBBONS, the journal of the Tanka Society of America: Ribbons–Spring/Summer–2015, Volume 11, Number 2.
lost in the pages
of a book my mother loved–
a sly narrator
speaks volumes of truth
while skirting the end
Tanka Cafe, Ribbons–Spring/Summer, Volume 11, Number 2, 2015
what I thought was a bird
flew past
casting no shadow–
I wonder
if you are near
Ribbons–Spring/Summer, Volume 11, Number 2, 2015
It is always a thrill for any poet to open up a journal and find her/his own poem nestled in among those of gifted writers. The truly excellent online journals of poetry in both tanka and haiku are really schools of learning for me. I go there to read, to fall in love with poems, and to learn from the very best writers. There is no better way to learn. Read, read, write. So, on the rare occasion, one of my poems makes it into those pages (paper or virtual), my heart is filled with joy.
Questions
Questions
“Where did the time go?” we asked.
The north wind answered, “It rushed by while you were busy doing other things.”
“And how did we not notice it was passing?” we puzzled.
The south wind replied, “Perhaps the sun blinded you so you could no longer see.”
“Did any of us notice the days grew long and the nights shorter?” we wondered.
The east wind smirked, “You focused so much on clouds that you missed the stars.”
“Why must it come to an end so soon?” we questioned.
The west wind whispered, “You’ve done what you must. Now it’s time to go.”
Photograph (c) 2015 by Harald Illsinger
With kind thanks to photographer Harald Illsinger for allowing me to use this beautiful photograph of the gull in the morning sky. The top photograph was taken by me in London, 2015.
Sounds of Summer Evenings by Mary Kendall (Where I Live Poetry & Photography Series)
I’m so excited to have a poem of mine included in the “Where I Live Poetry and Photography Series’ by Silver Birch Press. They have published two other poems of mine in other series, and It is always an honor to be included among their marvelous poetry selections. Thank you, Silver Birch Press!
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Wherever you live, no matter where you might be, nighttime in summer reveals a very different world of sound. During the day we hear birds, breezes, people, mowers, airplanes, cars or sometimes just bees and hummingbird wings. At night, however, we must totally rely on our hearing to grasp all the different sounds that play out in the night chorus. Here in the south, in North Carolina where I live, summer nights are especially noisy. From frogs and owls to whipoorwills and katydids, there are times when it is absolutely deafening. I wish I had the expertise to identify all the different frogs our small garden pond must be home to. There is one frog that sounds much like what I imagine an alien creature would be like—high-pitched, very shrill and almost dizzying in its persistent song. It’s irritating enough to go inside..
Then there are the “call and response” night singers. I love those most of all. I can sit a long while listening to them. Occasionally I hear an owl, but lately it seems there are fewer around. I remember when we regularly had barred owls nesting in our woodland garden. Catching sight of one was always impressive, but hearing one in the middle of the night was truly haunting. I love to sit outside in our screened-in porch when it is dark. The dog often comes and sits with me listening and keeping me company. She makes no sound herself, knowing that we are the polite and attentive audience to this vast chorus of night..
Here is an audio recording of me reading this poem. Just click on the link below, wait a few seconds, and it will begin.
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Sounds of Summer Evenings
by Mary Kendall
Sometimes at night I sit outside
In the screened-in porch out back.
In the darkness, the rustling leaves
Of the tall beech trees are blowing.
The katydids call to one another,
An evening of antiphonal refrain.
On nights when a heavy rain falls,
All you can hear are the tireless frogs
Chorusing in the garden pond.
The deep lone bass, the shrill soprano,
This diverse and discordant choir
Seems to be one of rhapsodical joy.
And then there are times when an owl
Soundlessly lands in a nearby tree
And startles me with its resonant call,
Letting me know it’s now on watch.
Two times more it calls, low and deep.
I rise and go, time now for me to sleep.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Northern by birth, I have lived for more than 35 years in North Carolina. Our summer nights are…
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Meditation on the Moment
The following poem of mine, “Meditation on the Moment” was originally published in a book called, True Belonging: Mindful Practices to Help You Overcome Loneliness, Connect with Others, and Cultivate Happiness (c) 2011 by Jeffrey Brantley, MC, DFAPA and Wendy Millstine.
Dr. Jeffrey Brantley was my first meditation teacher in the Duke Integrative Medicine MBSR program. His wife, Mary Brantley, introduced me to the practice of Metta (Loving Kindness). Through both of these teachers my life was forever changed in a most beautiful way. I wrote this poem for Dr. Brantley and he first used it in meditation classes and later asked to publish it in his book. This was an honor I will always hold very close to my heart.
Meditation on the Moment
When I am ready,
I close my eyes
and focus on the breathing;
awareness of air
passing through the nose
down through the body;
the belly rises, falls,
rises again ~
its slow rhythm
setting the tone.
Next, focus on the body,
accepting it for once
as it is right now,
here in this moment,
for the moment
is all we have.
Breathing in,
breathing out,
shoulders soft,
no striving
to get somewhere
for there is no place
to be but here.
No judging of self,
simply letting it be
in the moment
for the moment.
Rain pounds against the glass
this February evening.
The image begins with sound
transforming into a thought.
Raindrops falling,
each one perfectly formed
but then releasing,
allowing itself to lose
what it was alone,
becoming instead
part of something more.
Poem by Mary Kendall, 2007
A Simple Love Poem
Since my last posting, my husband and I have flown across the Atlantic and are settling into the faculty flat in Winston House, Bedford Square, London. Quite a beautiful place to live for four months ago. Some of my readers know all about this because they followed my travel blog (Bedford Square + 2), which will continue on a non-Word Press platform. If you are curious, you can find it through this link: http://marykendall2.blogspot.co.uk
We lived here two years ago, spending the spring term and following it with five weeks on the continent. This time ’round we will be here for four months. The flight was, for once, not too bad way back in coach class. The pilot surprised us all by taking off exactly on time and arriving at Heathrow Airport 50 minutes early. For real.
Jet-lag is something that seems to get worse with age, and both of us fell fast asleep at 10 pm on New Year’s Eve. At the stroke of midnight we both woke to what sounded like an awful ruckus. It took only a few seconds to figure out it was the fireworks along the Thames. From our windows we couldn’t see the fireworks directly. What we did see was the sky turning beautiful shades of pink, green, purple, white…and flashes of sparkling white rockets. By sticking my head out the window I figured out that I could see some of the fireworks and those were dazzling enough to me in my exhausted state.
(we didn’t see this from our window, but the sky was quite similar)
After about 12 minutes of this sound and light show in this ancient city, my husband quickly fell back to sleep while I remained wide awake for an hour. It gave me some quiet time to make a cup of tea, sit down in the darkened living area and think about our many visits to the UK and to London in particular.
Our first trip to London and England was back in 1977 when we were young and energetic enough to walk absolutely everywhere. Another summer we spent about a month in London following a month in Oxford where R. did research, and I enjoyed exploring parks, museums, shops, streets. In 1989, we brought the first group of students over on this Honors London program sponsored by my husband’s university. We lived in Hampstead that year, and we loved it. Our son was in nursery school, so I made friends of some spectacular women. The Heath was there for daily walks and our local library was next door to the Keats house. After we checked out our books, my little son and I would go sit in the garden of the Keats House and read stories together. It didn’t ever get better than that for me. Sometimes simple acts or simple gestures are better than anything.
In 2013, we returned to London and were housed in beautiful Winston House that now is home for this London Honors program. It was a very wonderful time for us and for the students. We’ve kept in touch with many of them. And now, in 2015, we are unexpectedly back again for four months. A new group of students will arrive on January 10th, and the term will have begun.
I will continue my travel blog if anyone is interested. Since this blog is devoted to my poetry writing practice, I thought I’d begin the new year with an old poem. I published it in 2013 in my Bedford Square + 2 blog as a Valentine’s gift to my husband. Since his teaching and research have given us both so many wonderful stays in this beautiful country, I’d like to share a very simple love poem I wrote for him. Love is not tied to a single day or week or year, and sometimes simple things like strolling in a beautiful place help you reaffirm your love and relationship.
If you might like to listen to me reading the poem, simply click on the link below. It takes a few seconds to begin.
Taking Your Arm
I took your arm for the first time in so many years.
Was it the cold damp air that made me reach out?
Was it the need to feel safe in the noisy city streets?
Slipping my fingers into the crook of your arm,
the warmth of your soft wool coat was comforting.
I felt grounded and balanced by your strength.
Through the busy London streets we walked,
much of it in silence, a silence built on
knowing that words aren’t always necessary.
I glanced down at our booted feet. Our steps
kept time, first left, then right, left, then right,
finding the rhythm of these unknown streets.
For RDK, London, February 14, 2013
Originally published on Bedford Square + 2
http://marykendall2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/a-simple-valentine-for-one-i-love.html
Moments of Gold
(Moments of Gold © 2014 by Harald Illsinger)
flapping
five times twice
he hovers
over the pale swans
in a shimmering dance
My thanks to photographer Harald Illsinger for the use of his beautiful picture, “Moments of Gold” (c) 2014
Water Song
Water Song
Water, the color of night,
so very still
not even a wave
breaks the glass surface.
Fear is sometimes
like this, submerged
so far it is hidden
from the conscious self,
safely buried
and unable to rise
to the top again.
Dark thoughts swim
against the current
of common sense, but
they meet no resistance
that far down.
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.
It could happen you know.
