Wild Water: Three Tanka
1.
throughout the long day
the wild water crashes
again and again—
memories of you silently
slip under water
2.
as evening comes
the tide begins to swell
in the empty sound,
one lone boat
longing to set sail
3.
foghorn rasping
deep and low—
a bleak song
of ships surrendering
to savage waves
Category Archives: Mary Kendall poetry
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
Small Poems of Grief
Grief, by Iosatel, The Obvious and Hidden blog, (c) 2014
1.
only the bereaved know
they needn’t speak in whispers,
grief is never
completely silenced
2.
rush of water
a broken branch drifts by
what will be left?
3.
Unending days of darkness
that never let you forget.
4.
Saturated, as if the clouds
had wrung themselves out
all at once, watching what
would then ensue
5.
sitting at the window
watching the rain
despondent days
of unexhausted sadness
trying to let go
6.
forgetting you
was never an option
7.
grief exhausts
but holds on,
rain continues
to fall
8.
thirty-five years and still I mourn you,
sometimes waking and imagining you there
9.
darkness deepens
into the black of night
lightning signals
thunder cracks,
but it is the loss of you
who took your life
that makes me ask
why it had to be
~~~
My Note of Thanks to the photographer, Iosatel, for his beautiful picture, Grief, which was first posted on his blog, The Obvious and the Hidden on 4/11/14. This photograph is copyrighted (c) 2014 by the artist himself.
Donut Dog ~ a Visual Poem
Katy, my donut dog, deep in sleep.
One of the great joys in life is owning a dog you absolutely adore. For me that is my sweet seven year old yellow Labrador retriever, Katy. We got Katy as a one year old rescue dog from the wonderful rescue group, Saving Grace, in North Carolina. She surprised us by chewing just about everything including more than one down-filled pillow. (Did you know that a down pillow contains a million and a half down feathers? Neither did I until I had to clean up the ‘snow filled’ house on several occasions.) Seriously, we quickly found out that this bundle of energy needed really long, hard exercise. For Katy, this came in the activity of fetching. Even today she still runs so fast that people comment on it. And she fetches until you stop throwing the tennis ball. My neighbors are used to dropping off bags of used tennis balls, all for Katy’s pleasure. She definitely has her fans. Who can resist a lovely, very silly dog who won’t live without her beloved tennis ball?
This poem is my tribute to my dear Katy. As you can see from the picture above, she loves to curl up like a donut (what dog doesn’t love this position?).
Donut Dog by Mary Kendall
Eye on the prize!
A ball is always close by.
Even old tennis balls need a nap.
The End of Autumn
“In my End is my Beginning”
The End of Autumn
How could we pass through autumn
without thinking about life.
Life and death.
Life and birth.
Birth and death.
The book ends of our existence
with pauses of space in between
waiting for us to write the chapters
that will fill the empty volume
that eventually defines a life.
These photos were taken by me at the Duke Hospice at The Meadowlands in Hillsborough, North Carolina. This hospice is set on an old farmstead in rural Orange county. The hospice and grounds are a wonderful gift to all who pass through.
Quotation embroidered and worn by Mary, Queen of Scots
Dining with the Woodpeckers
While visiting my brother and his wife this summer in East Aurora, New York, we experienced a truly wonderful and unexpected visit from three pileated woodpeckers at the suet feeder Jim had filled. His wife, Paulett, said the woodpeckers were frequent visitors to their lovely back garden. This was a first for me. Although I’ve been an on again, off again birdwatcher for most of my adult life, I’ve only seen one pileated woodpecker in person before. Seeing three at the same time was simply brilliant. Watching their acrobatics as they fed on the suet, flew back and forth to peck at a tree, and generally manoeuvered their rather large bodies in amazinglying agile ways was pure delight. After a feeding frenzy, they flew away and it felt amazingly still and empty where they had been. Much like a visit with beloved family and friends, the ‘after’ part comes all too soon and leaves a void in our hearts. This poem is dedicated to Jim and Paulett, two of the kindest and most caring people I know. Thank you for sharing your home, your family and your amazing woodpeckers with us.
Dining with the Woodpeckers
In the late August garden
The quiet afternoon now
Comes to a languorous close.
Out of nowhere, a flash of red,
Bright scarlet crests crowning
Zebra-patterned feathers.
Three Pileated woodpeckers
Begin to feast at the suet feeder,
Fluttering, flying tree to tree,
Tree to feeder, alternately
Pecking at thick maple bark,
Then shifting to soft silky suet.
The youngest, now the size of its parents,
Joins in to grab his share, and father
And mother dutifully give way.
For a few Cirque des Oiseaux moments
All three woodpeckers hang right side up
And upside down, their brilliant red heads
Flash like stop lights in the early evening sun.
We sit around the table eating an early supper
And sipping local wine. Conversation drifts
As we watch in these avian acrobatics.
Just as quickly as they arrived, so soon are
They are gone. More wine is poured,
Seconds of hot buttered corn and fresh
Heirloom garden tomatoes are passed
From one to the other. Like the birds,
We share this meal together, enjoying
The richness of what the day has given.
A light wind blows the leaves outside,
A beautiful evening for us to be together
Knowing that summer will end all too soon.
Picture by Beth Brandkamp
A Poet in Time 