Two tanka and one haiku were published
in A Hundred Gourds 5:2 March 2016
~~~
A Hundred Gourds 5:2 March 2016
http://www.ahundredgourds.com
Category Archives: meditative poetry
The first blossom of spring…
What a joy it is to open a journal–online or in print–and find your own work included among poems by poets you admire greatly. March 1st has been a special day since several wonderful publications all appeared on the same day. I’ll post separately for each journal, since I am hoping that you will go directly to the journal and read the work of the other poets that are included.
The first one is a very lovely journal, Wild Plum – a haiku journal, edited by Gabriel Sawicki who lives in Poland. This is volume 2, issue 1. https://wildplumhaiku.wordpress.com
A feature I love is that the new isssue downloads as a pdf file to enjoy now as well as later: https://wildplumhaiku.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/wild-plum-spring-summer-2016.pdf
I have two pieces included in this issue:
The first is a haiku on page 45:
and the second piece is a Haiga (page 11) using a photo I took from our flat in London looking out at the twilight sky of Bedford Square Gardens:
I hope readers will come to realize that meditation is very natural and we often do it without trying, especially at times such as studying a beautiful sky and clouds. Those moments are very centering, and you find yourself breathing more slowly and feeling more relaxed. I hope my Haiga conveys that to you.
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
Night Music (haiga)
This photo haiga was created by me as a response to a prompt: ZENITH. This is one day in NaHaiWriMo (National Haiku Writing Month) on Facebook during the month of February.
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
A Poet in Time 