Another haiku published in Wild Plum, a haiku journal, 2:2 Fall & Winter 2016:
Tag Archives: loss
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.
My Mother’s Voice…a poem of loss
Today, my favorite haiga was published in a favorite journal, Gnarled Oak. It is a lovely home for this haiga. Here it is along with the link to Gnarled Oak (check out all the great poetry in this journal). The editor, James Brush, releases one poem a day, a custom I love. It’s always a joy to see what each day holds. My thanks goes to James for accepting this piece.
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This haiga was originally posted on this blog on June 14, 2015.
Summer’s End
Photo by Gary Brichford, (c) 2015
Today’s poem is a slight detour down the road that leads to summer’s end. I’ve chosen to present an acrostic poem, a form I always enjoyed using when writing with children during my years of teaching. Acrostic poems are delightful and often funny, but as shown here, they can be serious and even tender.
You can hear me read the poem if you click on the link below and patiently wait a few seconds for the recording to begin.
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Summer’s End
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Sunflowers bloom tirelessly all summer long
Unwavering in their deep devotion to the sun
Multiplying day by day, the fields grow yellow
Making everyone stop to look
Elegant with their tall, swaying stalks
Regretting nothing, they give themselves to this season
Surrendering ripe seeds to the redbirds and finches that gather round
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Photo by Betty Rizotti, (c) 2015
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Even summer must come to a close
No one is ever spared the final moment
Depleted of seed, sunflowers begin to bow their heads in sleep
Photo by Jan Monson, (c) 2015
Photo by Gary Birchford, (c) 2015
Photo by Gary Brichford, (c) 2015
Photo by Gary Brichford, (c) 2015
Several photographers are responsible for the beautiful sunflower photographs in this blog. The two with the goldfinches are shared by Betty Rizzoti (middle right photo) and Jan Monson (middle left photo). Many thanks to each of them for these great captures. All the rest of the photographs are by Gary Birchford whose photographs, when posted on FaceBook last month, inspired this poem as a goodbye to summer. Thank you Gary for your ever generous heart in allowing me to use these pictures.
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Photo by Gary Brichford, (c) 2015
One final note: Gary Brichford took this set of sunflower pictures from an interesting source. They were on the side of a major highway in central North Carolina as part of a government project. Please see the picture below for details. Isn’t it great to know that our Department of Transportation is involved in Pollinator Habitats. What better place could they find. Imagine how many people drive past and smile at the ever beautiful sunflowers.
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Photo by Gary Brichford, (c) 2015
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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.
faded beauty…
Forget Me Not…
Forget-Me-Not by SarahharaS1 (c) 2013
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Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone
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Don’t forget me when I’m gone.
I’ll be there thinking about you.
Don’t forget me in my silence.
I’ll bring you back a poem.
Don’t forget me when you’re sad.
I’ll be ready to understand your tears.
Don’t forget me when life is good.
I’ll be happy to laugh along with you.
Don’t forget me if the glass breaks.
I’ll be there to sweep up the shards.
Don’t forget me when you doubt.
I’ll listen to your words spill out.
Don’t forget me in the dark.
I’ll bring you a small violet star.
Don’t forget me when I leave.
I’ll return. I always will
Forget-Me-Not, photograph by Flowers HD.com
On Growing Old Together, a Love Poem
This love poem was written for my husband. We met in 1974, forty years ago. It really does seem like last year. Growing older together has been a gift to both of us. We have shared so much and grown so much. Love is the one constant in the equation we call life.
This poem is dedicated to my beloved husband and to all who have loved and been loved.
The link below will give you the option of hearing me read the poem. Click on it if you wish to listen. (It takes a few seconds to begin.)
On Growing Old Together
Will you scatter me over water
or throw me to the winds,
letting me float away?
Will your ashes mingle
with mine one day
when you too are gone?
Ashes to ashes…
Will you take my hand again
and hold me close against the wind?
Will your eyes always smile with mine?
Dust to dust…
Will our hearts travel as one
no matter where that might be?
Will our love be forever?
Ashes to ashes, Soul to Soul.
Two Hearts Beat as One by Alexandru 1988
The Broken Promise: Orpheus and Eurydice, poem by Mary Kendall (Mythic Poetry Series)
A second poem of mine in the Silver Birch Press Mythic Poetry Series! I’m delighted they selected this one.
I’ve done an audio clip of me reading this poem. Click below if you care to listen.
The Broken Promise: Orpheus and Eurydice
by Mary Kendall
If only he had kept his promise, she’d be there.
All it took was one glance, a quick turn,
a meeting of the eyes and then she vanished.
How long did he stand there staring at where she had been?
When did he realize that she was lost to him forever?
How sad the stars were that night,
tumbling through the black sky
in mournful arcs;
even the moon turned its face away.
As he lead her out toward the ledge,
did she gasp at her unsure footing?
She with her snake-born limp,
trying hard to keep pace through dark tunnels
winding up to the craggy precipice?
Was this what tempted him to look?
His glance came so naturally,
that of the husband who worried
his wife might stumble and fall.
His trust in her never wavered and yet
he looked…
View original post 158 more words
When a Heart Breaks
I’m not sure where this poem came from. It just happened. I was thinking about the sad loss of butterflies this summer and what that might mean to our environment, our gardens, our enjoyment of nature. Somehow, from that line of thought to the poem…well, how does one explain where things are born? I hope you enjoy this poem.
An audio of me reading this poem is available at the link below. Give it a few seconds to begin.
When a Heart Breaks
Did you ever consider a heart is like a chrysalis?
Perfectly wrapped round and round, silken strands
layered one upon the other, locked together
in a solid embrace of fragile fibers.
This is what the heart is.
When a heart breaks, no one picks through
the fibers trying to separate the strands.
Yet it can be undone so easily.
Words can unravel it so quickly that it spins
like a frenzied top, leaving behind a trail
of weakened strings, no longer useful to anyone.
A Poet in Time 