It has always surprised me that the few love poems I’ve posted on my blog have the most “hits.” Word Press very kindly shows statistics of which postings are most frequently read and invariably the love poems are always at the top. This makes me smile since mine are not traditional love poems but simply poems for my dear husband who has been the most important person in my adult life.
In Skylark, a Tanka Journal, Volume 4, Issue 2, Winter 2016, Edited by Claire Everett:
My thanks to Claire Everett for including this tanka in Skylark. It is always a great honor to be part of this brilliant journal.
In the past five months I have been studying my much beloved tanka, haiku and small poems in order to become a better writer. Writers–and poets–need to keep growing as they go. As part of my interest in these lovely small poem forms, I have joined a number of exception online groups of poets who post their own writing. On several of the sites, “prompts” are given and sometimes a picture is given. People respond as they wish or not. Often comments are given. I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to get a “like” or even a comment by one of these poets who are so gifted and accomplished tanka and/or haiku poets, but even without the ‘likes,’ it feels wonderful to be a little more confident about sharing poems publicly. This morning, I’m posting several tanka I wrote this week to specific prompts.
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.
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.
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…