“Poetry is a life-cherishing force, for poems are not words after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.”
“I’m completely taken by your artistry with words, Kendra! Like cool water in a dry mouth. Thank you for this medicine!!”
When the internet goes dark, I will have been happy to see your face again.
I will close my eyes sometimes to remember, and smile at all the nuance in the memory.
We enter a conversation that has no beginning and no end. Discipline, devotion, symmetry. We make shapes that break away and change the course of history, surprising us all.
I like to tune my heart to the sun, moon and stars. Our ambitions are reaching there anyway with our towering buildings and feats of imagination.
When the last building has come tumbling down, our listening will echo through time, as well the voice from the same source, and the credits will roll on like a never-ending story.
What you have tried to sustain in earnest that has not born fruit, you have permission now to send it off - out to sea, or down the river, where someone else’s dreams are cheering with wine and celebratory company.
Sometimes it’s like this:
Stripped down, bare bones. Handfuls of dirt, clinging to the earth.
Bold propositions. Expectant, waiting.
I know the news is coming.
Keep your house clean. You can be sure there will be visitors.
Let the breeze come in and freshen the air. Eliminate the thoughts that belonged to another time.
Come into this morning all ears. Everything is talking.
Come into this morning all ears, everything has something to say.
I trust the tender bow of the branch that bends as I walk out on a limb. Life has brought me here again and again. And as the tensile strength gives way to the ethers, it's time for me to leap.
Love me with the lights on. I want to see the contours that mark the intricate memory of you.
Romance fades in the daylight, unless it's made there too.
Holding back this force, this dam is pressurized and pasteurized by the sanitized way we’ve learned to be free, which is no freedom at all.
I was studying the leaves to learn from them.
I noticed how easily they let go. Gentle, unassuming, bright yellow, whispering their way to the ground.
Smeared.
Layers of flesh dissolved by the hand of your words, painting me naked, until I have no skin.
Until the warble of my heart is no longer my own.
There is no such thing as alone.
I s t r e t c h e d membranes and tore apart herds of screaming animals inside to lay down false armor and find the character beneath the fight.
A memory:
Guttural cry rumbling up from the depths of my belly, feet planted firmly on the earth, I see you, and I stand my ground.
Blood, she comes now. I can feel her. How close we are to life.
Body knows the ancient secrets, with generous reply.
Blissful reckoning with distant past, and consort standing by,
resolution is humbly woven and desire-driven, welcoming the new bride.
The cold ocean splashes at my feet. They suction to the saturated sand, leaving prints that disappear over and over. Only the essence of contact remains.
Sometimes songs are that quiet on the outside.
Start right here, now. The texture on the top unfurling layer of your rhythmic heart is the first petal, utterly available. Generous.
Take a wiff. Touch it to your lips.
This is what happens when you sip the cup of full right to live.
Deeper, purer honesty, and words, you kiss me like you’re my last lover. I savor the flavor of you on my lips and wait for you on the hour to give you the best of me.
pour through me again. love, i have missed you. kiss me gently on the highest part of my cheek, where the skin is soft and sensitive to the way your lips press down, letting me know you feel the tender parts.
soften my spirit while preserving the strength to be bold in my caring, and fierce in my knowing.
I will take up space.
I will reach down into the cavernous inside and embrace the most precious parts with tender hands, peeling the petals back to show you little pieces of me that would otherwise remain a mystery.
I will take you in. I will feel you, rich and rippling inside me, where this love makes sense.
Dark. Deep in the secret compartment of the hidden drawer on the bottom floor where no one has gone, not even me, for a very long time.
I'd rather right the sunshine to replace the rain,
but the moisture is so natural and needed.
Waiting.
Waiting for a pulse.
Springtime, I know you're there, though my body is still catching up to you.
My skin is aware of the light, while my soul has been stripped to bare bones.
I must tap the well and drink - of the water that Feeds me.
Everyone has their own kind of dignity. Sacred and profane on the same block, in the same museum, in the eyes of the same people. And we're all the same people - in the eyes.
I know the puddle on the floor.
Right now, I am able to notice how elevated I feel in the chair just above it.
Somehow the fire has graced me with just enough will to sit upright, drawn to its warmth.
Is that dawn, just on the horizon?
Pluto, I am at home in your depths, born of your mystery.
Spring dawns in my heart from your dark medicine, making the soil rich and pure.
Though I don't know it yet, flowers will bloom here and make gardens of me.
Angels, be my breath as I locate my heart.
Spilling all the joy-filled moments to make room for more.
The extraction feels unkind and filled with compassion all at once.
Say it, if even in your heart.