Kundalini Splendor

Kundalini Splendor <$BlogRSDURL$>

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Poems by Kit Kennedy 

Kit Kennedy is one of my oldest and most treasured San Francisco friends. We met at a poetry reading many years ago, and began getting together to exchange poems, talk, and get to know each other better. She proved to be a delightful and inspiring companion. Our friendship has deepened through the years.

Kit is one of the most devoted and inspired poets I know. She has written, I'm sure, hundreds if not thousands of poems, all carefully crafted, and filled with beautiful, exquisite imagery. She writes a poem every single day, and her efforts have had impressive results. She has been published in numerous journals and anthologies, and is currently compiling two chapbooks. In addition, she is a well known reader in local coffee house poetry evenings.

Some hold that all creative expression derives from kundalini itself. Kit seems to confirm that theory, with her remarkable productivity and her never failing enthusiasm for poetry as a sacred process.


Warm August evening.
The hotel balconies and terraces
playground for dusky angels.

Miniature white lights spotlight
the lime trees. A succulent on each table
steadies itself to bloom

The plaza's central fountain,
four Chinese stone dogs spew water.
How private the public temenos.

Night comes forward from the workday
and palm trees and architecture
become vivid in a cosmic shadow-land.

Martha is in the deepest mystery
of any day when light melts into indigo.
Time shifts weight

nothing disturbed although a wave in China
nestles everywhere, accommodates Martha
as she reaches for a water glass.

(copyright Kit Kennedy; pub. previously in
"The Penwood Review")

Bunch of Purple Grapes

Like the silent aftermath
from church bells at dusk
this 40 year memory,
eating a bunch of purple grapes
on the back porch
first time I knew prayer
because it was real
fit in my palm
like a baby bird.
When I told my parents
they responded with smiles
but I saw into their eyes
polished so smooth,
when did they forget
prayer comes to those
with sweet cravings?

(copyright Kit Kennedy,
pub. previously in "The Penwood Review")

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