Anthony Kendrick

Tag: Poetry

Departure

September 9th, 2026

China
off in the mist
the pacific between, —
undulating blue-green seas wave
good-bye.

The preceding poem was actually my first foray into the style known as cinquain. American Cinquain are poems of five lines, each with a specific syllable count, 2‑4‑6‑8‑2, influenced by Japanese tanka and haiku.

While I am by no means a master of this form, I can say that this is the one and only cinquain that I’ve written to date, and it was published on Amaze: The Cinquain Journal (online) in 2007. It later appeared in their print anthology.
Robert Allen Zimmerman

August 20th, 2026

I met Bob Dylan near Two Medicine Lake.

He drove out of Cut Bank in an old Winnebago,

as if blown in with a Chinook.

Cloudy day and rainy night  right behind him.

The sky brooding as I’m sure he and I  had done before,

over nothing and everything.

Sitting, listening, and thinking of nothing (Her).

The wind whining a wordless tune,

like he composed it himself to keep me awake at night.

A campfire and a guitar strummed by a middle aged brunette,

Imploring me… “Stay forever young” as her life was half over.

The incantation floated over my head with the ash.

She, just like the wood  on the campfire,

burned up with each passing year.

Burning embers, Flames, and smoke remind me

that I met Bob Dylan near Two Medicine Lake.

I wrote this poem way back in the early 2000’s as I was reflecting on a trip to Montana that I had taken only a year or two previous. I spent two weeks in Glacier National Park with people I barely knew. I had heard Bob Dylan songs before and never really cared for them, but one visitor to the campsite introduced me to his music again around the campfire while she strummed her acoustic guitar.

This poem has been rejected many times but it still means something to me.
Pink

July 28th, 2026

This is a poem that I wrote in my first few years of marriage as I was beginning my college career. In my mid-20’s I was still full of angst that comes from a life that is nowhere near what I wanted it to be.

This poem was published online by Spokenwar in 2009 and captured by the Wayback Machine Internet Archives in February 2010. If my recollection serves me Spokenwar published work that was a little more edgy and modern. It published text but also accepted spoken word recordings that were also posted on their website.

I don’t know if this poem was edgy or modern, but I know it was how I felt in the moment. And 17 years ago at least somebody liked it. Here it is…

Pink

Lying on a bed with a pink comforter,
Staring at a sixty-watt ceiling light
bearing down like the light of a locomotive.
The train strikes.
Wait for death,
It never comes.
I just keep lying on a pink comforter.

Comforter…
Why would anything colored bright pink
be called a comforter?
It is a distractor.
It is a reason to get a real job
To afford nicer bed spreads.
I wish that light bulb were a real locomotive.

Tag: Poetry

Departure

Robert Allen Zimmerman

Pink

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