Cycle of the Cicadas

~ Candace ~ Leave a comment

Cycle of the Cicada

 

She heard them before she saw them –

a high-pitched whirring sound, like a herd

of tiny lawn mowers. The nearby woods were the

scene of this emerging miracle, something only seen

every 17 years. Insects, crawling out of the ground,

shedding their outer shells to become winged creatures

with red eyes, like monsters in some scary book, read by

flashlight under the covers – the stuff of nightmares.     

Amid the cacophony of their short lives, she prayed the

old woods would still be standing as silent witness

to the next cycle of the cicadas. 

Day 25 of Poem a Day

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2024-april-pad-challenge-day-25

Spring Clean

~ Candace ~ 7 Comments

Spring Clean

 

I’’m letting go of all the bits and bobs

that have accumulated in my heart –

feelings that no longer fit or that pinch

its soft places. I’m sweeping out the

people and places that have gathered in

corners like spider webs. I’m doing a Spring

clean in the basement chambers, going

through boxed up memories, keeping only

the most precious and releasing the rest

to be blown away by winds of change

 

  • Written in response to Rene Magritte’s painting, Golconda

 

Golconda by Rene Magritte

 

Everything We See

The Art of Spring

~ Candace ~ 10 Comments

The Art of Spring

 

She sat at her easel, like an old dutch Master,

 trying to capture the essence of a bouquet of daffodils,

bathed in the morning light shining softly through her kitchen window.

Her paints were carefully mixed by hand to create shades of

yellow – golden dawn, golden echo, and lemon beauty.  She sketched

 their ruffled petals, so like lacey lingerie, and wished she could paint

the scent of them – a love call to bees.  

 

Poetics: Daffy for Daffodils, Sprung in Spring

Gains

~ Candace ~ Leave a comment

Just a little poem for those of us who will be changing our clocks tonight.

Gains 

Here we are, spinning the hands

of our clocks once again – adding

the hour we stole from the morning

to the end of the day.  Gaining not time,

but an hour more of birdsong, sixty minutes

of bees and butterflies, thousands of seconds

in which to find peace as day dissolves into night.

Christmas Cat

~ Candace ~ Leave a comment

I think there must have been a cat in Bethlehem, so long ago
The night that choirs of angels sang and cattle did so gently low
A cat that kept the baby warm
while Mary slept ‘neath starry skies
A cat that cuddled with a King and purred a feline lullaby

Merry Christmas 🥰