Still Waiting
It was a time of bangles and tambourines –
a time of freedom, when we were seventeen
We danced, barefoot, in a field
amid a jungle of wildflowers and kneeled
beneath a cashmere moon, joining
hearts and voices with the universe, rejoicing
We thought we could punch a hole in the future
and our dreams would be the mending sutures
And now, we still strum our guitars,
waiting for the promised avatar
—
Travelers
I watch them, young people with
their backpacks and trendy clothes,
their cool hairstyles and uncomfortable shoes.
They walk through the airport with a
confidence bestowed on them by
nature. Secure in their ability to navigate
the maze of shops and signage and crowds.
I can not help wandering how they will
weather the storms that living brings or
if they too will someday join the shuffling
mass of elderly travelers, confused and hesitant.
A Scintilla of Hope
It survived like a susurrus
in the Autumn garden
A small spark, brightly shining
through the increasing feuillemort
and shortened days
An aliferous creature that was
about to begin a perilous journey
to ensure to continuation of its species
I watched, humbled by the courage
of this belle ame as it flew away,
needing nothing more from me but a prayer
–
* It’s migration season for the Monarch butterflies, which have recently been put on the endangered species list. Plant some milkweed.
Mish, I hope I used these lovely words correctly. Thanks for this ‘wordiferous’ prompt
Out of Oz
This poem is tripping down the yellow brick road
Stumbling over letters stuck in the cracks
Picking them up and filling its pockets
Saving them for a rainy day
Looking for some wizard to give it words
Of en(courage)ment, a phrase or two to
Send its ruby red heart spinning home again
But there is no one lurking behind the curtain
No one waiting with badges or magic spells
Only a little dog who remembers the way
So it spills words upon the bricks and
Writes a goodbye letter to this emerald mirage
On Pain and Survival
There is no such thing as getting over something
You will eventually get through it, but a part of
that something will always remain. The tricky bit
is not to let that part be the heaviest piece of you,
to find a place where you can tuck it away like a
tacky old souvenir. Others may tell you to get rid of it,
let it go, but how do you get rid of something that has a
place in your memory? You will find yourself pulling it out,
feeling the pain or fear, or terror once again. The most
difficult task is tucking it away again and again,
until you barely remember it is there. Then, one day, when
you’re dusting off your memories, you will find it, and it may
still hurt, but you can pat yourself on the back and say, “I
got through it.”
-Candace Kubinec
August Again
It’s hot and you are grumpy.
All the tomatoes are ripening at once,
the cucumbers are wilting, and the
neighbor’s orange cat is using the flower
bed for a litter box.
The garden looks tired, worn out, as if
it just doesn’t care any more.
The Sun is an unrelenting ball of heat.
The night air carries no coolness.
I sit by the open kitchen window wondering
if this month has any redeeming qualities
when in a corner of the yard I see the large
white blossoms of the moonflower vine. This
glow of promise amid the darkness reminds me
that each season holds a beauty of its very own.
I shall make it my mission to search for it.
–
Heart Signals
I watched the fireflies flashing
Flashing secret signals of hope
Hope that somewhere in the darkness
Darkness that hides the cares of the day
Day that slowly fades into night
Night will hold the answer to its signals
Signals from one heart to another
Another night for lovers like you and I
(I fudged a little with the grammar )
In Celebration of Green Beans
We planted rows of beans.
Surrounded them with fencing – the kind
to keep rabbits from nibbling on the tender
shoots. We watered, weeded, cheered
when their white flowers were pollinated by bees.
Now we are holding a celebration in honor of
fresh green beans.
Safe Places
There was a time when parents sent
the children off to school with homework
done and packed lunches. A time when
children rode a bus ,and played in the fresh air,
and teachers taught arithmetic, reading, spelling –
and no one worried, because it was
a safe place.
There was a time when the people gathered
to worship in their best suits and dresses
and the children wriggled in the pews, trying
to stay quiet. A time when preachers preached
and choirs sang and the people prayed –
and no one worried, because it was
a safe place.
There as a time when families went to the beach,
drive-in movies, walked on the sidewalks, picnicked
in parks, making jokes and sandcastles, and memories –
and no one worried, because they were
safe places
Where can the children learn?
Where can the people worship?
Where can the families gather?
Where have the safe places gone?
Forever
I will not have a tombstone –
when I die
A piece of rock to mark
the place where my bones sleep
My soul will not lie down beside those bones
It will soar freely among the clouds,
and stay forever at your side
rhymeswithbug 