Author: Candace

I am a reader, a writer, and a snapper of photos

Finding a Community

~ Candace ~ 7 Comments

Finding a Community

 

She thought she was the only one. Who else cries when

they look up at the night sky? Who else lies on the ground in wonder?

She tried to write poems about the stars, to capture them on film, to scribble them

on a canvas. Friends oooed and awwed. She knew her attempts were feeble imitations.

She drove to a State Park, known for its darkness, its lack of ambient

light, to see the glow, the glimmer, the magic of a sky filled with stars,

connect with the universe.

And there they were, a field of people, staring silently upward, crying.

They had their notebooks, and cameras, and sketchbooks but they knew

they would never capture the soul of the moment. She had finally found

her place in the world with people who understood. That’s when she knew,

the Starpainters are taking over now.

 

Prosery: Tribute to Gordon Downie

 

Changing Seasons

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Changing Seasons

 

The geese don’t protest the summer’s end, complain about the

flight ahead. They trust the seasons .

Yet we decry each age and stage of our lives, wishing to be other

than ourselves. And in our protestation, our lamentations,

miss the loveliness of now

 

Quadrille #354: I Protest

Blue Sky Quilt

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Blue Sky Quilt

 

The sky was an unrelenting blue

quilt this morning.

It wouldn’t tolerate any clouds

cluttering up the atmosphere,

or wrinkling its glossy finish.

And then one small puff appeared.

A little smudge of batting poking through

a small hole worn in the edge, along the horizon.

Slowly, more slivers of white came floating along and the harsh blue sky became softer,

 worn to a more comfortable shade by time, and sun, and weather.

 

dVerse Poetics — Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

Coat Pockets

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Coat Pockets

 

They are like mini time capsules

nestled in the seams of an old coat –

the purple one pushed to the back of a closet.

Like an archeologist, you carefully put

your hand into the slot, feeling something hard,

hearing a crunching sound, wondering

what has been buried there. The treasure clutched

between your fingers is a sticky mint, a rolled

up tissue, and a wrinkled theater ticket from

ten years ago. Reminders of a night spent with

 friends laughing until you cried.

 

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetry-prompts/april-pad-challenge

 

 

Summer Cycle

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Summer Cycle

and what of all the girls who never rode a bike
who never felt the passing wind plant kisses on their cheeks
who never got to speed down hill, flying free and birdlike

who didn’t ride through inky streets, headlight glowing – moonlike
what gave them joy on summer days, some book in ancient greek?
and what of all the girls who never rode a bike

who never slipped along a stream to watch new hatchlings, spy-like
who never pedaled all the way from home to Mozambique
then sped downhill, back home again, flying free and birdlike

what gave them shivers down their spines or made them giggle, childlike
did any comet, moon or star make them want to shriek
and what of all the girls who never rode a bike

what made them turn to face the sun, as it was setting, flowerlike
who found in books, some world of words, of wonder and mystique
but never got to speed downhill, flying free and birdlike

while I am cycling streets and lanes and gravel alleys, catlike
and jumping logs and chasing frogs along a creek
and what of girls who never rode a bike
who never got to speed downhill, flying free and birdlike

 

Day Twenty-Three

 

Pet Lament

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Pet Lament

 

I still look for you

under the covers when I make the bed,

hiding behind the love seat,

sitting on the windowsill –

watching trains go by.

 

Did I love you enough?

Leaving you alone while I vacationed.

Did I love you too much?

Spoiling you with crunchy treats on demand.

Was I careless in my caring?

 

 

I think I hear your purr

coming from the bathtub

where you would lay on hot days –

I still leave a bowl of water

there for you. And I miss the

fine white cat fur that collected

in the corners and on my clothes.

 

Day Ten

Un(bee)lievable

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Un(bee)lievable

 

I know you think I shouldn’t be able to fly

but here I am, in your garden,

buzzing around looking for flowers.

You cling to the old myth that my wings

are not large enough to lift my fuzzy body,

yet no one bothered to ask me how I managed.

I was once considered a pest, just

another summer irritant as I flew too

close to your picnics and games, and

you sprayed and swatted to make me go away.

Still, no one realized the role I played as

I went from plant to plant collecting and

depositing pollen until it was almost too late.

Now I am the darling of your garden where

you put up special boxes for me to nest in,

print me on T-shirts, paint me on cute mugs,

and marvel at my aviation skills.

 

Day Nine