On Pain and Survival

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

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

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 )

 

Safe Places

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?

 

  • Candace Kubinec

On Prayer

On Prayer – a Cento

“What can I bring to prayer?”
“Little soul, do you remember?”
It’s “Sad isn’t it (not a bit)”

“What was it like to listen to the angels?”
Or see “The writing in the air of swallowtails”,
“And all the beautiful things that lead our thoughts and give us reason”

“Modern times are too cautious.” Our
“God’s toes are buried deep in the earth”.
“Ignorance will carry me through to the last days”,

“And Reason’s self shall bow the knee”.


Lines from the following poems –
“Faith” by Michael Schmidt
“Wood. Salt. Tin.” by Jane Hishfield
“What Lights Up…?” by Keki Daruwalla
“An Altogether Different Language” by Anne Porter
“Swallowtails” by Allan Peterson
“A Time” by Allison Hedge Coke
“The White Campion” by Donald Revell
“The Present” by Jim Harrison
“Psalm to Be Read with Closed Eyes” by D. Nurkse
“The Indian Burying Ground” by Philip Freneau

Time’s Up

Time’s Up

This poem is not ready to move on,
but its adjectives have abandoned the rhyme
for warm, blue waters and sandy shores. The nouns are
running a marathon with the moon and it
finds itself no longer (verb)ose.
This poem is left with only two feet and no rhythm,
and the meter is almost on empty. It has become
un(in)formed and blank. Maybe now is the
time to stand(za) up, pack up its ink and go.
But it will be back to repeat the refrain.

One Last Chance

One Last Chance

This poem has one last chance
to play the game, make a name
for itself. It (day)dreams of fame and
glory, the hero of a story staring
moon and muses. It refuses to give up –
turns up, tuned up and ready to poem
It’s running out of time, maybe you could
spare a rhyme – a little rosemary and thyme
But don’t worry my dear, there’s
always tomorrow

Just Out of Sight

Just Out of Sight

This poem has seen it all
Trends the come and go – waiting


around the bend to return in
a slim disguise that can not


fool this poem
Long hair, short hair, no hair, facial hair


Wide pants, narrow pants, no pants
streaking across a field


Spikey heels, flat soles, flip flops that
used to be thongs, but now that is


something entirely different
Pop beads, love beads, crystal beads


Moon rocks, pop rocks, pet rocks,
Rock ‘n Roll


This poem has watched it all come and go,
but it won’t stop looking until


it sees peace