Still Waiting

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

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

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

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

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