Tell Me

April 22, 2025 ~ Candace ~ 1 Comment

Tell Me

Don’t tell me about your new car

with its fancy dashboard and back up camera.

Don’t tell me about your latest trip to

some foreign country with beaches and sunshine.

Don’t tell me how long you waited in the drive-thru

line for your morning latte.

Tell me instead about birdsong in the morning,

the male goldfinches singing their hearts

out, dressed in their brightest yellow feathers.

Tell me about the row of orange and pink

Zinnias, planted especially for bees and butterflies.

Tell me how much you care about this old planet

with all its light and darkness, its joys and sorrows.

Tell me the stories of its creation and the hope for its future.

Tell me love stories about you and me.

—

Day 22 of Poem a Day at Writer’s Digest

Altered Heart

April 21, 2025 ~ Candace ~ 15 Comments

Altered Heart

It’s time to take my heart off my sleeve –

unpin the rough edges,

smooth it out, look for tears.

It’s time to mend some holes and,

after a few alterations, gently stitch it

back where it belongs for the

whole world to see.

Quadrille #222: There’s no alternative

Sing Me a Song

April 21, 2025 ~ Candace ~ Leave a comment

Sing Me a Song

Place me in a chamber of music

and let my soul soar to the rafters

Immerse me in a pool of quarter notes

until I am soaked to the bone in the tempo of peace

Wrap me in a cocoon of melody and

harmony, stuff my ears with a hymn so

I can obliterate the choir of discord

I Remember

March 10, 2025 ~ Candace ~ 11 Comments

I Remember

I remember the hoot of an owl

coming from the ancient woods

on a clear winter night, the crackle

of dry leaves as some small creature sought

refuge, and the moon, shining like a spotlight,

on two lost souls who had found each other.

Quadrille #219 – A Poetic Hootenanny

Finding Grace

March 7, 2025 ~ Candace ~ 6 Comments

Finding Grace

I never liked my name. Candace

Grace is

too fancy, too grand for my

simple

soul, that loves the sound of birds

and the

glow of moonbeams dancing through my

open

window in the darkness. This is where my

heart is

content and my spirit can sing along in harmony to

its key

https://dversepoets.com/2025/03/06/mtb-the-poetry-of-names/ 

Spring Again

March 6, 2025March 6, 2025 ~ Candace ~ 2 Comments

Spring Again

Next week it will be Spring

again

The crocus and daffodils, that waited beside the

tulips

for the slanting sun rays to warm the earth,

will bloom

and dull winter birds will put on their best feathers

looking

for mates and building nests, never doubting miracles –

like hope

https://dversepoets.com/2025/03/06/mtb-the-poetry-of-names/

I am Air

February 27, 2025 ~ Candace ~ 7 Comments

I am Air

I breath it in

and speak it out

in puffs of thoughts

formed into words

I breath it in

and shout it out

in curses of anger and despair

I breath it in

and sigh it out

in fervent whispers of hope

I am air

and breath

and life

https://dversepoets.com/2025/02/25/tuesday-poetics-the-four-elements-2/

I’ve Got the Indigo Blues

February 24, 2025 ~ Candace ~ 12 Comments

I’ve Got the Indigo Blues

Not the ordinary blues of

a rainy day or a cancelled adventure

Not the melancholy blues of

a romance that failed

Not even the deep-as-the-ocean blues of

missing someone special

I’ve got the indigo blues of

squashed hope and torched joy-

Just for now

It’s Quadrille Monday!

A Quiet Transfer

December 9, 2024 ~ Candace ~ 9 Comments

A Quiet Transfer

The year does not go out with a bang

in spite of the fireworks –

in spite of the music and horns.

While the people sing and celebrate

the old year and the new quietly shake

hands as the mantle of responsibility is exchanged.

Quadrille #214: Going out with a Bang!

Cycle of the Cicadas

April 25, 2024 ~ 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