If Wishes Were Ponies

~ Candace ~ 13 Comments

“May I please have a pony?”
I asked when I was three
and mom and dad just smiled
at me and answered, “Well, we’ll see.”

“May I please have a pony?”
I asked when I was ten
and mom and dad just smiled
at me and said, “We’ll see.” – again

“May I please have a pony?”
I asked at seventeen
and mom and dad just smiled
at me – I knew they weren’t so keen

Now I am grown and married
with a daughter who is three
and when she asks I smile at her
“Maybe next year, yes I’ll see.”

—-

Day two of the April Poem-a-day challenge at Real Toads.

 

They Say

~ Candace ~ Leave a comment

 

they say the moon is just some rock
a collection of debris leftover
from a gigantic space collision
an orbiting satellite on a fixed rotation
but my moon is soft and gentle
a glowing nightlight
a midnight friend who
sings love songs to my muse

—–

Poetic Asides PAD Day 2 – he said/she said

Foolish Me

~ Candace ~ 13 Comments

you call me foolish
a little uncoolish

my head’s in the clouds
ignoring the crowds

my toes are a tapping
my own beat I’m clapping

I speak with a pen
don’t seek false amen

don’t need your instruction
in this little production

I’m calling my life

~~~~

just foolin’ around with poetry for

Poetics Asides April PAD and with other toads in the garden at Real Toads

We Two

~ Candace ~ 6 Comments

Mag 310

image

painting by David Ligare

~~

we two gathered and
communed with white
bread and grape juice
sharing secrets of our
lives, our fervent hopes,
our irrational fears
giving voice to weaknesses
and acknowledgement
to strengths
we hummed the anthems
of our ancestors and looked
to the rising sun
until through the private
sacrament
of this meager fair
we found peace

Holey Socks

~ Candace ~ 7 Comments

Real Toads  – Play It Again, Toads
Mary’s Mixed Bag : Poetry of the Ordinary

~~

they were my favorite pair
fuzzy socks with alternating
green, blue, and teal stripes
and now they have betrayed me

with holes in the heels
just tiny holes for now
but holes are not static
when no one is looking

they grow, slowly, steadily
from dime, to nickel,
to quarter size until
your favorite socks turn

on you – rubbing throbbing
blisters on the bottom
of your feet and you
have no choice but to

turn those favorite socks
into a puppet couple with
red yarn hair and silly grins