Against All Odds

Evening

(blank) Story

Intrepid

Good Old Days

Consumption

Gathering

Travel

Fruit or Vegetable

Whenever

The Best Ever

Suspicious Minds

It's Too Late

Poem that reveals something

Once Upon a

Love Poem

Don't Look Down

it was more of a dare
than a quest,
my participation
a moment of rare folly.

the others had done it
so many times before.
their enthusiasm was
contagious and
the contagion had spread
my way.

and so, i joined them
at the top of the bridge,
my heart beating so hard
i could hear it, as
they wrapped the harness
around my waist
and secured it.

at that elevation, the winds
whistled, and what they were
whistling was
don't look down
don't look down
don't look down

one last gulp of air,
one last prayer
and i stepped into nowhere
on my first bunge
                           e
                             e
                               e
                                e
                                 e
                                  e
                                   e
                                    e
                                      jump!



© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Neighbors

They were the kind,
you know them,
who just kept to themselves,
never bothered anybody,
nor asked for favors.

They had been there
as long as anyone
could remember.
Just the two of them.

Their little house,
mortgage probably paid
a decade ago, or more,
had its lawn tended to,
and sometimes the bushes, too,
or a tall palm shedding its branches,
by a yard man,
once every week.

Their mailbox, neat and tidy
like their house,
was white,
adorned with a radiant
red cardinal,
symbolizing vibrancy
and goodwill,
and it bore their street number,
but not their name.

Once, I asked my neighbor
Kelly if she knew them,
knew their name. She said
No, but they seem so nice....
just good old folks. I
agreed and nodded.

Mornings, first thing,
the woman would step out
to the driveway, chenille robe
wrapped tightly around her
slight figure, and stoop slowly
to pick up the newspaper.
Mondays and Thursdays,
she dragged their trash can
out to the curb, then ambled back
slowly, fatigued from her labor.


Afternoons, at 2:30,
the man rode his power scooter
down the sidewalk to the mailbox
then back again. He would sit for
a moment, sorting his mail,
soaking in the afternoon sun.

Once a week, without fail,
they would appear
dressed in their Sunday best
and she would struggle to help
her husband arrange himself
in their Buick.

Never bothered anybody,
nor asked for favors.

One day in late summer,
he failed to check the mail.
Then the next day.
And the next.

On that third day,
an obituary. The name
I didn't know, the address
was theirs. "Survived by his
wife of sixty-one years,"
it read.  "Request donations
to Children's Hospital
in lieu of flowers."
No other survivors
were listed.

A tear found its way down
my cheek. I regretted
never reaching out
to say hello to Ed,
whose name I finally knew.
I regretted
the simple kindness I never showed,
as I realized that kindness
is never a favor.



© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

overabundant

at first
there was the newness

the
    positioning
the
   adjustments to be made
the
   marking of territories

like dogs
do

the claiming of
this or that space
this or that drawer
this or that cup
    for the morning's coffee

then
somewhat like
the photos on our wall
the ones right next to
   the wine rack
the ones from nassau
you remember
on the docks where
black and tan youth, boys mostly
took pictures with our camera
claiming tips

we adjusted to center
we filled the frame
just
right
and the newness of it all

was now more like
a sameness
twins and
peas in a pod
in our own green market

where we sold ourselves
to one another

and the lens that
filled the frame
with its f stops
snapped and snapped
away
filling albums

and now
an overabundance
an exorbitance
an excess of
sameness

too long on the wall
too many frames
too full

in my wallet
from a gone-by birthday
one of the first
during the newness

before excess
became too much



© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

War by the Numbers: 11/11/11

Eleven Eleven Eleven
Armistice Day
Veteran's Day
Remember Remember Remember

One: There Was a World War
Be a U.S. Marine!
The Sword is Drawn.... the Navy upholds it!
Why Aren't You in Khaki?
I Want YOU for U.S. Army!
Your Country Needs You!
Enlist!
Enlist!
Enlist!


116,516 Gone!


World War: and then there were Two
Never Was So Much Owed by So Many to So Few
Buy War Bonds!
Keep Calm and Carry On!
Loose Lips Might Sink Ships!
We Can Do It!

Enlist!
Enlist!
Enlist!


405,399 Gone!

Korea: and then there were Three
Because Peace Does Not Preserve Itself
Wake Up America, Civilization Calls!
Destroy This Mad Brute: Enlist!
Help Crush the Menace of the Seas!
Buy American!

Enlist!
Enlist!
Enlist!


53,686 Gone!

Vietnam: and then there were Four
Above and Beyond the Call of Duty
Be a Man Among Men
We'll Take You as Far as You Can Go
Peak Performance
Your Turn!

Enlist!
Enlist!
Enlist!


58,209 Gone!

Iraq: and then there were Five
Enlist!
Enlist!
Enlist!


33,169 Gone and Still Counting!


Afghanistan: and then there were Six
Enlist!
Enlist!
Enlist!


1,831 Gone and Still Counting!

Eleven Eleven Eleven
Armistice Day
Veteran's Day
Remember Remember Remember


© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Snake

You automatically assume
that I am out to get you.,
that I see you,
that I know you,
that I am intent on biting you,
sinking my poison-delivering fangs
into your flesh,
watching you writhe in pain
and maybe even die.

I see you crossing my path
even before you see me,
and I slither along,
trying to avoid you,
but it's sometimes too late,
and we freeze as our eyes meet.

And I,
at least I hiss, call out a warning,
or maybe lift my tail and rattle
to try to tell you to leave.

And you,
you choose to ignore my warnings,
for in your world I'm evil,
you just want my children to grieve.

Man, I don't know you from Adam,
but Adam, he surely knew me,
so the next time you see me coming,
you'd better remember Eve.




© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

To Walk or to Fly

How will you reach your destination?
Do you want to walk, or will you choose to fly?
Can you know your destination
if you don't have access to the sky?

You can hit the road, amble, perambulate,
meander about and wend your way,
or you can choose to soar like the eagle
to where the sunlight meets the day.

Your view from the ground has limits
and, although you may reach the end,
if you spread your wings today,
all the universe will be your friend.




© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Anticipation of the Paranormal

I think sometimes that you can read my mind,
that you can enter its nooks and crannies
in some paranormal fashion
to anticipate
my wants and my needs,
seemingly almost
before I anticipate them myself.

I hope sometimes that you can read my mind,
that you enter it through my heart and soul
in some paranormal fashion,
and I anticipate
your wants and needs,
beautifully matching mine
when you anticipate them yourself.




© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Death Won't Wait

Before you are born, Death has the date
when you are slated to meet your fate.
You may make big plans, thinking nothing will spoil,
while Death knows when you're leaving this mortal coil.

So, in living each day as though it were your last,
you need not be worrying that you'll leave a past
that will haunt you when you've gone to meet your Maker
if you coordinate things ahead of the big Life Taker.




© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

The Siren's Call

The first time
you heaved,
upchucking your dinner
onto my wall-to-wall,
I cleaned it up
after I cleaned you up,
and somehow
I still found you amusing,
and I still cared.

The very last time
you vomited,
it was not only the contents
of your stomach,
but also the remnants
of your brain,
pickled, by then I knew,
in the alcohol
that you preferred
to me.

You spewed untruths
and supposed indignities
in angry chunks,
covering me
in the putrid spray,
leaving stains that
I can't erase.

She's still your Lady Alcohol,
awaiting your beck and call,
pleasuring you in ways
that I never have understood.

You leave her for weeks,
and still she waits,
like a mermaid awaits her sailor.
Her siren's call entrances you,
sending you crashing and leaving you
on the rocks,
again and again.

So, I'll leave you adrift
in that ocean of your own creation,
with the waves rising up and over you.

I am no longer your lighthouse,
or your refuge on the shore.
My light no longer shines for you,
I'll just leave you with your whore.

© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

The Broken-Souled Woman

her tattered life
collected in a torn pillowcase
stained from her
dumpster diving
for yesterday's meal
and those from the weeks before,
she sleeps now
with one eye open,
on her last remnant
of sturdy
packing-box cardboard.

shadows curl around her,
as her fetid breath
spews icily in and out,
keeping time with
the rise and fall of
her dirty, frayed cardigan,
and she shivers against
the blanket of cold.

the broken-souled woman
attracts little attention.
just another body
in the row of
tonight's
homeless
sidewalk dreamers.

© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Friendships Keep Us All Connected

I had an illness that was unexpected,
so to the doctor I went, dejected.
A massive tumor he detected,
said to me, "It must be corrected!"
From the healthy world, disconnected,
thinking I'd never be resurrected.

Then ...
I felt love and joy collected,
thoughts and prayers to me directed.
I found strength and felt protected,
knew my illness would be deflected.

Friendships keep us all connected

© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Sort of Like a Spider

It's sort of like a spider:
a hairy situation,
a bold insinuation,
it creeps me out.

And too,
it's sort of deceptive,
you're unreceptive,
I just want out.

A tangled web you've woven,
All this stupid wrangling,
I won't leave you dangling:
Go away, get out!

© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Measured Days

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." - T. S. Elliot

Timid child
become timid woman,
always afraid
ever to be,
to rise, to leap
to run, to play,
to sing and in singing
to cry and then to laugh
in joy.

I have measured out my life
in coffee spoons
and in thimbles
and in drips
and in tiny drops
too small to give
a taste.

When miles spread out
before me,
yet I choose inches.

When fathoms descend
below me,
yet I choose
the shallows
and stay within a touch
of the banks.

When vast skies
in glorious azure,
directionless and endless,
are revealed before me,
when I could dance on that cloud
and make it my pillow,
when in flight
I could soar,
and scream "I am,"
I choose rest
and safety.

I choose to exist
but not to be.
Measuring spoon by spoon
my timidity.

© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011

Procrastination

Perhaps I thought it unseemly, too
Revealing of myself too soon,
Or too bold for you, to admit to
Caring. Or, maybe I thought I'd be
Rewarding you with an
Admission that I waited
Silently for you to make: to
Tell me, without prompting,
In your own words, that you
Needed me
As much as I needed you.
Time never waits,
It moves forward, water
Over a dam, spilling the truth, and
Never looking back

© Candice W. Coghill, November, 2011