Wednesday, September 28, 2011

To a Covered Bridge

In the deep of the forest we found you,
such a masterpiece can't be ignored,
so slowly we entered, admired and loved
every beautiful inch we explored.

Now a historical landmark, 
you have served so long and so well.
If your planks and timbers could talk,
oh ! what wonderful tales they would tell.

The traveler found shelter within you
when nature brought snow, freezing cold.
Farm animals were kept from stampeding,
'cause you looked like their barn on the road.

Protecting the trains that crossed you
by keeping out rot from the spans,
was another job you performed well,
as your roof added strength, took a stand.

I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge
you provided many moments of bliss
to gentlemen who went courting
and in your sheltering arms stole a kiss.

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011

Photograph courtesy of Sandra Langdon-Wilson

Monday, September 26, 2011

Plan B and The Phoenix

(As prompted by Sunday Scribblings )

At first, of course,
there was Plan A:
find a new job.

"No problem," I thought,
as I perused
my resume,
ignoring the nay-sayers,
the headlines,
and the news commentators
that foretold economic disaster,
and delighted in posting daily
unemployment numbers
as though to affirm
their prognostications.

Plan A was perfect, in theory:
a stellar resume,
a pool of references
deep enough for any prospective
employer to dive into
and spot this pearl of an employee,
a devotion to the quest
and an over-sized helping
of confidence
wearing blinders.

But, as these things go,
Plan A never thought about
the possibility of
encountering Plan B.

Plan B
strode boldly
onto the scene
and announced its intention
to wreak havoc
with Plan A.
Unafraid, presumptuous,
wearing a name-tag
scribbled in a
defiant cursive:
"Surprise Diagnosis: Cancer."

Plan B refused
to allow any offers
of employment,
choosing instead to
bring things to a screeching halt
in a freeze-frame moment
where paradigm and destiny
engaged in debates
into the night.

But, as these things go,
Plan B never thought about
the possibility of
encountering Plan C.

And in the end,
Plan C crept in
to steal the show.
Plan C declared itself
the winner and called off
all bets
by summoning
the Phoenix,
to arise from its ashes
and live.

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011

Art courtesy of Josephine Wall,

The Low Tide Line

Cranston, Rhode Island (ABC News),  April 2011:  A small town in Rhode Island is bracing for the release of a high-profile child killer this summer who is leaving prison after serving 28 years of a 40-year sentence for the grisly murder of a neighbor's 5-year-old child.
As part of the plea deal Woodmansee was sentenced to 40 years. Now, after 28 years of good behavior, he is leaving prison 12 years early.
"At and just below the low-tide line are the hungry predators ... " Rachel Carson, Sue Hubbell - The Edge of the Sea

The nature of evil is a pattern
repeated throughout the millennia,
an incessant tide
of corruption,
flotsam and jetsam,
and incomprehensible behavior
and falling,
as unfettered impulses
rebound between
established lines in the sand,
and reflecting what lies within:
hungry predators,
lurking in the depths
at or below the low-tide line....
Opportunistic, waiting and watching predator,
you planned,
then struck.
You devoured innocence,
an innocent,
literally and figuratively
By you.
And now Justice
rewards you.
"Your behavior has been good,"
she says.
A father weeps.

CRANSTON, R.I. (CBS/AP), September 9, 2011:  A Rhode Island man convicted of killing a young boy in 1975 has been released from prison and sent to a state mental health facility after serving 28 years of a 40-year sentence.

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011

Original art with the kind permission of Artist Rod McIver:

Eight Forty-Six 9/11

Evil at its boldest
Impacting so many lives, the Tower, just moments before
Glimmering, now an  inferno, flames raging skyward, cries for
Help as
This day emblazons its date forever in the collective worldwide memory.
Fathers and Mothers of tiny children, unborn children,
Only children, and sure to be lonely children who
Remember their parents only
Through pictures.  And
You and I and all of us are left to weep and to wonder how and why.
Strength of a country, tested beyond
Immeasurable boundaries.  America  still stands proud, but bearing an
to forever mark the spot called Ground Zero.

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011

Tuning Up

We are old, now, my wonderful love ...
older than that holler between the hills
where first we met
and I heard you makin' music
and just knew I had to have you
by my side.
You have aged a bit, it's true,
but you respond to me
with as much passion as before
when I cradle you just ... so ...
in my arms.
Do you remember that first time,
our first time?
I remember touching you shyly,
almost reverently,
afraid to push you too far
but unable to keep my hands from you.
Easing into my rhythms,
you soon joined me,
matching me note for note
as sunset sky yielded to
the night's starry darkness.
Now, just as always,
but then again maybe more,
I love your melancholy
and the sweet tenderness of you
that surrounds me
in the quiet of an evening
on the riverbank,
with only a pesky wood owl
bearing witness.
Let me caress you again, love,
the fingers of this hand upon your frets,
the others strumming you
with abandon,
tuning up.

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011

Watercolor "Tuning Up" by kind permission of the Artist Rod McIver and his site "Heron Dance":


“We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it is too late.” ~~ Author Unknown

Now gently gliding, they appear before me,
rising vast and swirling, soon taking flight,
creating enchantment, revealing mysteries
and myriad other points of light….
A billion stars, God’s tiniest prisms,
refracted wonders in my mind’s eye …
with a billion more bright future visions
and splendid pathways creating sighs.
From where now comes this newfound clarity,
this sense of wonderment, unbridled glee
and inspiration, now flowing freely
that yesterday was rarity?
Whose hand cast hope-filled tiny moments,
accompanied by angel docents ?
Who brushed and painted
these diamond starscapes
and sent them skyward just for me?

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011

Original art courtesy of Josephine Wall:

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Key West, at Sunset

Your outrageous conversation
announced a flamingo party nearby
long before we caught a glimpse of your
spectacular pink….
Our human ears could only guess at your bird-words,
some soft, most loud and raucous and joyful.
You and your fellow long-legged wonders
squawked among yourselves, socializing,
enchanting us with your untranslatable discussion,
then in a flash of color revealed yourselves!
No mortal could conceive of the brilliant hues of your plumes!
No imagination could invent your unique form
at once awkward and graceful.
Cocking your tails, necks outstretched,
you arched into a stylized wing-salute before us,
revealing striking, contrasting colors.
Turning, as though prompted by
an unseen choreographer, you pivoted
slowly, then each extended a wing
and a long, slim leg on the same side
out and to your rear, balancing with confidence.
Then, satisfied that you had ensured
your admiring audience
a spectacular performance,
the three of you were aloft,
blending your flamingo pinkness
into the mauve and purpling skies
of that Key West sunset….

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011

Watercolor “The Flamingos” by kind permission of the Artist Rod McIver and his site “Heron Dance”:  
We encourage you to explore “Heron Dance” in its entirety ! It is possibly the most beautiful site we ever have found.