It's Just Me

When the first strands fell,
I felt no pain
as they swiftly slithered
down the drain,

until the whirlpool
no longer spun
when my showering time
was done.

Then I bought
some Liquid Plumber,
but that was then,
when I was dumber.

What happened next
caught me unaware
when “several strands”
became a hank of hair

and, I realized that
soon I’d be,
as bald as that cueball –
proverbially –

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
it came a-calling,
and showed me that
my hair was falling

here and there,
without a doubt,
revealing parts of
my pink scalp.

So, off to Beautyland
I went –
’twas the best ten bucks
I ever spent

to have it shaved
all silky smooth.
And now my baldness
is my groove.

So, one bright day
if you should see
a cute, bald chick,
well, it’s just me.

This chemo stuff
is quite perverse,
but all in all
it could be worse.

If the toxins chase
my cancer away,
then I’ll stay bald
for a thousand days!

© Candice W. Coghill, October, 2011 

As prompted by "Poetic Asides": 

Writer's Digest-Robert Lee Brewer-Wednesday Prompts - "Disguises"

Random Fall Thoughts

Now playing in our South Florida Playhouse

is a theatrical production repeated each year

to rave reviews: The Season

Act I, Scene 1:  Summer slowly, begrudgingly

exits stage left.... she has had her shining

moments, but the curtain is almost down

on her very long act.

Waiting impatiently in the wings, peeping

now and again through the curtain,

is Fall, the Coquette....

Act I, Scene 2: Under the first full moon,

Fall swirls onto center stage, 

her russet skirts around her legs,

the rustling wind causing the palms to sway

as if finally blowing away

the last remnants of heat and humidity.

Then, a smile on her burgundy-glossed lips,

she summons the cool breezes ...

and she teases.

From within the orchestra pit,

merchants respond with the opening tunes

of their seasonal songs: "Summer Wares

Now on Clearance" follows 

"Final Markdown!" and finally

"New for Fall!"

At intermission, sweaters and

long-sleeved polos and 

pumpkins and candy for Halloween

fill the aisles, competing

for smiles with hints of

Thanksgiving and Christmas.

In South Florida, the changing

season brings with it "the Season,"

when the annual migration of 

northerners and mid-westerners

and Canadians swells the year-'round

population, clogs the highways

and fills the restaurants, 

and we give thanks not only for

the turkey, but also for the

great money-bringing snowbird.

The Autumn of my childhood days

is a fond memory of burning leaves, 

and tall-stalk fields of gold and orange maize

we called Indian Corn.... a time of

running and abandon, free

from adult cares. 

We made our costumes for Halloween

then, no need for anything but

imagination and some simply-gathered

goods, some of Mom's make-up, and

perhaps a store-bought mask.  Our

tricks were innocent, our treat bags

were pillow cases that were over-filled

by evening's end.

Then the days became shorter, and slowed,

the countdown to my November

birthday endless.... And, somewhere in

between my Day and Turkey Day,

there would arrive the wondrous 

Sears and Roebuck

Christmas Catalog, a book for

making lists,

a book for dreamers.

It is Fall once again, 

and here I am....

dreaming.

© Candice W. Coghill, October, 2011 

Photographs taken in the Shenandoah Valley courtesy of Sandra Langdon-Wilson

Being Present in Hope

(As prompted by Sunday Scribblings)


B urdened by fears, by quixotic
E lements appearing out of nowhere,
I  wrestle against these dominating and
N egative feelings that trample and
G ouge their way through my mind....

P  erhaps,  I think, I should no longer
R oll with the proverbial punches, no longer
E ven consider that there are other
S omewheres, other
E ventualities.... Then,
N o! I re-think, and I
T ake hold of my spirit, for

I   know that I will allow
N othing, not even this pain, to

H obble my dreams. I can
O vercome anything!  And so, I
P  ersist, and again, I
E ndure.


© Candice W. Coghill, October, 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

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, http://www.josephinewall.co.uk/phoenix.html

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,
despicable,
reprehensible
and incomprehensible behavior
rising
and falling,
as unfettered impulses
rebound between
established lines in the sand,
reverberating
and reflecting what lies within:
hungry predators,
insatiable,
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
consumed.
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: http://herondance.imagekind.com/store/imagedetail.aspx/d1b9742b-0a8a-4c60-912e-3dae28739675/Two_Egrets_Detail

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
X to forever mark the spot called Ground Zero.

© Candice W. Coghill, September, 2011