Fog

Light

Sieved from sky

Silence save the clock

False time

Gregorian or

Are you real?

Was it yesterday?

You told me and I believed

Using the last of my faith

Conserved for this

Waste

Blown down empty highways

Back to silence and strangers

Not my mother’s face

Someone I don’t recognize

How I wish it were her

With all my longing

Still

You cannot

Create worlds

From dust and indifference

It is cold

Without you

Telling me I matter

Validation

Shouldn’t

Be necessary

Yet oh it is

When you are alone

Listening to clocks

Tick down to menopause

The things undone

Lay without stitch

On cold tile

My cat is beneath earth

My car is sold

The seat still warm

Where I cradled your shining head

The smell of roses

Losing their petals

A crucifixion

Pull up your tights and

Leave the empty bedroom

The single pillow

Stark against

Inexplicable

I remember the taste of your mouth

The feel of your fingers

And I am hollow

A prayer lost

For disbelievers

I am

Made to say goodbye

To all I love

Even the hummingbird

No longer comes

Even your hairbrush

When the door closed

Even years later with roles reversed

No daughter to shun

No one

To blame

I wanted only something

Already leaving

Catch the last train

If you can

They never clean

The fog

From the windows

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A soft closing of words – Candice Louisa Daquin

My latest poem for Whisper & the Roar.

Whisper and the Roar

When you are younger, everything is a challenge

I will not let them break me / I will fight back / I will survive!

as you get older you see

or you hear

or maybe it’s just a sense

in the air

or a turning of

light

changing

clenching your heart

sorrow wells up

a pool from nowhere

upon which you see

no reflection

only the insubstantial flickering

of someone

trying to survive

skate even

on cracking surface

too thin for the weight of

all those doubts

shadows without names

time piled high

playing broken records

and though you skate fast

and nimbly

there is numbness in your effort

as if you wish to finally be

caught

submerged

ice leaching your hot discontent

with page turned days

and ironed nights

into a drowning

of all the pain captured and glazed

within your center

where no-one looks

because adults are not

View original post 488 more words

Candice Louisa Daquin Reviews John Biscello’s Arclight

My review of John Biscello’s poetry book Arclight, available now.

INDIE BLU(E)

What an incredible and irreplaceable collection. John Biscello has already earned his stripes with the first poem in his book Arclight. Biscello has that very rare quality of being a natural born poet. His use of words is so sublime and striking, it has the power to cast into shade, most other poets. Such is his radiance, I find the consideration of light for the subject matter of this book to be very apropos. Biscello understands words and language, his mind is vast and deep and he is able to mine the very depths and bring to the surface language that takes your breath away. It has been a very long time since I have sat quietly entranced by a poet. Usually, we dip and feel certain poems acutely but for the entire experience to sweep us into silence, where nothing we say in response could ever articulate the…

View original post 215 more words

Some other movement

They say only the very young

who are tender of heart

will remember to wait

long beyond

what is sensible

and this I know is false

for I am on my third

packet of tissues

and have heard every song

the radio cycles

even those we used to dance to

clumsy and hungry for

some other movement

your hands finding my waist

as they always have and

the delight of your fingers against

my skin

I was and am

a creature of longing

because of you

no more bound to my human disguise

than the hummingbird

who with winter

succumbed to our dreams

and the rain falling today is not

a harbinger or totem

it is the rain we kept inside

when words would not do

and tears had exhausted chaffed cheeks

so accustomed to smiling

when you rounded the corner

waving until your hand reached mine

and we ran headlong and urgent

shedding the costume of girls

painting feathers and moonshine

finding gems in the crease and fold

of each others desire

you gave me a brush

made of horse hair and

I dropped pearls along your clavical

from my deep swim of you

in shade we float

night lilies, roots wrapped around

the other

open for a time only long enough

to speak through our kisses

the rage of separation

softened against

this knowing stillness

breathing against the other

where could you go?

far enough

to have mislaid

your certainty

it is only ever us

nothing more needed

seek a name

we have written ours

into the very fabric of

sky

Where you once turned

Without you I am a blank erased space

emptied of misletoe

I am the weed that grows fitfully from concrete

without nourishment I survive

but survival is too great a word for what I do

enduring time like chewing tobacco

to be masticated and spat

black and stinking on unsullied

surface

you are the spark within me

I used to have many years ago

a key I misplaced

perhaps I hung it from a tree I was climbing

and it was simply lost

though I suspect

the key drowned

fell to the bottom of the lake

and was unreachable

glittered as it did from the depths

my own hand claimed

by weeds and gravity

the need to be lost in that

murmuring ache

I saw the key once in a while

sparkling from below and for a few hours, maybe a day

I could pretend briefly like a long drink

I was wearing scarlet tights again and you were

pushing me in the shopping cart

my cheeks red with laughter

the rings on your fingers counting down the days

until we cut our hair and sealed ourselves inside

envelopes to nowhere

you were always better at

pretending there was a point

I did not know how to

make things grow in my garden

with you absent

the moon even

an eclipsing reminder

of those waning moments

before the storm

so still the skies

so hush the trees

like velvet inhabited nature

a majesty of peace

I closed my eyes feeling

the length of your slim arm

a pulse behind our skin

like neon lights left flickering

long after dark

your eyes reflected against

deep pools of water and gathered

tears all emotion spent and real

something sincere in every ushered

appreciation of you

even as I am the only one

still paying attention

for you are staring out of windows

watching migrating birds

cross colorless skies

they are heading away

and you wish

for something to stir

the calm opiate within

your spare and unheated room

feel something

again

turning to stone

slow and grave like visitors to a wake

sometimes it feels like preparation for

our own funeral

yet there is life still

catching and flickering

the smell of sulfur

the sound of laughing

when we knew nothing and we knew one thing

the resound of the other

making music in

all we touched

and you touched me

deeply and with the earnest of

something bound not to last

for a flame is most beautiful

when it is fragile and almost

gives out

lighting darkness and ourselves

just enough

until it is not

and there is cold again

in our cupped hands

beseeching the void

where you once turned

and all the world existed

in the love from your eyes

Again

In despair we lie respectively

in darkness surrounding

the space between us could be

one room

a continent

it feels as if, it were to yawn

the entirety would dissolve

and nothing beneath us, or above us

would exist but the sensation of falling

without end

in a starless void

it is the bind of you and I

who give color and sight to this blind time

where foes are found in family and

lovers amongst strangers, when

boats remain docked a day too long

on blighted shore

you take your injury and you wash it clean of memory

like a flag that has seen the gore of war

holding it over our heads we run

between rain storms for dry land

only to slip in quick sand

mindful

nothing you escape from, is truly gone

till it is faced head on

I turn and remember

days past where things were simpler

hate a long way off

love offered easy

children are often tricked into thinking

the pretend life, is the real thing

they grow naive and wanting

like early vines without vintage

shocked when those nurturing trees

turn hollow with disgust

disappointed in themselves, the

calcification of time as it

clogs up dreams with infernal regularity

it is said, youth is wasted on the young

I did not find that so

when falling back to earth

I found your heart beneath a river

beating for me

as I soon followed

keening for you

two parts of one stone

turned to blood

coloring water with intention

if I walked a 100 miles

the mirage forming, on tired road

would have your voice, your silhouette

the certainty of that

gives me weight enough to tread

one foot in front of the other

until somehow you find me

again

That warm light

She grew used to hunger

til it became a language to delve into

the ache a reminder

she once lived

the gnaw a shadow

of a former self

kneeling for prayer, her arms beneath the moon

in swaying movement

that moment elongated like youth

thinking she’d live forever

eternity her dance partner

even then

she did not need sustaining

no warm glass of something to forget the ghosts

they were not yet powerful enough

and meal time was a delicacy of suggestion

fruiting in her eyes

as she undid her zip

the slow fall and hiss of clothes

finding purchase in gravity’s collapse

she stood before you bare and empty handed

your eyes on her, hot and smiling

causing her to

light up like she were composed of a 100 watts

shining because you regarded her

nothing else was necessary

not even a meal in her empty stomach

unaware one day, many years hence

she would need the strength of eating

something whole and solid

to keep herself upright

now that you

had switched off and taken away

that warm light