Nothing is always a hard and fast rule or outcome
we cannot predict as well as we might think
divining over two sticks to find the source
I know this as I know my own heartbeat
for myself and many others
not having children makes you hold onto yourself too much
you value the debris and memories and fixtures of your past
with emotional microscope, unable to grow beyond reflection
as if they were your child’s blanket, your child’s first tooth
you look at self portraits
feeling the emotion a little less of love approximating love
self-love isn’t always narcissism
it reduces however like a sauce
until there is less than more
while loving another expands
until it lifts us off our feet and sends us into the air
that kind of love frees us from preoccupation
obsessing and writing ourselves over and over
this is my life, this is my dog, this is how I am, look at me!
your gaze shifts to another, you learn how little you matter
how to open yourself up, love someone else without end
suddenly you are not important and unconditional is
it is funny to imagine my mother knowing this more than I
it is sad to think she was a mother and we do not have that in common
she has walked where I will never walk
and though it was hard for her to accept
she knows more from having been than I ever will
I who still hold onto, my own memories of me
the only child who wasn’t meant to thrive
living up to her proportion
not obsession or self-love but a lack of other
diminishment in legacy
there will be no follow-up
no future after I am dust
the line will simply close
like it was cauterised and sealed, never having existed
at times I feel I owe those in the past
something more than quiet death
or history forgotten and emptied
dressing corpses with semblance
but I have nothing more to offer
no search for fame or history
I am simply myself
who at the close of day will inherit the sum
all who came before, all who will not carry on
an envelope licked and sealed
sent away to the dead letter depot
I look at my hands they are empty and long
I think they look wistful as the feeling inside of me does
if I could stop considering myself
hording small memories in tight boxes
holding on because if I let go
there is just an empty glass
neither half full nor half emptied
gone is the liquid of the future
I am it … this is all
now
and it feels disquieting
wrong at times
to be the last of my kind
I think of how it will only grow stronger
as they die and I remain
watching memories like old films damaged by time
this may seem bleak but if you stand solitary
watching the entire world play out their multiplication
like a concert with different scenes and costumes
you feel yourself evaporating knowing there is nothing more
no heaven for the empty. no hell for the sinner
and purgatory
is here on earth surely
I suppose that’s why I do what I can
now
sometimes that is not possible because
my heart is wrapped in butchers paper and thick with sorrow
a doom perhaps, just a shadow of future
when I am strong enough I stir and reach
when I am weak I stay so still air is louder than me
at times I do not exist though I live
I am just a poor transfer
a smudge of a fingerprint left on glass in an empty house
vanquished of plan
what will I do when they depart?
how will I cope being the last?
it was my intention to gather other lives around me
a blanket of DNA my home-grown spun family
nature didn’t permit such outcome, possibly
with our inheritance this was less cruel
than leaving children to grow into
miniature versions of disease’s burden
the curse and the lightning of uncertainty
mental illness heating mercury
like fevered flag
some would say, abuse ends
when there are no more left to collect
it is a relief to think of sleeping undisturbed
unaware of beginning and end
but at night I admit
sometimes that terrible fear curls around my neck
and I remember being a child
alone in the dark
knowing one day
it will be
permanent
as I am
the last
TheFeatheredSleep 
I think the word barren comes to mind xx. I don’t have any words. You blow me away. Everytime. LOVED your collab with Charlie x
Daisy, I didn’t think I could write a poem with Charlie since we are so different as writers, the next one I challenged him to write like me (evil cackle) he’s really good to write with. Thank you for reading this. This is exactly how I feel it puts into real words my exact feelings, I know it’s a bit ‘me me’ but yeah, it needed to be. Thank you for reading it – I appreciate that and barren s exactly right. xo
This is so beautiful and full and deep like an ocean.
My dearest, SwordSister. You are one of my favorite jewels in this dark and damaged world. This resonates with my soul. Sometimes I feel like I may have made the wrong choice in the path I walk in this life. Sometimes it feels like other lifetimes of mine were so much more interesting. so much more “worthy” of an existence. It feels like, a lot of times, that I am not leaving a mark here…and as you point out, I often wonder what I will leave for my family when I am gone and they continue on.
We are wordsmiths. and as such we will leave behind these things that we create with letters and syntax. So I try and take solace in the possibility that I have touched lives beyond my immediate responsibilities. Possibly in doing so, I might have sparked inspiration in the heart of someone who will remember where that flame came from. So in that, perhaps I leave a larger legacy behind.
And perhaps one day that person will remark to one of my children, that their father inspired them to achieve something they really wanted. Maybe that is a grander “mark” to leave on the Universe.
I can tell you, that you have left such a mark with me. And even though you might be the last of your line, your ideas and your spirit can find a future home in those who have read your words, as I have, and have found truth there.
All my love, Dearest Lady. ❤
For some it is about larger legacy, for you it’s about being a good person and living up to your word and that’s why I respect you so much and your opinion. For me it’s about knowing I will not (leave anything) and the fear of being alone at the end, (though we all are when we die in some form but you know what I mean) I also think your kids WILL DEFINITELY think and say that as your grandchildren will and that is GOOD because you are gifting them your own insights and strength. It carries on through the ages. I suppose that’s what I will miss out on, which is okay I think my fear is more that I will stand alone at the end, but I need to just deal. Thank you for your kindness and support. In a world of fakes you are real.
Thank you. It was VERY hard to write. I suppose I’m going through that ‘writing very hard things’ period because I feel I’m close to ending this blog in terms of writing regularly (I feel I have a finite number of things to say, especially in poem form, I have written so much) and I will go on to do something else – so these hardest things necessarily are coming out and I appreciate you appreciating them!
You may not be a mother in the way of carrying a child inside of your body but you do “mother” to many in your writing and your compassion and your nurturing way.
On one hand, I will miss your regular presence but am excited to see what comes next for you. There is so much inside of you
Bethany, that’s such a lovely thing to say, I never cry but I almost did reading that. Thank you. I wasn’t writing this for nice comments as you know, but getting one sort of makes it worth the struggle of writing it! Thank you. I can understand what you mean by this, it’s not something I ever thought of before and it does help and will help to consider things in that way. I wish you were nearer I would give you such a big smile and thank you so much for those words of yours.
So very beautiful! You’re children are eternal and will outlast us all. Your words imprinting your motherhood on our hearts, C.
Eric– That is so beautifully put on every level. You and Candice are shining stars in the heavens, reminding us always that we are more than momentary flashes in the night sky. Words are gifts that you both present with in beautiful, elegant, eternal ways.
I have always felt that way. That you don’t have to carry a child to be a mother. I have known many who have carried their children and I would not even consider a mother. And yet there are those who mother in the way of their words that comfort others in a way one would hope a mother would provide. I am sure that was a struggle to write that poetry and I know you never write for comments. I don’t either. I just send it out there pretty much, the thoughts of my inner self that I sometimes don’t even share with those right next to me. But you do evoke strong feelings when you write. And sometimes those words connect and give understanding that my own mother did not.
I rarely cry too. When I do it is because someone really touches my heart with true understanding or I allow myself to feel that inner wound that I rarely let myself feel because then I cry for days sometimes.
I wish you were nearer too. I would totally accept that smile!
I feel grief-stricken about it but it doesn’t feel right anymore
I truly believe that if we can be still and silent we can hear what the universe (our gut?) is trying to tell us.
Candice, I believe there to be something noble and majestic about being the last. If you look back over history, there have been millions of lasts. The last mammoth. The last samurai. The last T-Rex. The last knight. You signify change, and sum up all that has come before. Be not ashamed or afraid; it is who you are. This is the destiny laid upon you. I think you wear it with honor and dignity.
I’m chocked. You, and this, following on from Candice…you guys are both too much and I’m seeing things from both your perspectives but mainly, I’m awed by your ability (both of you) to look in and express so beautifully such intense thoughts
It is really good to hear from you. I like your perspective, it’s not one I had considered. I’m coming to the end of social media and writing, my heart is heavy with this but it feels like it has to happen. You are right though about ‘lasts’ there is sadness and something real at least, and that sums me up. Sadness and real. I am afraid, but I’m not ashamed.
Thanks dear one. I am coming to the end of everything including writing and social media so I want to ensure I go out with truth.
Sadly i agree. I’m not a fan of the message I received but that doesn’t mean I won’t listen to it.
I can’t even bear to read this. Let alone think about it
Deeply, deeply beautiful.
I agree about some mothers not being .. what I describe a mother could or should feel, definitely. I also agree some without children can be this too but typically I see most without children as not growing in the same way it’s so apparent it’s almost shocking. I admire your honesty in a world that really tries to shut honesty down you seem to always speak it and that is really, really needed.
Who knows what’s behind curtain number 3? You may be a fan in the end.
You cannot stop writing my friend. Your voice is too important.
You didn’t tell me that you feel like the writing itself doesn’t feel right anymore! I cannot believe that the universe wants to silence your writing voice my love. You tell truth for too many who are voiceless, you give hope too many despair, your bring too much light to the darkness for the universe to be able to afford that loss.
Wow Candice! This one left me in tears. So beautiful and heartbreaking. Your writing is magic ❤
I am left breathless after reading this, so much emotion and depth of pain. Thank you for stopping by my blog today, I feel humbled by the loss you bear and I pray a blessing of legacy for your life.
Thank you dear Liberty for reading my poem and leaving your kind and much appreciated comment. Yes this was a hard truth, verbalizing it may help! xo
Thank you so much this was very hard to write, too much exposed truth, maybe those are the ones we really do need to write though 🙂 (thank you)
It doesn’t feel right because looking back on my gigantic sum of writing I feel i’ve written as much as any poet I admire and within that sum I have written everything I wanted to write and there is no more, I guess that’s what I mean, there just is no more. I know I’m shutting down, it frightens me in a way, but I also feel it’s right. I have spoken and said, I haven’t got more, sometimes we need to know when it’s time to stop.
I have found healing in writing after sorrow, but not completely. Life is a slow process of pain and joy, there’s always more to learn!
My dear, dear friend…we are like bookends, identical in many ways, holding in place stories of what was, what is, and what could have been but for cruel twists of fate beyond our control. I know it’s not the same, but perhaps in a way your poems are your children, your emotional, intellectual, spiritual offspring… your legacy to the world. I know it’s a feeble substitute, and I respect & understand how you are feeling right now from the perspective that I will never have that transformational experience myself, having a life partner and children of my own, and I know the feelings that stem from that realization. I realize it’s different for a man in that we don’t carry and nurture that life in our bodies… but many of the emotions about family and raising children are the same, at least for me. Not sure where I’m going with this except to say I really understand and i will always be here for you my dear friend ღ
Its funny– I only write about what I WANT to write about occasionally. The vast majority of what I write is what I NEED to write about. It comes from deep within and I often don’t know exactly where it is going. Somethings I don’t understand what I was really writing about until I go back and look at it later. Is there nothing left to say or is what’s left raw, chaotic, unknown?
I think so… they feel the most therapeutic for me. ❤
You write so beautiful it is Mesmerizing
SMiLes.. my FriEnd
wRite something that
makes you cry.. easier
sAid than dOne of course i
kNoW.. moRE FeeL and SeNse
at a loss for tears myself for 5 years..
A Beloved Cat dies
then at five years
surprisingly glad
to be alive
myself
after
he goes down
and then the tear
at a gym that finally
brings strength back to
my legs and renewed creativity
more than ever before and groWinG..
My First attempt at really writing long
term was to escape pain and now it is
for a Transcendent Ecstatic River Stream
experience similar to that of Free Verse Dance..
the rhythm of the eARTh are in the beats of the
Keyboard and the Melody of the Golden Spiral
oF aLL of eXistence are in the
strokes my
Friend as
essence becomes
form on page.. and this
is both strange and magical
with hints of the potential only
two times before in my life in short
short spurts of writing and a long form
Piano Song i composed as my emotions
were struggling to stay with an 11 Minutes
and 22 Seconds Song i later titled “Nautilus”..
and “Challenging Alexithymia” where emotions
no longer synch with words.. in cognitive way
of both mechanical and social empathic
cognition.. so.. i just finished my own
personal bible effort of 1.579
million words in 11
months and
22 days
as that
synchs with
the original Piano
Version of my soUL
in many other dimensions
of art in words and visuals too..
and yes,, music too.. although i borrow
from those who specialize in that area
as i cannot do it all and the trans
humanist tools starting with
the written word and
now accelerating
as Moore’s Law
hehe.. if that can keep
up with my current state
oF A Fredenstein BRain.. is
was are paths and avenues to liGht
A Journey more.. anyWAy.. the point i am
MaKinG is it would have never been possible
if i had not learned to harness the power of a tear
in all things sad and grief to jetiSoN NoW toward WilL
and Strength more my friEnd.. nah.. i am not suggesting
go out and buy a cat or dog and put them down when that
reality comes to make a tear real.. but seriously i would have
traded the close to 6 million words i wrote before that tear since
Thanks Giving Day of 2010 as that tear came in April of 2013 for
JUST ONE TEAR.. and i did my friEnd and the rest is MaGiC that
Never ends.. an Olympic Event of Life but never the less magic in
a never ending story.. each miNd.. each HeART.. each SpiRiT and
ReAL Flesh and Blood soUL in Quantum Synergistic MaKInG HUmaN
liGht iN ExpreSSinG that Force and Power of HuMaN EmoTioNs and Greater
senSes IS A Miracle of liFe as Star Death Burst Resurrection coMes Crucible FiRe sTAr
DuST SenTieNT PlUS uS NoW WaLKinG upRight STanDinG tALL InFiniTy Breathes now
And Dances and Sings now.. iN what ONLY Moon Rocks Sleep at Night.. in OtHeR words..
the greATest GiFT are dreAMs and the StuFF of FruiTioN that makes them real iN MoVinG..
ConNecTinG CreATinG way of HeArT and SpiRit and MiNd and BoDy BaLanCinG soUL More..
things is.. my FriEnd.. without a Tear all is empty shells as far as i know of what i did not feel and
sense before.. does that apply to all others in the terms and fine print of human conditions.. not
likely and perhaps not for you but from what i experience i can only suggest a potential way that
you decide
to cry a Stream..
a River and beCoMe
A wAVe as Ocean wHOle
LoVe as GiVing and ShARinG
but you see my FriEnd.. the best
pArT oF aLL is YouR HuManiTy
iN your struggle of dARk that
most humans are engaged
in now as DarKEr
Breathe and
Dance
And SonG is liGht
enough to iNspire all oF
this and that’s how the story
goes.. sometimes the feathered
sleep Breathes and Dances and Sings
beyond what she knows and feels and senses now..
so rest sweetly my dear and if nothing else cry a tear for me..
And please don’t delete your blog until i at least get an opportunity to catch up..
and sure
you’ll
kNow
by the
foot prints of like.. swirling around heAR..
And.. i’LL go NoW by the SonG oF mY soUL..
There is an actual.. Psychiatric Disorder that
reflects 12 Million words written in 78 months
now.. hehe.. that you missed so far in your Mental
Health Month wonderful analysis my fRiend and that
is one of Hypergraphia.. the stuff of Lewis Carol and others
too.. my Psychiatrist offered the pleasure of Epilepsy Drugs
to curtail these words.. and somehow he missed the paRt now of
Transcendent Ecstatic Bliss IN the Heaven of Now.. and that’s how
it goes with Mechanical Cognition my friEnd as a potential Eclipse
of the heARt i turn aRound BriGht eYes and Dance And SinG Longer than ever now..
Lesson of Hell.. Reward oF A Tear iN Heaven.. And Thanks my friENd for the gift of YOU..
i’ve been told
i have the gift
of bringing tears
to people.. i did and
do my best mY friEnd..
for i’ve seen the DArk SoUL
Year multiplied by 5 and more..
i never had any idea my greatest desire
was IS A tear until it cAMe and brought LiFe..
and now i do my beST to BrinG SMiLes as
SmiLes
Do Flow
from tEars..
aS WeLL as words
TSuNaMi Style too..;)
Candice, I can’t tell you how much this meant to me. I’m the last too. No children, no nieces and nephews, only distant cousins I have never met. I’m leaving nothing behind when I go and it’s a very disconcerting feeling – one whose weight is getting heavier the older I get. I hope your next endeavor whatever that may be, will bring you joy. 💜
Sisters♡
I also want you to know that my heart goes out to you. I’m sorry you are hurting. You radiate so much love, not just in your writing, but also in your connections with others and for me, I know that you are always on my side, supporting and encouraging and it means the world to me ❤
This is heart breaking though you are strong Feather
Candice, you are the best. I know you are going to say no, but you just say so much with each piece. I always get left wanting more of you, your emotions and your marvelous art
It really worked and well. Yeah, Charlie come over to this side he ha 😉🤗
Sweet! ❤️
As one journey ends, another begins. In the cupse of the ‘tweens lies the grief of losses endured and the hopes of the joys to come.
Baring the Soul is cathartic, scary, healing – like jumping off a cliff into the unknown abyss. You will soar wherever you go once you find your wings for you are a *feathered friend* xx
Memories never exist for anyone beyond the last one that they shared them with. My father died when I was 19 and now his wife is gone and his three children are aging and will be gone someday and once they are NO ONE will remember a single thing about our family life or what we shared. We may have told tales about them and shared stories but that’s only our perception of them. All lives are temporal and one day all is gone of the dust of their lives. But Candice in our interactions with others, like a pebble in a pond that keeps moving in ever widening circles, our lives make an impact regardless if we have offspring. After my father died, my mom’s widowed and childless sister sold her house and built on to moms, and lived with her until she died att 89. And everybody in my whole family and those of my sisters as well as all our friends knows about our Aunt Johnnie who was one of the most memorable people who has ever live and the impact she had on all our lives is still measurable today. Also we never really got to spend much time with our grandparents as we were growing up in California, but my mom’s dad’s brother and his childess wife live two door down from us and became our surrogate grandparents as it were. And I and my sisters have never and could never have loved two people any more they. It has been 60 years since we left there and there’s seldom a day that goes by that I don’t think of them and wish they were still here! Like Aunt Johnnie, I’ve never known people who made such a difference in my life, and truth be known, I preferred their company to my mother’s most of the time. So NO ONE is wasted, NO LIFE is wasted, NO STORY is wasted, NO SHARED EXPERIENCES are wasted. EVER!!!!! Je t’aime, Natalie
PS. I still weep when talking of these people. 🙂 ❤
This is so poignant
Reblogged this on Art by Rob Goldstein and commented:
from Candice Louisa Daquin
Oh Candice, I just read your facebook post and then ‘The Last’ and felt shocked. Your amazing writing would be sorely missed. I just wrote a long piece then deleted it because all I really want to say is don’t give up on writing completely. As I’m sure you know, it can be so cathartic and I’m sure there will be things in the future that will hit a nerve and you will just have put it all into words. From all the lovely comments you have had, it just shows how highly thought of you are. Hope you’re okay xxx
Beautiful and poignant ! Some time last year there was a book written by a young neuro surgeon, ” When Breath Becomes Air”. His wife finished the book for him. You are blessed with the awemazing talent of being a keen observer and being able to craft a writing which is younique to only you. I can’t imagine the number of lives touched by your writing. Your personal writings affect people deeply. Very few poets and authors have your level of courage and compassion and talent. Thank you for sharing your gifts. Gifts which produce literary gems….each one so valuable because it is one of a kind and should be treasured.
You will always have my deep respect, C. I don’t want you to go, but I understand that you must follow wherever your path leads you. It’s yours alone, and no one else can know the right way.