An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

At one point it was okay to pretend that everything was going to be all right. The blinders have been lifted things are real. Reality has hit and history has repeated. I see a possible bonfire my kids' futures suddenly turn to ash and slip through my fingers but I refuse to give up I refuse to give in But I will not curl up and die. There are still good people in this world We need to stick together. The dawn will rise once more.

Three in the morning too late to sleep, lie there or will you get up? So many worries what will happen tomorrow? Will things be all right? It all feels for naught when all you see are dark clouds. Brace for the sunshine. Look out the window And the world is still asleep And all is quiet. Then the sky is born Rosy pink light in the East Chase all the fear away. The impact you make might not be felt for a while. Keep doing good things.

The Spirit is Willing but the Hands won't work So many ideas put on hold. Playing scenarios in my head black and white, like a noir film forgotten. Heating pads like oven mitts I hold a steaming cup of chai between frozen fingers Pencils lay unused the Muse cries out for attention I tell Her to wait. Ink runs dry dust collects on the letters that need to be answered. Thoughts chase in circles Needing to write, write, write but fingers cry out for rest. Tender Loving Care and the knowledge that the Body just knows what's best.

The first of November the morning is already colorless and grey It's like flipping a switch suddenly winter has already gained a foothold. There is one thing that shatters the illusion it's still seventy degrees Hardly crisp brisk weather don't need the sweaters or the heavy jackets yet. A month and a half until Christmas chimes in but the weather is like spring. I stand on the porch the winds are picking up but it hardly feels like autumn. It's contradictory makes me wonder how the world is changing.

Raindrops quiver at the edge of clouds like tears being held back by pure force of will. The sun has abandoned the skies above for greener pastures and more cheerful views. Grey clouds as the seasons turn warmth chased out by cooler winds and life fades leaving grave markers behind. The veil between the worlds thins for just this one time look between time and space open your heart and mind. What secrets can you learn what knowledge can you acquire even as the night finally succumbs and cries in cold rain.

The miracle drink that helps me push through the day. Through the sniffles and the fatigue and the ringing on the phone. On a cold autumn morning when it is quiet and still contemplating over a single cup. The very aroma takes me back late nights grading papers. In a cafe watching the customers sketching their lives. It's 2 A.M the baby refuses to sleep it becomes a much-needed ally. Mug in hand I somehow work through this heavy fatigue Tonic of the Goddess locked in a handful of beans I depend on this kindness.

Quiet days perpetual coffee in warm mugs just me and my boy he keeps his spirits up even while he has a cough and the yucks but his smile always brightens my day. Not your typical young adult he sees the world with fresh eyes and is able to get around an electronic landscape he loves to draw and write his thoughts even when he has trouble putting them together. A toddler in an adult's body and days can be challenging but he has a good heart and he quietly keeps being himself.

The road to chaos is not smooth, of course it is bumpy unpaved and fraught with monsters. Days of detours bridges closed snowstorms cave ins sinkholes You can only carry only so many spare tires or jump so many batteries before your car decides to give up the ghost. Run down motels in the questionable part or town cheap food at the local greasy spoon barely enough to live on. Moods from the high highs to the low lows. A pendulum that swings without warning or concern. Happy laughter to frustrated screams that turn on a dime. You wonder how others manage the trip with smooth sailing when your own journey is fraught with anger and frustration.

Low stakes Low maintenance: "Don't worry about it. I'll take what you don't want." Always there Always dependable Willing to lend a helping hand Drop things at a moment's notice. The right words The right procedure People have to know We need a paper trail. Never rocking the boat Never do the unexpected A quiet life A peaceful existence. The day the mainstay collapses The day the support isn't there what will you do only then you feel the loss.

Chipping away at the old block In the Valley of Despair in the Shadow of Doubt. Can't go forward Can't go back thanks to this boulder in the way. If you look beneath the surface you see words chiseled there: you'll never be as good as them. The dying light highlights more text what's the use of it all you'll only fail. All I have is a single pencil the point blunted and flat chipping away at the stone. Suddenly a gift box lands at my feet. It's labeled "TNT for you and me." The sticks bear names written in gold the names of friends. I laugh and light them up they sparkle like candles on a rather forbidding cake. The sight is spectacular as the block crumbles away flung to the four corners of the world. The path is now clear going forward will not be easy there will be more rocks in the way. No one can surmount this alone sometimes you need a push or a box of explosives.

I'm starting on a blank canvas. Pristine, untouched prepared with loving hands. The brush touches the surface there's no going back. Flaws and perfection accident and true design evolving in the moment. Colors swirl and take shape forms appear before my eyes. I've learned to let the muse take hold and guide my hand. Plans never last longer than a fleeting moment. The bare bones in my mind's eye the details become clear at that very minute that very second. It all comes together without my conscious effort to get in the way.

"God doesn't give you more than He thinks you can handle." There are days where His confidence in me is sorely misplaced. If I had to describe my video game avatar I would use these words: overwhelmed underpowered and grossly mid-tier. My fairy godmother would shake her head and go: "Girl, you need a vacation or at least a few martinis at a beach resort somewhere." If I had a few more hours in the day or a few more lives through the years I just might be able to get things done then again I might not.

Get yourself out there Be consistent Interact with others Make connections Speak, write, comment Find your tribe Hone your craft Practice the rules then break them in a way that makes it all seem brand new. But it takes effort It takes patience It takes time. Laying the groundwork for something long term can be difficult heartbreaking frustrating No one seems to notice it seems that you are out there in a vacuum. Why do you do this? Is it worth reaching out only to find silence? How long does it take? Why should I make the first step? The instinct to withdraw to insulate from hurt is understandable. But to turn wish into reality is not an easy thing: close your eyes and leap.

Twice a year spring to autumn and back again the changing of the guard. Shorts and warm weather dresses packed away sweaters and jeans and jackets back in style. A year in review months of memories clothes that no longer fit in the bags for donation. Soft woolen sweaters comfortable jeans worn dependable hoodies sturdy soled boots Favorite time of the year when the weather cools down wrapped up in blankets turn on the fireplace. Pumpkins and turkeys fallen leaves and dried potpourri holiday lights and cinnamon candles welcome the dusk of the year.

Straight from summer into autumn from eighty nine to forty five the thermometer is confused. Winds blow under a perfect blue sky I need to auto defrost the windows of my car first time this season. Cold comes late or early depending on what you're used to break out the sweaters put away the tropical shirts. Order hot coffee cider and tea a drink to warm up the old bones and take away the shivers. My joints protest but I've always loved this time of year when the leaves turn color and the campfires burn bright.

Can't see the show? Watch it in the comfort of your own house. By yourself or with a friend Turn the lights down low volume as loud as you want pause the performance skip the parts you don't like And if you don't care for it go back and find one that better suits your tastes! No pesky cell phones no annoying audience chatter. An experience where you set the rules and enjoy in comfort. Did you like this? Find others similar to it you might stumble over a gem you never knew existed. Or change the tone a drama instead of a musical a documentary or a horror flick maybe the latest installment maybe the hidden cult classic. In any case don't worry about being disappointed or raging over the discourtesy of others in a communal viewing this is a tailor-made bundle for you alone!

Handcrafted each stitch tells a story each color shows emotion Shuttles whisper in firelight gnarled hands tease out the knots fringes combed out smooth. Hardly a lost art just not seen as much not as vital as it used to be. Quiet chatter in circles gossip and relationship advice old passing stories to the young. Can there be a revival of those long forgotten days different fabrics sewn whole again?

Work around the needs of others plan every minute keep an eye on the time Shuffle appointments unexpected phone calls it needs to be addressed right now. Explain that being flexible doesn't mean being able to drop what I'm doing immediately for them. Too much sacrifice thoughts on the back burner praise for due diligence scorn for not enough. Stay up at night the only time I am able to breathe deeply and be myself for once.

Thirty degrees between dawn and dusk Mercury soars to sink back down again. Breaths not constant from minute to minute A piece of joyous news to a tragic accident. Heartbeat irregular up a flight of stairs seeing a long awaited friend sitting at rest. Moods swing no food since this morning traffic backed up for miles a riotous hilarious joke. Spark of life uneven walk the floors between the nursery of new life and the hospice of the old.

My muse with clipped wings swings her brush from between the bars of her cage. Canvases steeped in darkness never to be seen by anyone in the light. An expression of madness caused by too many voices suddenly made silent fair weather friends. A scarred heart only half healed hidden away in order to not be hurt again. Her precious children dripping with hope and courage no longer for auction no longer for promotion. Perhaps if you are sincere and don't arrive just to leave again you can see their colors.

The turkey vulture stares at me sitting in the middle of the road hovering over its roadkill malice in its eyes daring me to inch even closer tires to the road. Most times they fly awayPoem this one did not. Defiance written beak snapped shut in complete disapproval. Two others stand on the sidewalk as if silently cheering on this rather odd standoff. In the middle of this rather pristine neighborhood a battle of wits is taking place. This is no squirrel darting in the middle of the road in a moment of suicidal impulse. It is deliberate defiant threatening. I don't want your lunch but I won't wait for your approval. Until finally it saunters off secure in its kingdom a victor in its mind and all I feel is bemusement.

Scribbles on paper marks on a screen backlit by white letters in black Arranged by date title and draft art in jpegs gifs with hard "g" Moving items to and fro does it look better here? before positioning it back where it was the first time. Some poems on scraps of paper from years back others electronic muses presided by iPad angels First draft, second draft, third still not exactly perfect tweak things here and there until it all comes together. Until it all becomes one nights spent piecing together this that and the next for others to read and enjoy.

An air of anticipation resignation the feeling of uncertainty apathy awaiting the inevitable. What to read what to believe so easy to disregard the noise and just seek peace. Which is the truth and which is the lie? The conflicting tales muddy the waters and nothing is clear. Easy to judge in the comfort of safety the ones who are there experiencing every moment might disagree with that thinking. Will events spur you to action? Or will you stand there indecisive until it is far too late to make a difference?

Bone deep exhaustion One foot in front of the other Day to to day life scheduling the days blend together handwritten notes reminding me of obligations. The never ending pile of laundry the never ending ringing of the phone. Chatter of computer keys brightness of the screen Reading documents until my eyes cross One of these days I'll take that vacation lounge on that beach with a drink in hand and listen to the waves in silence.

Step through the gates into a different world. Knights in full armor charging on their noble steeds Pirates of all stripes eye patches and parrots hook hands and peg legs The pious monks in brown habits the ladies under delicate parasols trailing velvet dress trains in the dirt The occasional satyr and faun and the glittering fairy wings Hold a massive turkey leg in one hand and tankard of grog in the other. The fire eater takes the stage and the minstrels wander around with lutes and harps and violins in hand. Tarot readers and fortunetellers tea houses and coffee places or even champagne and mimosas. Crafters and their wares Haunted castles and plague doctors Lords and Ladies, knaves and rogues all are welcome from dawn till dusk.

A new transition from mother to elder but a young woman still lives within my breast. There's so still so much I want to see and do! Where did the time go? How much of it wasted? The young ones need me safety and stability in a world that is so uncertain. No one else knows the path I have trod but that road is not yet closed. Don't need to be bound by the old traditions Share the knowledge you have and accumulate more. No need to be resigned and wait for death when there is more to accomplish.

Tsundoku: acquiring reading materials but letting them pile up without reading them Life rushes past cairns piled all over the place haphazardly stacked about to fall over I could open my own bookstore with what I've acquired Shelves overflowing with tomes great and small fantasy tales languages history philosophy only some of them dogeared and some of them still new A few just appeared, I swear I don't remember buying them but they are here. Silent voices pleading for my hands to pick them up and for their voices to be heard. As days gone by they become silent testaments to a chaotic existence.

The Elixir of Life brings clarity focus productivity serenity It comes in many forms solid to cool the brow liquid to quench the thirst gas to unclog a stuffy head quite versatile. A natural part of the world Up in the clouds stretching from the horizon blanketing the ground in white. A force of nature not to be reckoned with sweeping all in its path fickle and unpredictable benevolent yet raging. Sailors respect it Gardeners welcome it Fish depend on it necessary for existence yet so underestimated.

Strive for calm early in the morning before anyone is awake. Salute the sun breathe deep of the air tinged with dew and cool winds. Nightingale goes to sleep owl settles in its nest as the bluebird and robin hunt for breakfast. Time for the first cup of coffee while the day's first light peeks over the horizon. The day's chaos has not started yet but this moment this minute is the epitome of peace.

Pulled apart between my heart and my mind what I need to do what I have to do the reality of real life doctor visits prescription refills kids' school woes relationship blues and my fantasy life of the written word and colorful paintings to uplift my soul. The rainbow of hope that shines despite the rain of living bringing comfort to a string of grey days.                                                              

Sun breaks through clouds dark and forbidding on the horizon. It's dark inside fallen trees on the road lights are all out. running on twenty percent on my phone. But we should respect the power and the anger of a lady named Helene.

Eight strings paired in two a wealth of tradition Don Giovanni romantic songs on warm Italian nights strings vibrate in tremolo single notes conveying deep love and devotion to ladies fair. bright happy sounds melodic voices chords doublestops on the mountain roads brought over from the Old World to the New. Traditions don't die they live on in song.

My name is too difficult for them to say: "I'll call you this instead." Reduced to syllables meant for a casual tongue. That is not my name. Nicknames said in jest laughing in private humor. I don't find it funny. Adopting a new identity to fit in with accepted rules. This isn't me at all. But I have to reinvent myself have a new mindset Erase the old one. Until in the long run I don't remember who I was. I am forgotten.

Grey outside yet warm and humid the last bits of summer stubbornly cling fast heedless of the calendar ignoring the Equinox. Bonfires and crackling leaves cozy sweaters and scarves pumpkin spice and apple pie all of those will still need to wait a while. Hurricane season lasts from June to November They're predicting six inches of rain or pop up thunderstorms even the weatherman's not sure. Dark at 7 AM and again at 5:30 PM as time marches on at least in some ways autumn has arrived.

When people tell me that I'm strong that I deal with things no other people normally would. I feel like a fraud. "God gives you only as much as you can handle." What if I can't handle it? "Bless your heart, dear" They smile and shake their heads and do not lift a finger to help at all. If I had a penny for every bit of "advice" they spouted at me I would be a billionaire. I did not choose who I was, where I was born my blood family but I can choose my reactions. Smile and nod my head be brusque and tell them to mind their own business they can't take my spirit.

Go outside into the sunlight Feel the breeze on your skin the warm sunlight dazzle your eyes Touch the grass with your palms and the dirt under your fingernails. There is a world outside your window away from the electronic screens. Keyboard warriors on the constant fight for their causes some noble and just others with a massive chip in their shoulder. Pixels are just that models and light that tell a story that touch the hearts and souls of all that experience them. Some might relate to the struggles and trials in their daily lives-- there's no harm in that. At the end of the day when the power is out and it is 'Game Over' the real world beckons What matters is your character not on the screen but within yourself. How you treat others what you do outside it reflects who you really are on the inside.

Walking alone on a dusty road eyes gritty desert wind swirls round You meet the denizen sitting in the chair at the abandoned gas station who warns you not to go to THAT place over the hill it's haunted in these parts. The empty diner with the indifferent waitress and the bum in the corner booth. The jukebox playing a sad song guitars twanging. The lone warrior wandering the world experiencing adventure gritty reality walking alone.

River flows in silence water drifts in the summer sun swirls around rocks and fallen logs with very little effort it goes to the lowest point drawn by some higher power that it does not understand but it does not care it is the law of nature and of harmony past mountains and through valleys over the edge of cliffs to plunge into the depths below before it divides into many branches all independent ignorant of the others and the source from where it comes. Floating farther and farther from its origin far far away The journey takes it to the crashing rapids until it disperses into the bigger void lake or ocean, it matters not for it joins the currents swept into the harmony.

How much of being fearless is staring Adversity in the face because it's the right thing to do and how much of it is because you cannot avoid it? Or because you just don't care anymore? Spite can be a great motivator. The tales of great courage show the hero unflinching in the fact of danger loss death but the ballads never say how much they trembled inside knowing they could lose all they hold dear. The hero does what needs to be done heedless of the cost to themselves. Stares into the abyss of their own doubts and true motivations. Whether it be justice or coin or the cold kiss of revenge.

My body is a temple in the middle of the Amazon jungle overgrown with weeds but teeming with secrets The walls are crumbling insides fragile with rot but potent spells adorn the walls just waiting to be unlocked Spells of will, power to keep going despite it all. Not all magic is pure some are of bitterness and spite Memories of times gone by when health was taken for granted. It looks solid and mysterious on the outside how can such a strong place be so fragile? It doesn't look so dire and dangerous in the pictures in the travel books. But the soul is not its container And somehow it finds a way to go on As the mists close in the temple keeps its valiant fight.

 It's been years And hindsight is 20/20 Rose colored glasses naivety with the glaze of youth It's easy to become jaded to become bitter and angry. The challenge becomes to see life with the experience of time. Not lose the spark or the thrill of living when it seems there is no point. Easy to blame the state of the world that other people are at fault. You hear how things are going to hell that everyone are out for themselves. Yes, there are darker parts of life but no man is an island. Like it or not, other people live here too. And even the most isolated hear about them. There are other lives, other hardships outside of your cranky little bubble. The trick is to acknowledge the good with the bad and look at things with a pragmatic eye Not toxic optimism or doomsday pessimism but how life is, and what it can be. Because if such change is not possible what is the point of our existence?

Dramatize apologize then wait until the furor dies down. Short memories long effects nothing ever changes the status quo is maintained. Until it comes around and cannot be denied any longer consequences can't be avoided. The blame game minimize the behaviour it wasn't that bad you were a part of it too The times have changed my friend what you got away with then the reckoning arrives now.

I. Untimely omen: there's a flock of black ravens as they say their vows. II. No one notices the warm sun beams happiness a curtain of love. III. The stars in their eyes rival any galaxy so so far away. IV. A cold wind blows through swirls through the assembled crowd kisses the bride's veil. V. The crowd cheers loudly shouts of congratulations pointed, staccato. VI. But all the fates know a confluence appearing a calamity. VI. An innocent joy one that is not meant to be enjoy this moment.

 I remember... 7th grade social studies I don't recall what the lesson plan even was. The school secretary came to my classroom and stood in the doorway and told me "Turn on your television. Right now. Something is going on." So I did.

Sometimes I stand out on the porch as the sun rises on the horizon coffee mug in hand and wonder how I got here what Deity granted me Its grace or its fury. They all say to stop and take stock of your blessings and your curses be grateful for all that has happened in your life. And that you're still breathing and still surviving despite all to the contrary. Sometimes I wonder just how and why I live for another day because for all intents and purposes I probably shouldn't have. Is it just a quirk of fate or is there some sort of cosmic game of which I am completely unaware?

You don't know sacrifice she says as memory flashes across my mind. As she runs after the paramour traps her in the restroom stall. Her screams of anger ringing through the air and all eyes averted the gossip floating for days Long days on the production line soldering circuits to the board hunched over burned fingers daughters at home led astray should have been there but could not be A life of regret a wellspring of broken dreams a wave of old expectation But life goes on passes her by her children strangers no one sacrifices to sit with her in her old age.

I went to the Halloween store as I do every year, I looked at the costumes all on display from the horrific to the absurd You could dress up like your ghost or vampire or a ghoul or a witch as a pirate or a pineapple. There were signs and flags cat ears and demon horns fake blood and trick knives. I'm a kid at heart on the one night of the year where you can dress up and forget who you usually are and act like who you are meant to be. And I wish you were there with me but you've never been one to see the purpose in it.

Two souls not quite joined at the hip share no blood but sisters nonetheless Share every secret keep every counsel talk every day. No matter how life gets busy or how fate twists and turns Take a break change it up but still meet at the end of the day as if time had never passed. A bottle of wine and two glasses a carafe of coffee and two mugs Through pain and sorrow life's little joys and tragedies to be fortunate to have such a one through the ups and downs of life.

Days pass according to schedule the same thing over and over every morning every afternoon every night Comfortable in routine know what is coming everyone reacts the same way a limited palette of color, of fabric, of sound An established niche from work to home and back to work again In control of the environment tailored to a certain mindset no misunderstandings nothing out of place There is peace no conflict no anxiety. It is wonderful. I am screaming. In silence.

My hands are wrinkled crooked and bent joints swollen misshapen yet they still dance across the piano keys and along the fretboard. I cannot do the delicate work on a freshly tumbled gem or solder silver wire in intricate patterns but I can string beads along a stretched out cord. They've changed the diapers of three babies now grown made them lunches sent them off to school. These fingers have tapped keys spun intricate worlds like fairy floss and funnel cakes at the world's biggest fair. They ache nowadays with the slightest change in the weather. I cannot do what I used to do as the years go by and cartilage wears away. But my desire to create will never cease to be.

A story doesn't have to be long in order to tell its tale. There's much to be said in a single page or just one paragraph. Epic ballads in two minutes of song. Words succinct unforgettable characters. Lives fleeting touching oh so briefly. No rambling speeches quick and to the point. The writer still holds the power of life and death. Whole worlds made in small strokes of the brush. But as short as life is they still make an impression.

One drop begins a storm. One spark gives birth to a forest fire. All it takes is one. Two hearts entwined in love Two pieces lock into place But it needs just two. Three lines make a triangle Three stones form a pyramid. For its base needs three. Too many cooks in the kitchen. Too many hands in the pot to ruin a good thing involves too many.

Pages fall like rain ripped out of their spines to be scattered like the wind far from the hands of those who wish to look upon their words. Voices are muffled ideas are stifled never to see the light of day. What beauty do letters have and what supreme power. Each character a building block a stepping stone to new horizons a brick in a sturdy building a piece of stout wood in a bridge. The match of a fire scorches the foundations black reduces the contents to ash swept under the carpet thrown into the sluggish river of mediocrity. Physical objects to hold in your hands but ideas cannot die They will last forever no matter how often you put them to the torch.

Waiting for autumn where the sun's rays do not scorch the earth they pull back a bit to warm, but not burn And the air becomes cool crisp like a red apple in season. Campfires crackle we wear sweaters curl up under cozy blankets hot chocolate and tart cider hayrides and pumpkins leaves crunch under your feet. The earth prepares to go to sleep the dark encroaches earlier and earlier cold winds blow to usher in the last dregs of the old year.

Head empty stuffed full of fog coffee hasn't kicked in to clear the cobwebs what do I write about? What words of wisdom or what wave of emotion do I have today? Unfortunately I'm not sure if I have any today. A very long week a very long morning my brain can't focus. And the hours pass from breakfast to lunch. Ignoring the stats tired of the algorithm how many people actually read my words? More than I think but when I can't be witty or find the expressions to express my heart and soul. So today I just let my fingers find the keyboard my muse spill her thoughts as it flashes across my eyes raw and unfettered no chains to bind what comes to mind as it translates into worlds.

All prompts from #vss365 on Twitter. Prompt words are marked with #.  I. Don't release the hounds. All of them are out for blood. #slaughter everyone. II. Meet in a tavern the barkeep's cellar has rats one #quest to start all. III. Mother's lullaby she sings the baby to sleep the world just listens. IV. A #misty morning campsite is peaceful, quiet Nature is at peace. V. The #little insults all pile up in a short while so I turn and leave. and you still can't understand just why I can't take a 'joke'. VI. When I was a child I watched an #orchestra play Wanted to be there and now I watch my daughter proudly from the audience. VII. Her very #dry humor might not be to your liking it's an acquired taste. VIII. They say #idle hands are sure to cause wicked souls so keep them busy so they do not have the time to even think of mischief. IX. Take me to #dinner good food and good company at home or just out I just want to be with you and for you to be pres

What we do in the world no matter how major or how minor causes a ripple that extends outwards touching everyone even those we never meet. The overworked koan of the sound of one hand clapping or a butterfly flapping its wings is not as trite as it seems. The stone thrown into a lake is felt at the far shore. It might radiate slowly over days, months, years. You might never know the effects of your actions at all.

All assembled in the study Look around at the expectant faces. Wishing they were someplace else or wringing their hands in worry. Are they concerned or are they guilty? Or are they relieved that the killer will be unmasked? Angry for this waste of time? Every expression unique but timeless at the same time. What are your own thoughts? Are you innocent or are you guilty? Will you be surprised? Will you get away with the crime? the detective has all the clues he stands in front and outlines every bit of his thought process here it comes: the big reveal and it's not what you think.

What would happen if time flowed in reverse? Born old possessing all of life's knowledge then growing younger until you are innocent as a helpless babe? A brief window of opportunity to experience all that life has to offer at the peak of your existence when you have all that you desire and all that you expected. It already happens. One comes into the world with fate already written but many paths to get there. The tipping point is different for everyone. But the march begins the river of time flows ever onward. From the beginning to the flower either full or cut in its prime back to the beginning again.

Over the years I've had to hide my ambition my hopes my dreams. Walk a thin line between what is acceptable and what demons lurk in the depth of dark dreams The perfect person who never gets angry who always works towards the greater good. The one who wears everyone's badge of approval. But in the shadows I'm a raven who is longing to break free and bring havoc to the world.

I'm already a ghost No one sees me Invisible As if I'm not here They explain every detail to me although I was sitting right there when it happened. Very self absorbed to the point where I do what is necessary to keep the wolves away. They're so comfortable that I'm always there to fix things to bail them out to clean to talk to others on their behalf. I wonder what will happen if I just walk out that door and then they have to deal with people themselves.

Pick out the shells from eggs recently broken. They are rather fragile and quite elusive. The tiniest shard can turn up as a surprise. You have to be careful not to leave any behind. Or it will make your dish unpleasantly crunchy. You have to clean up the mess so you don't accidentally step on one and become paranoid literally walking on eggshells. You can't make scrambled eggs without cracking a few but you can throw the refuse away to rot in a landfill or you can use them to grow new life in dark soil or make them into art to please the delicate eye.

Effigies in repose grand tombs in marble marking the resting places of powerful people but the most important one is the simple marker in the floor in the back of the cathedral. A respectful silence muted sounds sunlight streams through stained glass windows like beacons from Heaven throws shadows that move from tomb from tomb restless like the dust motes that float in the air. When the sun sets and the elaborate candelabra are lit just like they have been since time immemorial and the petitioners leave that is when the silence becomes loud with the echoes of those whose bones lay deep within the foundations.

I. Music, my refuge I lose myself in the notes Away from it all Just me and my instrument and no one is involved. II. Let melody flow harmony for heart alone and unspoken words. III. Until cymbals clash of real life and its demands crescendo so loud impossible to ignore heavenly time is over IV. Looking at the score: jump directly to the end and play the coda. .

Night descends on the camp site the fire throws shadows all around hiding the surrounding trees the darkness broken by cheerful fireflies. The silence interrupted by the nightingale singing a sad song the crickets chirping hello to each other the owl stirs from its slumber for its usual hunt. Wood crackles consumed by the light. Simple meals shared between friends stories and laughter echo from the heart. A world untouched by the hum of daily life a simple connection for you and me.

I. Each day I wake up the rain batters the windows while the summer sun peeks out from behind the clouds waiting for the storm to pass. II. The shower runs cold I know it will not get warm bites with icy teeth On one hand I do get clean but the chill sinks deep within. III. I know I should eat though I don't feel like I could. So I compromise: last night's pizza with a mug of my bitter black coffee. IV. My mind in a fog what day of the week is it? How much have I lost in this deep dark mire I'm in? and thunder still booms outside. V, My steps feel heavy one foot and then the other Go through the motions no one ever notices no one ever sees my pain. VI. How long can I live in perpetual darkness wading through blackness when my soul still yearns for light that seems so very very far?

Frog sitting serenely on a toadstool what a strange thing to see on our journey through the fae forest. Dressed in fine silks sitting cross-legged and smoking a pipe full of fragrant smoke. Big bulging eyes watching intently as if divining all your secrets. It smiles beckoning without saying a word. Does it have a quest for us? Is it an enemy? Why don't we find out.

Beware of thorns hidden in the white rose bushes Lurking in the shadows of twisted vines and dark loamy soil. Elegant and ethereal not bold like crimson but it stands apart in a sea of color. Transparent like moonlight condensed in the form of a beautiful flower. You try to pick beautiful blooms but your fingers must avoid being pricked so your blood doesn't flow red and stain the petals.

I'm used to frets. I know where to put my fingers to play the correct chords. Years of practice my mind automatically goes where it needs to flowing from one note to the other one piece to the other. All in the same key and in same tempo. But when I switch instruments I must train my body and my fingers again a different mindset a different time.  

She exists in a different direction from all the others. Anticlockwise instead of like the all the rest. they say she is contrary odd, strange and weird unorthodox thinks outside the box. Marches to a different drummer. She shows up to the opera in pastel pink and tennis shoes with bows in her hair She dances with little skill but no less enthusiasm. She isn't 'normal': she's gone widdershins a loony but she lives life on her terms and will stay that way. .

Born to ramble never staying in one place for very long. Wanderlust to see everything there is to see mountains that stretch on forever oceans that touch the horizon flat plains for miles azure skies with puffy white clouds grey light with the taste of storms to come bright honeybees darting from flower to flower in meadows of grass rolling carpets all over the hills the cold bite of snow the searing heat of the sun so many changes in a day's walk and songs and stories spill out in word and song a diary of a life well lived and in the end the fog that creeps over reveals new worlds.

Rain patters on the roof lulling me into dreams Steady, rhythmic a heavenly song punctuated by the drums of thunder and the cymbal crash of lightning. The groans and sighs of a dimly lit house frames of wood and stone resonate with the power of the storm. The howl of wind beat against the window thwarted in its goal to get inside. Single drops and long lines of water flowing down the drain to the street below. Pooling into puddles ankle deep in places nowhere to go. The whole world drenched in Nature's fury.

I. Hop on the Blue Line The streetcar through the city still a novelty powered on electric tracks go all over the city. II. Watch all the faces as passengers come and go work and home and back This streetcar is a godsend to get a gallon of milk. III. Watch out the window at the towering skyline over city's edge where the dingy walls all glow with street artists' creations. IV. See how it changes from factories and rubble run down apartments children playing in the streets hanging out on the corners. V. Invisible gate leading to a brand new world: shops and restaurants leading to the district where steel and glass towers rise. VI. Government buildings banks and expensive hotels the concierge waits for the drivers to give them the precious keys for the night. VII. It's amazing how two worlds can coexist bleed into the other gradually transition as the streetcar drives on by. VIII. From one end of town to the other and then back all day, every day Feast your eyes out the windo

Pen paralyzed on the page The words will not come the images remain stubborn not wanting to be transferred onto paper. Imagination fails me The memory of your lips your smile your laughter dim behind an invisible wall even though I see your visage every day. The colors are muted my brush freezes with indecision Why am I blocked from the flow from which I hone my craft?

Jolly pumpkin in August They already have Halloween on the shelves Ghosts and ghouls are there year round They don't wait for October. The next aisle over are red holly berries in green leaves stockings and figurines Might as well set up your winter wonderlands while it is a hundred degrees outside. And turkeys go gobble gobble on placeholder napkins and gravy boats for Grandma's evening dinner complete with cranberry jelly. I wonder if they all get confused: Spooky ghosts haunt Santa's elves while being pursued by a clueless turkey.

Every puzzle losing vital pieces after all these years. The main picture having gaps here and there What is that? A face that is familiar but the name eludes me. Grasping at straws knowing that once upon a time that image was whole. It's important how can I forget something that means so much to me? Frustration and sadness. Holes in memory and life experiences irreplaceable.

Her confidence shines with every note that she plays she's found her calling. A shining beacon under the spotlight on stage the spell of music captivates everyone there all eyes are on her rapture. Just her alone yet she is not all by herself. Orchestra silent. It seems effortless hard work under the surface no one sees the sweat and tears all leading to this moment Forsaking all that might have made her life easy music her mistress. Always plagued by doubt Am I really good enough? Trust your inner voice. Work towards your inner goals Yes, you do have what it takes.

Old elusive friend of mine It's as if we are meeting for the very first time. I have known you for close to twenty years our children were babies. Remember when we used to have coffee and catch up on what we're doing! Oh I meant to call you We should go out sometime it'll be just like old times.   Texts not responded e-mails left unanswered hard to be mad at how life goes. Until you call: Where did you go? I went by your house. New cars in the driveway "Beware of Dog" sign. I didn't even know you had a dog. "I moved three years ago! I hadn't heard from you for so long I assumed you didn't care." Awkward silence. Life just got away from us Drifted apart. I got tired of being the one to make all the effort until you remember I'm there. Not because we fought but because of life. Out of sight, out of mind. Object permanence but instead of things it's living, breathing people.

Where is my beloved? The one who complements my soul and brings out the best in me? I hear his voice in my mind and I see his face at the edge of my vision . I sit and listen as the other drones about his opinions and his supposed knowledge. I dream about travels and experiences shared with my beloved by my side. I know he is not here. My heart is sore I feel like there is something missing from my life. And who I thought was him isn't him. Now I lie awake at night with a substitute snoring at my side.

Vengeance is a dish best served cold. Why is that? Because it is planned, calculated and seemingly more rational? Because it can take days, months, years decades for it to bear fruit? Vengeance is a dish best sweet. Why is that? Because it can take days, months, years decades for it to bear fruit? Aged like fine wine for a darker palate? Vengeance is misnamed both sweet and cold. Why is that? It still stems from an emotional core. Just because it is not 'hot' from rage doesn't make it more logical. And that tart taste turns to ash in your mouth.

A collection of haiku and tanka using word prompts from "#vss365" om Twitter/X. Prompt words are marked with a #. I. A majestic bird she unfurls her wings in flight #proud and without fear. II. I don't have #remorse over what I can't control and no misplaced guilt loaded onto my shoulders I'm not my sister's keeper. III. A cheeky response brings smiles and rueful laughter or a stony glare depends on the audience and on their lack of humour. IV. #suspicious actions deflections are #successful all thanks to privilege. V. They are #astonished that not everyone believes the same as they do. VI. #Motivated by the pure goodness of your heart? Is there such a thing? VII. Hasty solution completely #rushed and bodged up and yet it still works! VIII. I am #overwhelmed by my body's odd workings and I wonder why it won't just work normally just like everyone else's? IX. I love the Islands they're warm and hospitable saying " #aloha "

A spider toys with its  prey allows it to struggle gives it a moment of hope perhaps it will be lucky and slip away from the web. Panic fuels its frantic movements this cannot be the end! Survival instincts the basest of desires even in the smallest of brains evolution dictates the survival of the fittest. But even the strongest the luckiest the most wily the most skilled has their luck run out. The spider takes its time until it is hungry: food isn't going anywhere.

Some poisons are not detectable until they are deeply entrenched in your heart and mind You do not feel the effects not yet not at first it needs time to fester and to grow. It all seems normal what you see what you hear the same old, same old it changes gradually. The words sound different the sights blur at the edges aromas do not stir the same hunger. Yet life goes on no one notices how it spreads from person to person generation to generation. Until the sickness becomes the norm and the antidote is useless to save your soul.

Oh the horror! Young minds fresh ideas challenging the status quo. No respect no honor what is this world gone to? "I suffered through it so should they! It builds character! Nothing is this world is free! No one gets a free ride as long as you seize the opportunities!" To hear them speak they trudged up the hill in six foot snow both ways and backwards worked a job for 30 years bought a house at 25. Fought for change against their own elders made great strides but now pulling up the stakes reversing all progress in their dying wake. Can the cycle be broken? The yang becomes yin The popular becomes anaethema the powerful becomes poor. Is lasting change just out of reach and just a passing fancy?

Silent screams as daggers of ice plunge into her body paralyze her vocal chords into submission until no one realizes she is dying inside. A fog of forgetfulness rolls into her mind clouding every part of her brain into silence until no one realizes she is no longer herself.

Plush carpet worn by many footsteps the rich and powerful hobnobbing under bright lights deals made in secret liaisons on its back what stories it could tell if it could talk. Silver mirror reflected many faces handsome men and beautiful women Distorted from reality a silent witness to many discussions and meetings what stories it could tell if it could talk. Heavy door pulled open and closed shut muffling voices agreements between people mute cries of passion divide rooms into compartments what stories it could tell if it could talk. Oil painting stare out through lifeless eyes youth forever frozen posture caught in time. Admired by eyes dismissed by minds what stories it could tell if it could talk.

I. I am overwhelmed by my body's odd workings and I wonder why it won't just work normally just like everyone else's? II. Doctors appointments so many medications infusions and tests and what is the problem here or is it all in your mind? III . Even with results a medical mystery misdiagnosis this isn't what I was taught so it just might not exist. IV. Brain fog everyday combat fatigue with coffee pray for five o'clock even then the job's not done the second shift just begins. V. Waiting for results every day a brand new war that you wage alone in a house of five people "I'm sorry, well, anyway."

Glassy eyes have seen through the years fur threadbare stitching at the seams stuffing spilling out repaired and resewn over and over again time and time again a silent sentinel absorbing tears chasing the monsters away from under the bed. A veteran of many tumbles in the washer and dryer. Logged many miles in cars, trains, planes seen many sights through the window. Passed on to a new generation old wizened eyes have seen far too much.

Have fun storming the prison free the prisoners lettres de cachet no rhyme or reason of why they are there. No more kings or serfs feudalism is dead Declarations of the Rights of Man all are equal under the eyes of the Creator above. A celebration of freedom parades down the street a show of mighty brotherhood devotion to the cause Vive le France, monsieur.

Soft as a rose petal the skin of a newborn babe so sweet and innocent sleeps on, ignorant of the harsh years to come that will weather it to the consistency of leather. Rough as gravel Grandmother's touch is still soft It has seen so much over the passage of years the storms have not changed the firmness of warm stone.

I. My life's big challenge married to an introvert so much compromise. II. Evenings spent alone he unwinds watching programs on his computer. III. No get-togethers no casual friends at all except from his work IV. He just sets the tone content to be by himself ignores everything V. I do things for me and deal with his jealousy but he does nothing. VI. He's not comfortable I respect his preference. But I am not him.

Bite,chew and swallow All without making a noise that is so polite just make sure you do not choke and offend the gracious host. Inane conversation vapid chatter on all sides Nod and smile appear to agree without trying to disagree. Who are these people? You quickly learn whom to engage and whom to avoid. Knowing looks of disapproval their backs turned. It is all a dance the steps must be learned in order to survive the wolves but one stumble, one hesitation will be your very downfall.

You never know what will resonate with the crowd. A five minute sketch or witty little ditty just a minor thought. Suddenly it's there being talked of, being shared and you are surprised. A portrait, a carefully crafted piece taking hours, days to complete garners no interest at all. Do you pander to the wave of what will get you seen what is the rage of the moment? What matters more, the numbers, the accolades or what your heart tells you? Do you go one way or the other or do you strike a balance between the popular and the sublime? If the mood is cynical and bitter do you change to match it? Or do you seek joy in the little things? The moment you decide to live for yourself they may forget who you are. Is that worth the pain or is the quiet too much for a restless soul?

The color of kings Rare and expensive Light of vibration that lifts your soul and calms you down. The mystics treasure it this hue of Knowledge the rage of red balanced with the calm of blue a mix of balance of the two. Not as scarlet as rubies or deep as garnets. Not as azure as sapphires. Amethysts are their own very unique shade. Reserved for the mightiest until it could be duplicated replicated for the common man: purple is my favorite color.

I. Reading of the will: they are all perched on their seats to hear what they get what has been bequeathed to them all the scheming is for this. II. A taste of power not content with just a bite they want more and more until the entire pie is all theirs to swallow whole. III. The lawyer looks up meets their eyes unflinchingly hides a little smile She had warned him about this Revenge from beyond the grave. IV. He speaks pleasantries and betrays no emotions because it's his job. Even as a sense of pride wells up from within his breast. V. There's shock and dismay crossing all of their faces They can't believe it The very nerve of her denying what they deserve. VI. Of course they protest vowing to contest the will swearing up and down fighting what they think is theirs and accusing each other. VII. Problems with power: any hint of betrayal root it out right now Extirpate it completely only then can you be safe. VII. He sits back to watch this story replays itself and he's

Skullduggery in the back alleys and run down warehouses of the city the rain washes away all evidence of the blood. Life in the shadows is hard you learn to melt away see but not be seen close your ears to the screams and the cries of the devoured. No one judges you for what you have to do to survive. The ones who do come from the moral high ground and would not survive a single night. Your soul is already damned That is cold hard fact. What matters is what you make of your short existence in the limited time you are here. Will you be one of the forgotten?  

I. The years pass on by Put away my childhood dreams marble effigies embox them in vaults of stone and never resurrected. II. "You must study hard graduate, get a good job help the family then think about what you want. That is your duty in life." III. Obedient child strong in intelligence but lacking in wisdom: trade one cage for another from daughter to mother, wife. IV. Lifelong devotion and I will always be there always smiling and never complaining of the insults and the disrespect. V. Then one day it breaks not in the heat of anger but cold clarity "I am better than this and I deserve so much more too!" VI. My soul awakens: there is a wide world out there one for exploring I pack my bags and just go and leave the dead weight behind.

I. Every strategy, scholars excogitate all break it into steps contingents for everything all the bases are covered. II. But when all breaks down go to plan A, B, C, D all the way to Z Then go to double letters and even more if needed. III. No need to panic every response is assured So take a deep breath Alternatives possible and nothing is chaotic. IV. Inevitable: when it all starts to break down plans do not survive are you paralyzed by fear or formulate a new plan?

A world in a drop of rain A microcosm in a pebble hold it in your palm it seems tiny, insignificant perhaps it is a dull colored rock one that lines every seashore and riverbed all over the land. The depths of a baby's eyes as they behold a brand new world see the wonder that is, and once was and what is to come. Unspoiled by the cynicism that arrives as the years take their toll. A sparkle of sunlight that breaks onto the water fleeting and floating here for one moment in time before the clouds roll in and dim that brightness until it is gone. Sometimes the simple pleasures make absolutely no sense to the learned mind and the weary jaded wanderer but remember that it all depends on your point of view.

Many hearts beat to the same drum Never wavering, never changing Then something strange happens: It only takes one second one hesitation, one misstep then the rhythm stutters. Soft at first, it's hardly noticed. Then as the seconds tick on Others fall out of line. The steady cadence stumbles it's no longer dependable it's not what it used to be. Utter chaos reigns as each beat struggles to be heard. Then one grows louder than the rest. It takes the others by the hand and leads them to a new direction charting a path far from the old. More and more join in the music swells more and more into a crescendo overwhelms the old, transforms it. A new and stronger way As long as it lasts until the cycle comes again.

Just when you think the ground beneath your feet has given up all its secrets: you find something new. Different techniques theories of how it works how it was constructed new ideas, new technologies. The old becomes current again cold cases dug up reassessed, reworked torn apart to fit the evidence. That is the beauty of it all that nothing remains static even after centuries or millennia it is every changing. What is considered fact a hundred years ago might not be correct the cycle begins again. This is how knowledge expands building on what comes before making room for future discoveries ever flexible, ever exciting.

I miss my dad's cooking the smell of food wafting from the kitchen roasts, barbeque, soups flaky buttery pastries although he can't eat them because of the sugar it doesn't stop him from being hospitable to everyone he knows. "Are you hungry?" He will drop everything to cook you a meal. He braved going to the store in a snowstorm to get ice cream during a craving. Experimenting with recipes and asking me to taste test them. The only reason to go home again but it's a good one. To see him truly happy in the kitchen entertaining, taking care of the ones who walk through his door. It kills me to know this doesn't happen as often as it should.

Narrow beneath my feet Can't go back, can only go forward eyes straight ahead. Only focused on survival one false step to plunge into the abyss far far below Too far on one side the whining and clamoring voices demanding a little piece of your sanity one little piece at a time You learn to give only part of your attention. If you give all of it they demand more and more until you have nothing left. Only by negotiating the chasm by guarding your self-worth. Shield your mind and remember the goal it's a dangerous road to keep your mental balance.

Cleaning up after you is like tidying up after a frat party to that I wasn't invited. When I ask for help you make a big deal out of it "notice me senpai" "what do you want, a medal?" All messes are automatically mine all complications are mine to blame because I take care of everything from your house to your kids. I can give you my opinion but unless it comes from someone else you don't hear it. I know why you keep me around: to do all the shit you don't want or can't do. And the only time you ever notice is when things don't get done: "why isn't she here?"

Do imaginary friends count? Those voices you hear in your head. The characters you see only in your mind and when you try to put them down on paper they become recalcitrant They have their own thoughts personalities their own quirks which you didn't assign to them. This is their story not yours not anymore. They will see it through to the bitter end through hell and high water but not according to your plan, no matter how hard you shepherd them onto the track. Are they still your friends or have they become your worst enemies?

Bend like the willow but do not break no matter how the wind rages it cannot destroy you. Plant your roots down deep let your resolve nourish you Look up to the sun let it guide your purpose. In every life, rain must fall to make the roses bloom even with its thorns silken petals bring joy. Soft and sweet melodies listen to the silence that linger between the notes they prolong the harmony. Do not mistake calm for passivity flexibility for indecision Other pursue the ephemeral but you will outlast and endure.

An exquisite feast delicious tastes sweet, sour, salty different areas of the tongue spicy or bland It's very much a personal matter. complementary colors red and green and white catching your interest displays drawing your attention to where it needs to be pleasing to the eye hot, cold, warm to the touch Some can tolerate how it feels better than others and some cannot abide how it slides down your throat it influences your brain. soft music playing to the ear to stimulate the appetite and lower your tension aid in digestion and brings all together: relax and enjoy.

Stack one block on top of another Large and small red and blue some rectangular others curved Construct walls roofs, towers arch towards the sky. Castles skyscrapers tree houses a bridge here a garden there animals cars and people it's almost alive if you can imagine it. Your very own land your private domain all made of plastic blocks boxy and unwieldy transformed by your hand and your thoughts old or young it doesn't matter It endures for years.

Paint with words try to describe how I feel Not very easy to start even more difficult with a limited palette. You can do much with the basics   Color theory complementary colors to make harmony. red and yellow make orange yellow and blue make green blue and red make purple black and white make gray. I have more than I think.     But I must plan this composition the shades, the tone, the light even the subject matter to make the painting pleasing to the eye.     From the underpainting to the final draft every brushstroke is stifled: for I need to ensure your sensibilities aren't offended.

Two become One Two sides of the same coin Why do you have to choose one over the other? Why is one so much better than the other? Nothing is static nothing lasts forever What comes up must come down. What lies low rises to new heights. Either you're good or you're bad you're a hero or a villain but a villain is a hero according to their own story. Rules are too narrow definitions are too brief History is set by the victors Truth can be set by the outlaws.

Yes, you can't see me your peripheral vision Just out of your sight Unease but you can't figure out where it comes from. Rage out of nowhere harsh words, angry thoughts evaporate when you leave Oh not all the time can't be predictable, after all some days are normal Pendulum swinging from one extreme to the other stay away, stay away Call your ghost hunters call your priests and holy men I laugh as they flail. Just out of your sight and my presence will haunt you smiling until you go mad.

I wake up alone forgotten But I'm not surprised. I'm numb. I look out the window at the blue blue sky like a bird from the bars of its cage. When I die don't give me an elaborate funeral don't pray for my soul burn me scatter me among the waves I won't be around to see it. I've given my life to others without any help or support or love from others In death at least give me this The world will keep turning without me Everyone will forget they say a person lives as long as their name is spoken. Don't say my name. Let me rest.

 Jisei are poems written near to the time of a poet's death. A farewell to the world and an insight into the attitudes of the time. Inspired by Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death by Yoel Hoffman I. The World here is thin a bit sideways and then up the lightest of steps. II. Roses bloom in summer tears petals like rain carpets the ground my soul smiles. III. Ocean's melody striving to hear a single beat of the deepest heart. Oh, I hear it now! IV. My darling pet leaps into my arms! I missed you so. V. Sometimes words are not necessary when all is already said and done. VI. Cast off winter and step into the warmth of newborn spring. VII. None other than the smile of an old friend. VIII. Witty thoughts fade the gods are laughing IX. Soft and sweet I touch harmony it ushers me to sleep. X. princeps tenuit caput Saluto auroram nihil timendum (head held high I salute the dawn Nothing to fear)

Tap the crystal ball predict what people would like Should I do this or that? Follow the crowd. See the numbers go up and down day by day, likes and dislikes. What will be popular with them? Will I get noticed? Those little arrows that go and down Tied to how much you like yourself. It's hard to break the chains. One eye on the others. What do they I have that I don't? Why can't I be seen? Be yourself, do what brings you joy. Easier said than done. It takes an inner strength Confidence in your words and hopes. And sometimes being at peace with yourself makes it all worth it.

Alone in the studio the paintbrush speaks the music swells the sound of the tumbler as rocks turn into jewels. The vase throws itself onto the potters' wheel the arrangement of flowers please the eye and the mind the smell of the food wafts from the kitchen and whets the appetite. Every stitch lovingly made every warp and weft in patterns. Pixels make people laugh and amaze others with their resolution. These are all reflections of the artist's mind heart and soul. Lovingly created and lovingly shared as an expression of creativity within.