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

Write what comes from the heart and let your soul have a voice that wellspring of feeling that bubbles within your chest and the flood of ideas that clamor to be free honor the time and the place see the ripples of the words touch every corner of your universe.

two particles float through the ether seek yet not find time has no meaning they move yet are static but somehow, some way they find themselves in each other's space neither asks how or why it happens it just does they dance in an orbit tentative but daring opposites attract  same ones repel  who knows  if the reaction  will be explosive

Writing prompt on Bluesky. Write an elegy. A song for what was  a fragile flower  nurtured from seed  to soft bud  that spread its petals  to greet the sun  in a brief moment of glory  in the warmth of Life  but gone too soon  as the winter's snows  fall on the ground  and the leaves  fall weeping  to mourn.

She doesn't claim  to be a saint she's only yet  another sinner  don't put her  upon a pedestal don't sing hymns that extol her virtues don't erase all of her vices don't sanitize the life she has led to justify the morals you wish to enforce.

Spider's web in a beam of sunlight adorned with morning dew and glistens with late December frost the wind tries to uproot it but the silk strands hold fast where is  the current occupant or is it just waiting for a new one to move in when spring arrives?

Sometimes I wonder: does anyone read what I put on the page? do my words ever make a difference? Am I wasting my time as I tap on my keyboard my fingers cramp up every hour, every day? I have a voice  that must be heard my characters have stories but what if the audience is Just me? Will I be one of those  whose words make an impact only after I am dead? At that point, I wouldn't give a damn. Should I scream louder Defy the algorithm Be bold and obnoxious Scatter my energy? Or should I just write let my ideas tell the tale And my truth ring true even if no one cares? My writer's heart wonders.  

She wants the keys to the car but I still see her as she sits at the table with her plushies all around and asks me to pour tea into tiny plastic cups as she plays hostess in a princess dress and wears a crown upon her head.  

Children are  meant to dream of a better world  and a brighter  tomorrow a life free from conflict that is not of their own making a home not torn by hunger  and confusion a future in harmony with those around them instead of  being shackled  to their elders'  obsession  with the past.

For all that you have and all that lie at your fingertips the breath in your lungs the wind in your hair the sight in your eyes the song in your ears the beat of your heart the laughter in your soul the smile of your loved ones the fight in your spirit Love and loss triumph and defeat life and death

It's still warm Nature's thermostat is definitely broken a White Christmas with no snow a blazing summer with cold rain Hibernating bears wake up grumpy Confused snowbirds head back early The storms happen earlier and more intense The calendar no longer makes sense.

Eighty years old She lives in the past She thinks they all have eyes on her judge her by  her past sins. All of her secrets are known by now Those are the details circulated decades ago and scandals dead  and buried and forgotten. In her mind they are like albatrosses that weigh her down A scarlet letter that all see and remember though it is old and withered and tattered. The problem with  clinging to the lies  when everyone  long knows the truth  it makes you look  like a deluded fool.

When your body tells you to rest you can ignore at your own risk And it is advantageous to take a break when you have a chance instead at an awkward time that you cannot afford to lose. Learn from my mistakes don't believe that you are invincible because sooner or later fate will override your ego.

Expectations broken apart the foundations of a world shift and shake and sink just like sand in the hourglass nothing is what is used to be smiling faces become sinister quiet voices become loud the old ways do not work anymore but the new ways have no room to breathe

Soft and sweet kitty feet I miss the sound Twenty years past falling leaves eyes trained on its flight purr on my lap cures the world's ills force me to consider times have changed years have gone by these old bones are heavy when the rainbow bridge appears at my feet you're in the other side

A response to a Bluesky writing prompt. The word is "mercurial". This is the longer version . mercurial  temper  always walked on eggshells  don't know what  will set it off  I tried to avoid her whenever I could but she came to me whenever I did anything wrong. Did not get straight A's or I wasn't like her coworker's daughter. I once described  her anger is like a volcano she laughed it off but it an uncomfortable truth was it my fault  just for existing? no it was not  just because she made a mistake  did not justify  her treatment  but it took me years to learn that.

Tides of change: what was once light fades into darkness and was considered good dismissed as evil. No light without shadow No harmony with chaos It follows the course of nature but it cannot be captured in words and platitudes and stories of morality thought by human minds No power without weakness No sunlight without rain What reaches its zenith will undoubtedly fall the downtrodden will find justice and the righteous will be humbled

Paint slathered thick on the canvas Ink brushed soft on the silk Needle and colorful thread on the fabric Strings vibrate loud with the bow Soul sings joyous with great wings

Bright autumn sunlight all is quiet outside my window dead leaves in a pile the bags are all full it will take some time until I see dead grass again No one walks alone in the morning always in pairs  they greet each other cheerfully and with smiles Solidarity in numbers Wreaths adorn windows fifteen foot Santa  in the neighbor's front yard with his hand raised up in a gesture of welcome his reindeer don't mind Lights from Diwali past double up as holiday cheer as the weeks fly by and hurtle quickly to the end of a tumultuous year.

Pure butter rich and decadent feast for the senses and the stomach delicious concoction that only comes once in a lifetime if you are lucky and are favored by the will of God Life's mortal pleasures reserved for the chosen You can't take it with you and if you overindulge confess your sins with a handful of silver to wash away the guilt.

The soft silk from a caterpillar in its cocoon the rough canvas from the sack of potatoes the shiny oilskin which still stays dry from the rain the crunchy crinoline from a hoop skirt of a young belle the simple linen that covers them all at the end like a shroud

A soft light falls on frail features the camera still a long exposure captures every detail remember that  thou art mortal from dust thou began to dust thou shalt return such thunderous words grow quite soft in this moment of quiet remembrance.

A haiga is a haiku paired with visual drawing. It's usually a painting or a drawing, but it can also be a photograph, collage or digital image. pastel on black paper, 2019 Faithful companion you have crossed the rainbow bridge wave from other side

Coffee and cake a tea time  that is long overdue laughter as we reminisce over memories so very long ago but they come alive as we tell the stories. reconnect after long years away time slips backwards it's as if we never left  

The longer version of a #poetryprompt on Bluesky. I couldn't fit it within the character count, so this is the original version. The challenge was to write an aubade.  "Write an Aubade! "The aubade is a dawn song that greets the morning while lamenting the end of the night, often concerning the parting of lovers." My lover walks between walls  between the night sky  and the dawn's light  As the sun peeks  over the horizon and the birds greet  the coming day  It streams through my curtains illuminates the shadows that protect my poor aching heart the pillow next to me grows cold though his scent still  clings to the fabric I lie in the fading warmth  tears stream down my cheeks  as he is gone yet again  but my life goes on

language is  a funny thing different ways to express oneself an innocuous word in one is a grave insult  in another a whole way of  thinking  feeling  experiencing  it is an unspoken  agreement  among a group  of people  on what is important  and what is not  and the social rules  that govern them yours is not superior it's what you're used to.

It's hard being friendly when everyone just wants to be left alone Just smile and accept what their comfort level is no need to force cheer. The problem becomes when no one relates to others it becomes "every man is an island." And while that's good for some it doesn't help us while the world goes to hell And you feel alone in a different way alienated by your own nature. 

Long ago  in those days filial piety  dictated what you thought how you acted who you loved honor to the family put your heart in a box Age conferred wisdom and youth was always folly "Hardship builds character"  or so the saying goes  but it's just an excuse  for the elders to tell you  that you should suffer  just like they did. Even now and in some ways  that mindset  never really left. All from a good place a desire to see you do well but the bottom line is about control.

Fire and brimstone an image of torment for the transgressions against a whimsical god oh how their words thunder and the audience listens in awe and fear stray from the narrow path fall over the cliffs into a darkness too deep and horrible to fathom or escape such punishment literal in the afterlife made manifest in their sermons in the present life. The words are absolute to police the actions of the one  to secure the eternal life of the many The horror is now not in some imagined purgatory

The longer version of a poem I wrote for the Emoetry prompt on Bluesky. The word is "idealistic" What happens  when the idealistic ones run into reality  and that youthful hope becomes tarnished  by corruption?  A new generation rises up  to accomplish  what they failed to do. As one who sits between the elders who protested a war and the sons and daughters who defend a way of life I have faith that the future is filled with promise. The kids will save us all.

This is the longer version of a vss365 prompt on Bluesky. The prompt word is "domestic" He's gone domestic:  cultivated a garden painted the walls  washed the windows renovated the kitchen  changed air filters  and the batteries  of the smoke alarms  cooked dinner  took out the trash told the kids a bedtime story did the dishes although he'd always talked about it instead of just pontificating he actually did it. his wife wondered  if he'd been taken over  by some sort of  alien

Tell the editor to be quiet hold that red pen until the last word is written and the last thought is completed They won't have a job unless the letters are on the page And they can't complain if they're the ones in the way of progress.

The chatter of the  typewriter goes silent as the years pass by Replaced by the quiet taps of the desktop keyboard Or the silent touch of fingers on virtual letters The scritch scratch of a pen on scraps of note paper Or the sound of a voice transcribed on a screen Whichever way it is done words still speak to be heard in the world.

Halloween  It's time for  trick or treating bobbing for apples  ghosts and goblins  spiders and ghouls  Skeletons and phantoms all dressed in their darkest best the witch's cauldron bubbles with a tasty concoction The one night of the year  where ghosts and demons  can join the party and no one will distinguish the living from the dead we are all the same.

Ride the wave until it reaches the shore and it crashes in a mess of foam all its energy spent It needs to retreat  to gather its energy yet again to make another attempt to inch farther inland. The moon's pull helps it to encroach inch by inch and rise towards the sky Then it recedes back to where it came reveals the secrets that lie within their unfathomable deeps. The cycle of energy ride the surplus of ideas until it crashes against the rocks then retreat and refill your reserve to try again.

Seen yet unseen Used to be resentful but there are advantages if I stay in the shadows and watch from outside None of the glory all of the work dirt and blood under my fingernails My hands are broken. I know how it works the intricacies of what it takes the secrets and the lies the honest and the good I see it all. Let them take the credit I know where the truth is nothing lasts forever and when the consequences come I just walk away.

I roll for my stats but no one has ever told me why they ended up so low Last on the initiative list Every time. I would have liked to go out on adventures and not just kill rats in a tavern basement in a small town. Then I thought if I cannot go out on adventures maybe I can have them come to me. That's why I have too many dice but so many characters who are all a part of me.

Fresh out of worries or cares I can't remember the last time I felt like this Relax for once let everyone else take up the slack enjoy the sunny day Don't worry I got this he said you go and  do what you want to do It was a nice dream but I know reality is nowhere close to this At least it's a nice thought.

Soft rain dense fog howling wind fire crackles in hearth a cheery glow bulwark against the cold wrapped in blankets cat on lap a mug of spiced rum A comfortable peace even as bad weather thunders outside. This is the kind of being alone that recharges the soul.

There are only so many ways to explain what I think and feel only so many words that I can use to describe my innermost thoughts. Flowery and poetic allusions to ideas familiar to you I hoped to make a connection so you understand Straightforward is best on the one hand you tell me you appreciate nothing but the truth but my words only serve to make you angry So which one shall it be? Do I need to tell you just what you want to hear or what is necessary to save whatever we have that is left?

Pink bag sits on the floor half empty hair ties pointe shoes lipstick blush a tall water bottle A memorial to childhood dreams and idyllic carefree years.

Syllables every part of a word rolls off the tongue loud and clear or muffled  blended into speech everyone understands Tone rises and falls directs all ears to the melody and the rhythm of a poetic meter of a voice's song Silence echoes loud the pauses in chaos a stream of information it speaks its truth between the lies of their story.

 My stories take me away from here transport me to a place unbound by the chains of practicality If my horses fly and my wizards powerful I write it and it becomes true. A position of strength where I make the rules and I speak my truth dressed in fantastic clothes. They cannot muffle the voice that sings about adventure passion romance justice a world that makes sense where chaos and evil exist but my characters fight the good fight and even if they do not  claim complete victory at least their journey is worth the undertaking.

I am tired of screaming into the void. Words branded red hot as I write them then burn to ashes. The only one who reads them is me. Write for yourself they say  that's all that matters. But when crickets chirp when I tell others the silence is loud. Perhaps my voice your worlds, your characters really don't exist. And so for a while all my pen will write is windswept ash. 

Raw emotion gives voice to unvarnished truth the reason why they strive to break our pens Words sound flat and static leached of all known fact When life is messy and complicated with its twists and turns Half lies still count as lies even if technically correct The human heart not reduced to mere simulacrums The human soul can't fathom a fake carbon copy

What you don't have looks better than what you hold in your hands The other side the yearning for more than what your life gives you are not content Wealth and prestige a large circle of friends than a quiet night in isolation Travel and adventure like in the old days than stuck in a house fussy children and husband So you take up your pen and create the world you want than be satisfied with what fate has given you.

Incense smoke wafts upwards in a great cloud obscures the view organ music echoes in the space notes ring with every pomp and circumstance sonorous voice chants the words in Latin: Gloria in excelsis Deo Pax hominibus eius in terra. Ritual steeped in mystery centuries old appeals to an ache in ancient souls no one even questions why it just is

Sometimes words dry up and get stuck in my throat I cannot speak or describe the images I see within my mind cannot form the sounds I am not heard though I wave my arms in desperation no one sees me at all. It would be so easy to put down my pen stare at the ink in complete blankness. Who cares if no one sees Just do it for yourself But words by themselves just echo in my mind. I can write them down and shut them up in a drawer or I can bare my soul to an unseeing, uncaring world. Perhaps it is better for them to read them long after the fact but at that point... will I be around to care? 

#VSS365 prompt of Bluesky, "deluxe". A tribute to an old friend. A deluxe bento box  of all the goodies  he liked to eat  during the last days. It really goes well  with a nice bottle  of warm  rice sake.  No crowds or witnesses He always took his meals in contemplative silence. A focus on the experience notice tastes and textures you never felt before. Slow down always be mindful of your surroundings. Feel the sun on your face hear every piece of gossip life is fleeting one moment gone. A celebration  of life and memory  As long as I speak his name  He will always be there.

A poem made of subject lines from my Spam folder. They are not edited, but arranged in a way to try to make sense.  A weekend full of revelry Attunement activating the Timeline of Holy Light WOW! OMG Personal Numerology Codes A little piece of history A message from your past self. His wealth would be yours You truly deserve this... You cannot ignore this message You are one of ten (10) people chosen Don't miss the final hours of our SALE! Your chance to win $1,000,000 USD NOW! This privilege  marks a turning point in your life! Your fortune is written.

Another #firewords280 prompt on Bluesky. The words are "maniacal" and "laughter". This is the longer version of the poetry piece I posted there. The sound of maniacal laughter echoes from the old Victorian sanitarium the rooms are empty but heavy footsteps drag down the halls singsong crooning just out of hearing range the foundation is crumbling the rats made their homes generational their neighbors  the bats in the rafters chains and restraints on the bed frames they're for safety, you see this hurts me far worse than it does you a wretched life away from the sun the windows boarded up against the cold how many lost souls wander the corridors How many dark secrets hide in the corners?

Posted for #firewords280 on Bluesky. The prompt words were "vacant" and "sockets". This is the longer version of the poem (I had to fit it into 300 characters for a Bluesky post). vacant stare  from empty  eye sockets cracks deep set across white bone pieces missing like a jigsaw puzzle shattered by time buried by ignorance mouth in a  perpetual grin  as if humoring the other unfortunates scattered around in unmarked piles jumbled together with no rhyme or reason no dignity or shame at the end it could have been any one at any time past or present what happened to you  sword or sickness treachery or plague where did you  meet your end  on the battlefield breath rattling out in a bed the whisper of an axe whistles on the scaffold what stories can you tell  Take your time  to form your words  without a voice.  I can wait.

Chasing sunsets As light shifts colors from cloudless blue to fiery red and purple touches the horizon. Birds sing farewell to yet another day the robin prepares its nest yet the owl sharpens its claws for the upcoming hunt. The day fades the last shreds of light dies but a new brilliance rises to take its place the moon becomes the sentinel and the stars its witnesses.

Sleep that refuge from life where body lies in repose not dead but dormant as cells repair and mind wanders in dreams. Denied overwrought nerves that fire refuses to calm not peaceful yet warlike as pain tears and mind chases in circles. Thoughts muddled waters where clarity swallowed in fog not clear but scrambled as day wears on and patience plunges in frustration.

I didn't mean  to ruin your fun he said. That is the way he means sorry, he said. You aren't a child and I know that he said. But if I can't be a part of it then you shouldn't either he said. It's for your own good and my comfort, he said.

Sharp arrows that pierce the skin if they aren't removed the poison festers. Small stilettos out of the darkness you don't realize the cuts till you bleed. Cutting words out of nowhere they sound like a joke you just laugh along Jagged pieces ripped and torn your ghost stare mournfully with shattered eyes.

Prayers in every stitch words of protection thoughts of warmth and comfort. Scraps of fabric scrounged from dresses outgrown this one is familiar a child's apron she doesn't need it anymore. One of a kind to seal away the winter's chill wrap yourself up in front of the fireplace dream good dreams.

This needs to change but to talk of it and all the way around it analyze all the steps argue about who is responsible for  cost time labor where is the oversight how can we be sure that what they do what they say they do within the budget but still as fast as possible So much talk but no one is willing to take the risk of the first step so it is all circular over and over.

A quiet corner slow and steady wins the race they say not to stand out don't follow the trends write from your heart and success will come your way. Do it for exposure get your name out there hope that someone, somewhere will see how talented you are in a faceless, nameless sea just one of a flood of nobodies Idealism gets you nowhere in a reality that is against you the realization hands you bitterness in the guise of that is how the real world works. It's everyone for themselves. But is that what they want you to believe? Yes, there is disappointment to be had The triumphs are high, the defeats are low Lessons are learned in adversity Platitudes pale next to action The drive to see and do better. Not everyone is out to get you Find your tribe, your people band together, the pen  is mightier than the sword For a quiet whisper can turn into the thunder of gods.

(Picture of me strumming a small lyre (6 string+ drone string) at the Carolina Renaissance Faire) Strum the strings invoke the singers of long ago the weight of history all condensed into song an epic tale  told in front of the fire and let the audience sit there, mesmerized by stories of brave warriors and wise wizards who stand in the shadow of the darkness of a cold, cruel world. Let the melody take you on a path where the righteous have already trod and inspire you  to forge your own path where the bards can sing of your legacy.

Reading books on how to do  a certain project does not compare to actually doing it yourself. Having friends of a certain group does not qualify  to your expertise of an upbringing that is not yours. Watching videos on the woes of history does not make you a true witness to those who are  really living it.

A broken needle makes the record skip and it blocks the music. It repeats the very same tune over and over again. And scratches a groove deeper in the same place. It is not the music's fault rather the blockage in its way.

The veil between worlds becomes thinner as the days pass and the chill settles into the bones. The darkness falls sooner Sun dips below the horizon as leaves swirl and the wind's harsh fingers touch your skin. The whispers grow louder Moon rises higher in the sky as the dead wake and their voices shout into your ears. The righteous tremble the candle of purity diminishes as the hypocrisy laughs and their madness spreads into your mind.

Take a little bit of me when you go Even as the years go by and I die twice: once when my body goes once when my name is no longer spoken. And my words shriveled and burnt upon the wind. And yet everyone who has ever lived leaves a mark on the fabric of reality The quiet tears that fall on rocky ground nourishes the life which comes after. It will endure through fire and storm and scorching rays of indifference.

I rain drips from the eaves  as thunder shakes the heavens  the dead do not care  II. a lone candle sits flame casts wandering shadows restless in its wake III. dusty books on shelves words are accumulated but they have no voice IV. truth forever mute hidden for no one to see too dangerous for power V. the last bastion keeper of forgotten age hopes the sun will rise VI. a single wish flares thread of history changes for future children VII. for now darkness reigns but the light only grows dim watching and waiting VIII. red blood cools quickly  the house becomes so quiet  there's another ghost

You realize you are worth more than you give yourself credit. Write that story Play that music Dance that salsa Love that movie. If you feel that no one appreciates anything you do there is at least one. I hold your hand bolster your flagging spirit so cry on my shoulder find the strength to carry on.

I see the sands in the hourglass fall slowly to the bottom in a pile of ash I hear my joints pop and my bones creak with every passing day. I feel waves of warmth like a hot summer though snow is on the ground I look in the mirror face wrinkled hair grey as ice I mark every birthday the months pass at the end of the year I wonder if I have lived too long and seen too much

Sinuous letters a special kind of code the key was lost so long ago only to be rediscovered millennia later Painted and inked on alabaster walls pressed into soft clay baked in a permanent frieze the details of a business agreement permanent for all to see. Every little detail a sequence of images a flourish here and there faces stare out with golden or azure eyes expect you to understand what they think and feel all these years later.

Banshee cry pierces through the night a wail of mourning a warning of what is to come mothers, protect your children fathers, barricade the door the drunk who stumbles home should really watch his steps For the night falls quickly  the the wind swirls the leaves the veil between the worlds becomes thin, even thinner and the dead can overhear the call for yet another to join their ranks.

A voice conjures up an image of what a personality should look like. Cadence and words a melody that fills a void in the imagination. Language  paints a picture rhythm and intonation noble or repulsive. What if you  finally meet the person behind the voice: are you disappointed?

Strings vibrate my fingers stretch more than one octave over several frets practice they said you'll get it. It requires as much problem solving as a scientific riddle when your bones and muscles don't stretch that far. Smaller keys custom built but sometimes  a normal instrument is still too big to play.

Leaves crunch under my feet the path is well marked but as the trees shed their colorful blankets I tread on a road of sunset. The very earth knows the turn of the seasons summer's embrace loosens its grip gently, ever so gently. But it is not yet winter no, the cold's not set in I bask in autumn's warmth not a blaze, not a scorching ray Just a touch of radiance.

cascade of water  cold rapids far far below  my soul is drowning the air is cooling sun's rays are growing shorter darkness encroaches the current of fate sweeps me away in its grasp unknown arrival there isn't a way to steer away from danger I face it head on finally it slows bubbles of foam on surface burst and fade away

A broken window lets the wind and the rain  to chill and soak a room. So you would fix the window. But you call around contractors too expensive or the schedules too busy So you do it yourself But you have no idea how. You watch videos you consult experts you rally help. And together you repair what's broken. It takes effort it takes teamwork not easy, but doable. And it starts with one person

Is it wrong to believe you deserve more than you have? To dream of happiness on your own terms and not by anyone else's? Teach the ones  who hurt you a lesson they will never forget? Protect the sanity that still exists in your mind so you never get hurt ever again?

Stand on the precipice waves of change at the bottom of the cliff centuries of foundation erode by relentless tides tumble into rocks below. will you simply stand and watch the march of time eat away the ground at your feet Will you jump? Will you move away? What will you do?

Take comfort in the little things they like to say Repetitive tasks is an opportunity for meditation on life, the universe and everything. When you need  to focus on survival and the daily grind week after week the priority is not on philosophical musings. Time is a commodity If you have the luxury to contemplate on the wonders of the universe and the nature of man perhaps do not judge the ones who work for it.

Needle and thread holes in the fabric anchors the strands double or triple fill in the colors like a painting from the old masters. Follow the pattern and the picture takes shape perhaps a night sky perhaps a street scene perhaps a calico cat mind schooled to stillness a meditation of sorts concentrate to a goal one mistake is costly the story in one snapshot framed for all to see.

I a lifetime of guilt why don't you ever visit  don't understand why II I am four years old read aloud for all your friends to make you feel good III. yearly spelling bee I do not want to practice others play outside IV. so a journalist travel to exotic lands? then take me with you! V. study hard, good grades then just help the family don't think of yourself VI. I have my own life "so do whatever you want! you are ungrateful!" VII. so you wonder why no one ever visits you do not understand

Liquid gold in a cup what color is it? black as midnight? Green like the palest leaf? orange like a setting sun? Doesn't matter. Put the kettle on and let it sing so loudly. Grind the beans let the water flow through. With or without pulp? Morning's hard. Chase the cobwebs of the night's dream Leave the nebulous world and return to this one. Can you remember? Ground yourself with this drink.

Fingers glide on arpeggios going up and down on ladders made of notes and rests Strings vibrate sometimes join two notes that slide into one another. High tones ring low tones tremble all strung in a code that has lasted for millennia but is still familiar all the same

Colored pencils watercolors brushes and inks oil pastels chalk double-sided markers collages scrapbooks little cartoons plein air urban sketches portraits landscapes a treasure of a lifetime pictures are windows to a past that is rapidly fading into monochrome

Time is short for us all they say that at  the end of the road you realize all the  dreams left unfulfilled words left unspoken people left unseen you race to achieve whatever can be done In the end some bridges lie long in ruins and cannot be rebuilt just because  you suddenly decide that you are desperate to close that gap before your time is done.

Autumn pumpkin spice so popular campfires crackle fireflies say good bye to Summer Leaves in the backyard are tinged with the red of dying sun soon to carpet the ground Sweaters soft and pliable pulled from storage the kids wear them at the bus stop in early morning. Festivals for the harvest bob for apples buy hand milled soaps and bright yellow-orange gourds Farewell  to sun's heat hello to winter's chill frost coats the ground and the winds blow cold

So many colors so little time like little pockets of broken rainbows that I can tuck away into cakes of bright and cool shades. All it takes is one brief burst  of inspiration.  Nothing has to be perfect or worthy of the most exacting art critic. Paint with your heart not with their expectations.

Strive for inner peace those slices of time minutes while the laundry and the dishes scream for attention. The seconds between crises squabbling children relationship trouble mum just calls to make sure you're breathing and little else. Step out the back door feel the sun on your face the wind in your hair the neighborhood is quiet no sounds of lawn mowers Those deep breaths the snatches of sanity to cleanse the palate and steady the mind for the chaos that lies ahead.

The stones at the bottom of the well feel brittle and dry the water long gone the soil is so parched. Wind carries haunting voices of those who come before murmur of their fate dark and long forgotten Light does not exist here the weight of stale air frozen by unyielding time smothers any change. Cracks in the mortar between handholds crumble at the touch a long climb back to the light and the view of all in the day. But the sun still rises and sets the world goes from spring to winter Eyes have wandered to greener pastures and voices ask, "Do I know you?"

                  (pictures by Sifa)    Black roses black leaves death and grief and mourning. Transformation an end to the old and into the new find the strength to go on. Look past the curtain move through the shadow play a requiem write an eulogy Remember thou art mortal to dust you shall return but every time they speak your name you are never forgotten

when the impossible becomes possible whom do you believe? the ones who achieve it or the ones whose opinions are mere words? the optimists want to believe the good in everyone the pessimists think change will never happen at all. the realists see the potential but also realize  the roadblocks and the posturing that obscure the vision of justice. Will it ever come to pass? we all know the truth we all know proof exists but  to make it happen involves those who have a vested interest to keep it blind.

when life throws an unexpected loop what do you do? rail against the injustice so loud that everyone hears and maybe it will be fixed? That's fine, but... what if it takes a long time or it never gets solved at all? have a plan B get stuck in traffic know more than one way to get there. change gears make the most of what you have maybe it's a blessing in disguise do those changes that you've been thinking about no time but the present it does not mean put up and shut up make your feelings heard but it does mean be resourceful you might surprise yourself

cool winds blow the temperature no longer peaks over one hundred autumn is near green with a tinge of orange and red the trees put on their russet crowns clear blue sky perfect for the harvest festivals apple pie and cider favorite time of the year days grown shorter nights grow longer stories around the campfire the earth prepares to sleep the birds go on vacation I sit on the porch swing the chill in my bones

sip tea treasure the flavor the texture, the aroma as the rain patters on the roof the sound of thunder far in the horizon count the heartbeats between one and the next the flash of lightning splits the sky into jagged pieces illuminates like the sun for a second in time contemplate the past and the future set them aside for the moment what are you thinking in the present moment? 

A fall can really hurt and you lie stunned for what seems a few moments that can last for eternity. It's amazing how long it seems. The seconds tick away that turns into minutes then into hours and into days It's amazing how much you lose. By the time you finally come back to yourself the sounds of the crowd has long faded into silence. It's amazing how loud the silence gets. It's too late to call it back. You are too far behind can never catch up even if you try. It's amazing how you can be forgotten. The only thing to do is to dust yourself off and start again with your words. It's amazing how different times change.

A star brightens and flares out its brilliance just for a second and then it fades into nothing. The embers remain yet they cannot be extinguished forever. Glows in the shadows a comfortable warmth that still lives in the soul. Stir the coals rearrange the priorities put pieces in better places. A flare of an idea it catches again not a roaring flame. Damp green wood clouds open and dump rain so many setbacks. Restart with flint and steel strip out the wet and useless the fire stutters until it catches. A new star is born not as brilliant or as high but give it time.

a place to be safe  a private quiet sanctum  just sit and  breathe deep your own mind and your own thoughts no one can ever take those away from you. as tides turn and dead leaves fall and perpetual night overshadows the valley know that the dark will not last forever the stars light up the heavens and the sun rises on the horizon.

I. see the ferryman press the gold coin into his hand then he welcomes you II you're the only one today must be a slow day or this trip's just yours III. it's quiet, peaceful the sound of lapping water he pushes off shore IV. he's a quiet chap not much for conversation he just has one job. V. cross the river Styx  the darkness is comforting  it's time to forget

Focus your energy on the things that matter don't scatter your attention on people or events that will compromise what you are deep inside. Don't take it too seriously or overthink what looks the best Just do it. Smash through the paralysis of what others will think and say. The only responsibility you have is to stay true to your core beliefs. For the only person you have to live with is yourself.

Aspirin with coffee my head hurts but I can't afford  to go to sleep Son is not well Hubby has work calls it falls to me to keep on going But when the caregiver can't go on to do what needs to be done what happens then? 

Just one day: the sky does not weep rain the debate isn't about the very right to existence the music sounds not like a dirge. Just one day: the distractions don't divide us the evil are brought to justice the hearts all beat as one the anger does not blind us. Just one day: the children play in the sun the air rings with laughter the warmth of people shines the world is at peace.

On Bluesky, yesterday was "Don't F-- with a Poet Day". It was to give a voice to women who were being treated by men as 'objects of consumption'. Not only for their bodies, but their minds, hearts, souls and voices. This is my poem. There's an extra stanza that I couldn't fit in the 300 word count. They asked you what I did  for a living  You told them "she's just a stay at home mom"  despite knowing that I  craft ideas every day  Twenty nine years three children who need constant care but despite all of that my voice still soars though you always dismiss it. But I can use words  to speak the truth.  You know that  I'm more than a title.  I'm more than just  who you think I am.

Words that flow hit rocks in the rapids and are lost in the swirl of mental chaos. I try to capture them but they slip through the cracks of my mind and I no longer recall. Where do they go when they are in the ether and will they return when I least expect them? Inspirations comes and goes like eddies in the current and are shaped by  a certain time and place. What is fanciful then can become a unmistakable truth and what is important now can become irrelevant later. Be patient and wait if it is lost, it will come back and if it is unheard one day it will be shouted over the river's roar. 

Cracked heart will never be whole as long as the damage continues to spread I can cry or I can laugh It's all right to do the former but I choose to do the latter. Experience  is a bitter teacher but the more I have the wiser I become The challenge: continue to drink from the bitter draught or find a sweeter tonic.

Fingers on the strings not quite automatic yet accidentally sharps and flats first position, second position Muscle memory not quite there but almost, given time under a watchful eye Melodies stagger brain process the notes translates to a stutter of harmonies that hasn't gelled together So many soft tunes and so many angry arias the emotions are already there just need to be unlocked

The ant knows its place in the hierarchy it does its job the one it was born to do never questions how it will benefit the colony it just does. The eagle flies free on the currents of wind It hunts its food and for its little ones never ponders the loss of the fleeing rabbit below it just does. The unwavering man lives through his life He does his very best and himself and those around him never second guesses his motives and his actions he just does.

Dust on the countertop spills onto the floor years of a life well lived, I wonder. Locks of hair pressed into a book next to faded flowers long dead but present. Stones worn away by the pelting rain and the roaring wind names and dates unreadable But the sleeping ones remember though their voices are never heard by the ones who are awake.

Pendulum swings from one side to the other in a blink of an eye happy on one side inconsolable on the other bright and sunshine on the right minute and hour dark and storm clouds on the wrong day and month each moment is a roll of the dice each second is one grain in the hourglass it veers from one to the next unpredictable like the wind and the chaos follows in its wake with all the confusion and the bewilderment. Where will it go now? For how long and how wide no one can every prepare for it.

The Muse awakens from a long peaceful nap pours a cup of coffee Sunlight through the blinds diffuses through the house soft shadows creep on by The hum of electronics the clatter of keyboard slip into familiar territory a pile of ideas half written, half forgotten what will become of them the editor wants this and that all will appear in due time good work can't be rushed she is fickle but focused interruptions not welcome but rolls with every single one a time of rest required though pressure to produce looms large on the horizon the well can't run dry she fills another mug and gets to the business

Wisdom in the depths of  a coffee cup awareness unlocked by a jolt of caffeine. Intelligence in the words of a thick tome knowledge unlocked by the sages of old. Empathy in the hugs of a care worker feelings unlocked by the suffering of others. Cruelty in the lack of wisdom, intelligence and empathy apathy unlocked by the stunting of oneself.

Oroboros snake eating its tail consuming itself What came first the chicken or the egg question rages through the ages The old becomes new and the new fades away again it is only sleeping Events conspire to make the same mistakes when everyone forgets The universe does not travel in a straight line all thinking is circular.

Storm rolls in the sun fights to break through the clouds Will it, won't it? Slowly but surely the grey blots out the sky. Wind stirs the flowers softly at first but the stems bend and shiver even more Will it, won't it? Like a careful hand  it just moves with the breeze. Thunder speaks softly almost like a caressing rumble hesitant to shout Will it, won't it? It raises its voice to announce the rattle of rain.

It's July but is it wrong to wish for snow? One hundred degrees is too warm for my comforting hoodie. Red flowers in green bushes but my herbs have withered in this punishing heat. A breeze is supposed to cool the brow but it only feels stifling. The humidity enough to make a fish reconsider drinking the air. This heat has to break even as the weather prediction says 'rain in 4 hours'.

After the rain the sun shines brilliantly from my window that faces west the shadow of the house a looming patch of dark a border between the morning sun in the south and the building. I can see the tomato plants from my neighbor my own plants are dead because it is too hot and life got too busy to water them. I have neglected to take care of my own spiritual garden But I see through the blinds that it must be attended to under the canopy of trees by the fence. 

If I had a superpower-- I would double no triple! myself. Get things done be everywhere at once Pay attention to everyone who needs it. Not feel guilty for just having so few hours in the day so many demands on my time Don't give me  the ability to fly the power to read minds or turn myself invisible I just desperately want some help in this chaotic existence that is my life.

Let the wave wash over you do not be uprooted from what you believe and whom you trust As day turns into night the owl maintains its vigil the raven brings its dark news the nightingale sings its song But the sun will rise again the bees flit by flowers the sheep graze in the meadow the eagle stands sentinel No flood will destroy you No wind will strew you to pieces The fire will cleanse you make you stronger and whole

I can count the hours of rest on the fingers of both hands  and still have some left over. An underlying fog in the back of my mind never fully evaporates no matter how much I sleep Letters in my own handwriting colored paper remind me of what to do, where to go how to react. No, my memory is still good I just need a year or three's worth of mojitos at the beach side. 

The well run dry water is blocked need a new source I dig through the mud jagged rock heavy wet sand slowly becoming bone dry the farther I go deeper and deeper layers of psyche too much sludge but there's no turning back the only sound the pick axe ringing stone crumbling earth gives way don't know if it's day  or night as the earth consumes and smothers wraps tighter in darkness the sound of the rush is the only warning as it pushes me back erupting into the light a new spring of life floods the caverns of exploration to send my thoughts into orbit

The sense that all has changed and yet... The more the silence speaks the more I sit and listen. The precious sand in the hourglass still continue to fall. More aware of every grain that blossoms into a thorn-covered rose. Details obscured have now become clear the chaff just burns away Spirit distilled into a potent brew no longer weak But what cost did I have to pay for this new insight?

A new normal it feels surreal when I take up the pen or my fingers hover over the keyboard it feels different not awful, but the air around me holds its breath almost in anticipation or in judgment and I hesitate for a brief moment then proceed to put down my thoughts it feels different in a way that I cannot describe. The words just sit there perhaps it they just need time to mature and marinate before it goes into full bloom.

Weaving hope through my fingers and hoping it will be enough to shield through the storm. Facing the unknown with my head held high though every reflex tells me to duck. What will the future bring now that things have been irrevocably changed? It won't be like before but nothing ever stays the same This time I know  I won't be so alone we will face it together.