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

The princess placates the grumpy dragon humoring him, so he doesn't realize that she's plotting her escape. He sits on his hoard of riches commanding his legion with an iron hand. But slowly, every so slowly she moves her pieces into place her plans to fruition. When the shining knight comes in and demands her hand as payment for slaying the one who took her prisoner "I will not trade one cage for another be just another trinket for you to claim." She takes her share of the gold and leaves.

Waves head to the shore hit the sand then hiss on back retreats to gather power and do the same again. Voices rise and fall go into a crescendo then become softer and softer heading to another peak There are good days where it seems Luck loves you then She turns her back and you gnash your teeth. The highest highs and the lowest lows. It will happen over and over Don't expect either to last.

Take comfort in whatever you can even when the world falls apart The little things of life like breathing like the sunshine on your skin the rumble of thunder in the distance Your mind is your own your potential, yours to shape your abilities, yours to control Do not turn over and concede to those who would exploit your mind For your thoughts, your drive, your courage can make a difference No matter how small the simple fact you are here is already an act of defiance to those who want to erase you and your hopes and dreams and your creativity from the face of this earth.

Dance along the webs of Fate with silver shears in the palm of your hand. Look behind you before you work Please measure twice, but cut once. "Such power you wield is uncanny who are you to control whomever lives or dies according to your very whim? "How can you be impartial and not be motivated by spite or even the wings of mercy before you swing your scythe?" A little voice answered me: "I listen to the inner voice Time tells me when to do my job And here's the truth Man cannot bear: The universe is not so fair."

Sharing is not meant to be a competition I want to show you why certain things make me happy and maybe you can join in too. I didn't expect you to go all in and assume control try to tell me you know more in a few days than I know from doing it for years. I don't want you to feel like you must be better than me be more skilled more knowledgeable but that seems to be your nature. And your need to be right sucks all the joy right out of what I had loved before.

I smile but less and less. and it doesn't reach my eyes. I laugh but it sounds hollow with not much truth within it. I love but it is more of a habit and an obligation than anything true. I cry but only when I am alone away from ignorant eyes and only deeply inside so the smile can hide it.

Fate is fickle and so is the crowd. One day, everyone's darling the next, their pariah. Fair weather friends foul weather enemies. Everyone wears masks but not all can change them as easily as others. Hide all your innermost thoughts guard all your secrets from those who would exploit every little weakness. The one advantage to never lying: you don't have to keep track of what you said to whom.

Should I be silent? The urge to write is too strong it is a part of me has been, will be My pen will not stop my words will not falter They might control the means but they cannot chain the thoughts in my head the love in my heart the song in my soul.

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 Inspired by Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death by Yoel Hoffma  I. Let them argue over a useless corpse: My soul is free II. Life's bitter draught first tastes sweet on the lips it lasts for years III. Cicada's songs last scarcely over a season the forest remembers IV The mocking sound of his voice is finally no more oh I love the silence! V. Sun high in the sky but the clouds weep bitter tears go past the darkness. VI. When pain stops the body realizes euphoric release. VII. The painter puts down her brush declares her life's work done. VIII. It comes for us all by choice or no roses at the tombstone.  

The fool who takes up the pen creates a world that makes no sense But when one looks closer it has laws and logic all its own Exists somewhere not here or there or anywhere we know but in the fool's mind Up is down and down is up grounded in the world already known but a life all its own at your feet. The invitation beckons to step into this realm of all sorts of possibility mystery and magic

So much rain good for the plants not good for joints that creak and pop when air pressure falls Thunder announces the arrival as rattle of drops strike the roof above streaks down the windows. The clouds are crying letting it all out in one fell swoop and then feeling lighter the sky brightens Soil turns to mud water shimmers in puddles for ants to swim in reflecting the rainbow in the sky as if in apology

No one said it would be easy They didn't warn me of the challenges or the triumphs The tears shed every night the smiles made every day Championing their cause in spite of opposition and paperwork and red tape. It's still a long road ahead but looking back I would be lying if I said I enjoyed every minute of it But it's not a lie when I say I am proud of who they become.

sadness sitting on the bathroom floor with tears streaming down my face a little brief moment of peace and happiness snatched away because you are incapable of every saying those two words that are too difficult for you to say "I'm sorry."

 I. Cheerful light is gone the cloud rolls over the sun colors are muted II. They say it won't last shadows are temporary the darkness lasts years III The mole squints upwards: says, "it all looks fine to me." dives back to his home. IV. All the birds take refuge protected by the green trees they weather the storm V. When the fury passes debris scattered everywhere pick up the pieces VI. Fix what is broken continue living again soon all forgotten.

Where does the time go? Huge calendar with all the dates written in color coded marker red for me, blue for the kids green are husband's events Notifications ring out on my computer. Post-its, planners timers, countdowns I remind everyone days hours, minutes in advance Carving out time to squeeze in appointments... ...and somehow they always run late or completely forget. What more can you do? I'm their mother, I'm his wife but I feel like their secretary.

A mess of wires what plug goes where sitting there in the tangle trying to make the crooked straight. So many devices too many to count what do I need what can I remove what doesn't work anymore? Connectors not connecting plugs not conducting devices not updated: remove all the fodder dismiss all the outdated. Technology is supposed to make all our lives easier give us more free time to do whatever we want but that time is spent on upkeep.

Sometimes it is one little thing that can get in the way: a pebble in your shoe a button pressed at the wrong time a switch flipped the opposite way You can make all the plans but you cannot account for human error or the whims of nature. Should that deter you from ever trying anything new? No, do not be so easily defeated take care of the problem without loudly announcing what your plans are Karma will hear you and act accordingly.

Put it away for some period of time: days, weeks, months maybe years. Perhaps you forget about it perhaps not. When it returns to the light of day see it with brand new eyes. See new possibilities that weren't there before fresh ideas, other concepts branching out from the soil that needed to lay fallow to rest. Those tender offshoots may blossom in other places and take you elsewhere you did not expect.

Constantly changing the hues of the palette seem to mix in strange and unusual ways The wood warps and cracks paint seeps through the edges stain the deep set grooves in rainbow. You could trace the ages through splatters of cobalt and the era of styles through sprinkles of glitter. Memorialized in contrasts white swirled in dark to make it lighter russets and oranges shade into verdant swipes that may be leaves or maybe grass for spring flowers or dying falling petals. Any painter throws it away but it is a memorial or a testament to canvases gone by.

He sleeps in his chair Very much like his father did before him. Tiptoe around him don't make any loud noises he is resting They all hold their breath to not rouse the slumbering dragon to keep the peace. I refuse to be cowed I give him his space I grant him his peace. But while waiting for him I write my words and refuse to let the world pass me by.

I never asked for fame Never considered myself worthy for admiration. Shun the limelight keep to myself. Always stood on the sidelines let others have the credit and the glory. The years went by Unremarked, unnoticed the tall poppy needs to be knocked down. Some people have the luck and the contacts and the charisma to be successful. Opportunities pass by so I wouldn't rock the boat draw too much to myself make anyone feel threatened the status quo maintained then something snapped: I'm too old to put up with someone's petty insecurities. Now I listen to my Muse and encourage others out of their shells I'm not ashamed to show my enthusiasm and my zeal and my talents. The bright red poppy stands straight and tall.

Twenty two years ago was not expected but quite long awaited Never a doubt he stole my heart the first time I laid eyes on his tiny form. It's been a long road full of pitfalls and heartache but full of love and pride to see him carve his own way despite all the roadblocks life has thrown at him. He's a fighter. Quiet and reserved among those he doesn't know. Although he doesn't speak his smiles say plenty and he's expressive in his own way. Happy birthday, Son. Mum loves you.