Obsession – My Ode to Joe

This is my confession it is my obsession
I have a natural predilection to its addiction

Memories of my father and his ochre cup
Attached to his side, breakfast, lunch and sup’

My oath to drink only one all my friends joke about
I would offer my first-born rather than do without

An olden concoction for which we modernists still toil

To smell its aroma fills me with such frustration
To see its liquid flow as I pour fills me with anticipation
To taste its liquid heat is such a sensation
To feel its burn down my throat fills me with elation
To hear that last swallow fills me with such trepidation

For some it is more precious than diamonds, gold or oil

An obsession shared by many on this orb
As sip after sip it is so greedily absorbed

I oscillate between the need the makes my heart burst
And the joy of feeling the elixir oust my deep thirst

I’m like a kid with chewiest of toffee
Nothing beats that first oomph of coffee

Glass coffee mug with line indicating it is safe to speak to owner of said mug when the contents  have reached the bottom line.
Yes, this is my coffee mug at work.
Yes, my colleagues know not speak to me until my coffee reaches well under that bottom marker.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Cheers!

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Today at dVerse Poetics our host and pub-tender paeansunplugged invites us to raise a glass and sip on some verbiage to that all quenches our thirsts. I chose the libation that gets many of us up, running and ready to face the world with less of a snarl in the mornings – well at least me.

Morning Scent

The fresh scent of lawn anywhere
Can sometimes take me there
Magnolia wafting on morning
Even if I cannot see the trees
Yes, sometimes a hint of sweat
Remembrances of you beget
The mourning in memory spurred
When into earth you were interred

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #158: Morning Has Broken
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: A World of Common Scents

dVerse Poets Pub graphic
dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Yesterday on Quadrille Monday Linda Lee invites to put our best morning forward in a quadrille.

A Quadrille is simply a poem of 44 words, excluding the title. It can be in any form, rhymed or unrhymed, metered, or unmetered. You MUST use the word “morning” in your poem.

Today dVerse guest host Jo invites us to A World of Common Scents and challenges us to write a poem of scents.

Linda’s “morning has broken” struck at Melpomene who cruelly reminds pleasant scents do not always pleasant memories make.

Not Exactly What I Meant

When I told someone I need to chill this is not exactly what I meant…

tulip buds in snow
…Though it is very representative of my mood right now.

Frosted over, but trying to push through the madness. I seriously chose the wrong year to give up coffee for Lent.


Today is Day 8 of the March Slice Of Life Story Challenge.
Let’s how other are slicing and hopefully doing a better job of chilling out today…

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It Catches Up…

Mr. Sandman has chased Ms. Insomnia around the mulberry bush for three days.  I may have slept a total of ten hours twixt these three days.

Maybe it’s all the snow that has fallen on my fair city these past few hours, I don’t know. When Insomnia stopped to take a gander at the pristine snowy city streets Sandman finally caught up to the elusive chick. They are battling still, but I feel she’s losing this round – rapidly and I couldn’t be happier.

My head feels like the marionette string has been cut, I can barely keep my head up. The result being one yawn filled slice before the hay hits me <— not a typo.

G’nite y’all.


Today is Day 7 of the March Slice Of Life Story Challenge.

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Sometimes You Fail Non Stop

I write. I write documentation at work. I write creatively every where else I can. For instance this is me, during my cruise working on a story while waiting to dock.

Writing during down time while cruzing

In the Broadway show “Hamilton: An American Musical”, at the end of Act I there’s a number called Non Stop in which the friends and family of Alexander Hamilton both praise and bemoan the prolific wordsmith.

“How do you write like tomorrow won’t arrive?
How do you write like you need it to survive?
How do you write ev’ry second you’re alive?
Ev’ry second you’re alive? Ev’ry second you’re alive?”

This is me to a smaller degree, but not by much depending on who you ask.

If I have an idea I write  or at least try to write a note to myself to revisit an idea later. Trains. Boats. Planes. At a bar. In the middle of a party wherever I am.

However the downside of that is on occasions like today, where I find myself writing so much about the whole fruit, I forget I need to be writing about – you guessed it – the slice.

So for the second day  -er- night  in a  row. I skate in just under the midnight hour.


Today is Day 6 of the March Slice Of Life Story Challenge.

Slice of Life logo


Stepping Up!

One of the interesting things about my daily commute is the hill. New York City is not known for its hills. There’s a reason we have an area call Flatlands in Brooklyn and the magical phenomenon called Manhattanhenge which occurs a couple of times a year.. Then you travel north to upper Manhattan where there are inclines that can rival San Francisco. The train station where I exit my evening commute home just happens to be halfway to the bottom of one. There is even a simple marker in the park near one end of the station that notes the area as the highest natural elevation on Manhattan.

Suffice to say at over 400 feet deep it’s a long climb from the subway platform to the street level. Essentially, we are talking a five story tenement building climb.

Normally this is not an issue as there are escalators to help. Two going up and one down, plus a standard flights of stairs. A week ago the usual escalator that goes down went out of service for major repairs, scheduled to be back in service, I hope, next week.  As a result, one of the usually two escalators going up, was switched to a down escalator. There was a reason for there being two escalators that went up. This station is a busy station. Two are needed for the volume of ridership that disembark at the station. Down to only one working up escalator the inevitable happened. It gave its all – and died. So this evening after a long day of work, I exit the train and just know by the number or people walking to the right instead of left that the up escalator is broken. This has happened no less than five times last year that I can recall.

Granted, I could walk to the other end of the station and take the elevator, (yes the station also has elevators), but then I would have to walk that same distance back to continue home. What I save in convenience and accessibility, I loose in time. I don’t consider the trade-off worth it, so I climb the steps.

When this happens I dubbed them my “Rocky” steps. For climbing them is very reminiscent of the Philadelphia Art Museum Steps the titular character had trouble climbing. For like Rocky and his steps at the beginning, I have yet to make it up the entire flight of steps without stopping at least twice. I’m faster than a couple of people, much more are faster than I, leaving my in the smoke of their speed. I have no shame, when I need to stop and catch my breath for a moment for a moment, I stop and wheeze and pant. As I stood at the bottom step and looked up at the daunting task ahead of me, I figured today was going to be no different.

Or so I thought…

Today, I plugged in my iPod grabbed a banister and started to climb. It was Drowning Pool and I trudging up the stairs. I didn’t look I simply climbed.  I felt my first twinge telling me I was going to need to stop. I looked up and to my surprise I was more than three-quarters up the stairs!!

But… but… But How?!?!?  

I had never made it that far up without stopping, I was not going to stop now! I continued climbing. My knees started complaining. I looked up and could have counted the steps if I stopped. I wasn’t stopping. I could easily count I had about a dozen steps left when my lungs started their wheeze.

Are you kidding me? Less than a dozen. Not so easy, let alone peasey, but…

Oh! My! God! I! Did! It!

No, I did not jump up and down like Rocky Balboa. 1- I was too out of breath and 2- while I’m sure many would have gotten the reference, 3 – I would have looked absolutely ridiculous in my suit and winter coat jumping up an down on the pavement.

I climb the steps without stopping! That’s not to say I am going to be able to do the same tomorrow if they’re still down. That’s not so say I will not pray that the escalator is working tomorrow.

But today – today….?

Gonna fly now
Flying high now
Gonna fly, fly, fly!!!!


Today is Day 5 of the March Slice Of Life Story Challenge.
Come see how others are slicing it up today.
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Wake Up, Shake Up

My eyes opened on the alarm clock blinking at me.

Huh? Blinking?  Crap!

Apparently the power had tripped some three plus hours ago. Luckily my circadian system still works and that’s what woke me. I glance at the burgeoning dawn outside my window, grab my cell phone and see I have roughly forty minutes to get it together and catch the bus.

You can do this, shake a tail feather, Raivenne!

Please note, I am not a morning At. All. So I am still not quite awake as I haul arse out of bed and head to the bathroom for my morning ablutions. I am under the shower when my brain starts to come online at last.


Why didn’t the alarms on my mobile wake me, even if the clock radio didn’t? 

Oh for fuck’s sake! It’s bloody Sunday!

Sigh – I’m wide awake now, in annoyance.

On the plus side – I’ve changed my sheets, completed the Sunday Whirl, posted the story that sprang from it, checked my emails and now have an easy slice to submit today.

Even better –  once I post this I’m off to brunch!


Today is Day 4 of the March Slice Of Life Story Challenge.
Come see how others are slicing it up today.
Slice of Life logo

This Is What It Sounds Like

I woke early this morning to birdsong. But not the trills that come with morning light. This was a lone note deep in the darkest before. I waited as the call went out. Then I waited some more.

Avian fantasia surrounded me as the bird voiced itself again. For somehow I knew it was the same lone bird and same lone note, perhaps calling out a name. Or was it a call awaiting response? I wondered if it was a mating call. Was there was a partner to answer?

Or was that the cry of the forlorn?

Try as I might, it sounded like crying; the gut wrenching sob of one trying to hide the pain. Is this what it sounds like when doves cry? I felt as though I was somehow intruding on something private, by just listening. As my alarm went off I rose knowing I was listening in vain. I did not hear the call again.

Just the memory of that note in the dark of night lingering on my psyche in the light of day.


Let’s see how others are slicing it up today…


Slice of Life Weekly Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

Not This Morning

Dawn first deigns to call me
into the depths of yet another day
before I am ready to do so

I glance at the alarm clock animation
cheerfully chiming me into the day
but I shut it off with surliness

The coffee maker is already at work
as the second sentry to my rising
sending its call via olfactory orifice

My television, next in line of pretense
to claim its place in my morning
makes its presence known

Knowing the coffee will turn itself off
I reach and remotely silence the banalities
of the morning news broadcast

I lay there for moments more wondering,
how did my ancestors rise without the assistance
of such mundane mechanics

Surely more than the cock’s crow
or the edicts of early to bed, early to rise
were needed for timely awakenings.

Would they laugh most loudly at me,
the latest devotee of the daily grind,
unable do the same even with such help?

I wanted to rise, really, I wanted to,
but somehow the Blackberry magically
sends out a mental health day message

Perhaps tomorrow morning
will find me ready to rattle and roll
but no, not this morning

As clouds  roll in to dull the dawn
it is the bed that beckons loudest
for good old-fashioned slumber


dVerse Poets Pub | FormForAll – TRIVERSEN 


Lying in your arms, feeling the dawn slowly
mark it way across our bodies
        My head says time to get up
             My heart differs
Gentle stroking, up and down
my spine
touch of gossamer
there… not there
Is it real or do I sleep still?
Too real to be a dream, slowly bringing me
from the depths of sleep
As though a sudden move
would cause me to shatter
I wake easily,
        Knowing the warmth I feel
              is more than the rising sun
I turn to you.
My eyes are closed,
        but I can see your smile,
              feel you surround me.
Your lips upon mine.
        Asking a silent question.
              Receiving a silent answer.

Love me…?
              Oh yes…

OpenLinkNight — Week 46