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Posts tagged ‘muse’

A Hallmark moment in the coffeehouse

There are certain places that inspire me more than others; the local coffeehouse around the corner, the park so close to my home with the massive trees dotted throughout, and a teahouse that is like hanging out in a friend’s house, sitting on well worn sofas and chairs. My muse loves these places and pops in for a visit as I visit these favorite places in my lovely Portland. It happened again as I stared across busy Burnside Street from the coffeehouse window, spying greeting cards in the window of the dollar store. This is how it happens at times, so simple, a gentle nudge – and the words build around one small thought.

Greeting Card to a Writer

          (on the cover)

Don’t despair…

Hang in there!


Even though the well is dry

The rain shower of words will fall

Soaking the parched paper

Ink flowing once more

The desert of writer’s block

Transformed into literary lushness

Change of scenery

Usually when I read or write I prefer the quiet confines of my home. But there are those times when I just want to, need to get out of the house and immerse myself in the cacophony of people and places. And one of my favorite places is only a block away, a small local coffeehouse, with a vibe that calls to me at times. I can find myself becoming lost in a good book while the conversation and music swirls all around me, and sometimes I have to reach for pen and paper to write down thoughts that filter through it all. I never want to define myself as having to do this or that as a writer; sometimes I find I need a change of scenery in order to find my muse.

Running Away from Home


I slipped out

Through the open door

Down the hallway

Down the stairs

Down the street


I slipped through

The unlocked door

Of the coffeehouse


The place where some come

To meet and mingle

Others sit solitary

At a table

Under a canopy of hipster music

We are draped in coffee smells

Balancing bodies on tiny wooden chairs


I read pages out of a book

Then I glance at the street scene

People walking

People walking dogs

The espresso machine sounds angry

Clanging and hissing as it labors away

I scribble random words on the paper

A swirl of the coffee cup

A last swallow of the caramel coffee


Then I decide

I don’t want to run away from home

And I retrace my steps



Pain as a muse

I recently viewed a wonderful exhibition of encaustic art, which is the art of using wax as a medium, much in the way oil paints or watercolors are used as a medium. There were several local artists featured, and included with their work was a short biography of themselves as an artist, and where the inspiration came from to create the work they chose to exhibit. And many of them talked of painful times in their lives as the motivation to create, to purge themselves of the depleting emotions they felt. When I first starting writing, I found myself doing that very thing; writing the words in poems to express the hurt and the anger I was working through. It was a very powerful way to help me heal. After I came home from the art exhibit, I realized I hadn’t read some of those first words for a time, and that those emotions need to be shared as well as the joyous ones. Sometimes it helps to look back at where we were, to see how truly far we have come – and I have come a long way from pain to find a place of peace.

Onion Flower


Onion – like

Layers peeling away


Plucked off

One by one

“I feel love, I feel fear”

Hoping for the last petal

To be love

The absolute rawness

Of breaking


Into a million tiny pieces

Of emotion

There it is

For all to see

I am naked, exposed

I like the exposure

Feeling the anger

I loosen its grip

Releasing emotion


Shouting if I must

Silent and hidden no more



Is just fear

Masked in a different name

It paralyzes

Like venom from a snake

Unable to move

A helpless prey

So they use you

Sometimes they abuse you

Until the antivenin

Of strength courses through

To counteract

The poison of insecurity

In the Eye


I sit with the others

Listening to their stories

Adding tiny words of my own

Then their voices chime in again

The conversation swirls all around me

I am in the eye of this hurricane

Of shared thoughts

Invisible, unnoticed

It is calm where I am

They pay no attention to me

Asking no questions

No concerns

I stay quiet

Letting their windy voices blow on and on

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