Saying Goodbye-Michael Erickson, Guest Barista

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No. These words are not my own.

I refuse. How much have we shared, how long have we known?

Deny the inevitable. To speak of endings when it feels as if our companionship has just begun.

Acceptance must be avoided. Please, do not go, do not leave.

To change, is to forget, I do not forget.

But as only can come the end to all things, you must go, and I must not follow.

As time crawls, we wait in good company.

As death rushes, so are we parted.

-M.E. Inkowl


Read more of Michael’s writing at The Ink Owl

I Dreamed I Saw Old Socrates/John W. Leys, Guest Barista

socrates_louvre

I dreamed I saw old Socrates
Walking Athens after dark.
No people to harass, no questions to ask,
No great debates on which to embark.

His face it looked so serene,
As he contemplated truth.
Is this the man they put to death
For corruption of the youth?

The men in charge, to keep their jobs,
Don’t want us thinking for ourselves.
Its sheep they need, easier to lead,
Not the depth to which wisdom delves.

Question every single authority,
Be certain only of what you do not know.
These men of Athens knew right then
This gadfly had to go.

I dreamed I saw old Socrates
Teaching with his last breath.
I stood among his crowd of friends
As he bravely met his death.

I awoke in tears of anger
At the injustice that had been done.
But I could not define what “justice” was,
And I knew that old Socrates had won.


John W. Leys blogs at Darkness of His Dreams

Image from Wikipedia

Fair Tidings

Varnika Jain/Moonlighting Scrivener

Moonlighting Scrivener

Out wandering again tonight.
Counting stars
Under their twinkling light.
No order to their chaotic mess
Defining beauty nevertheless.
A subtle yet profound reminder
Of the mystery that is life.
From chaos stems order,
From order rises mayhem.
Nothing permanent,
But everything sublime.
Create, destruct and redefine.
Like a phoenix rising from its ashes,
Like dust returning to dust.
No end, no beginning
To this circle of life.
It loops over and over again.
Don’t fret,
Breathe in, breathe out.
Chaos is only a harbinger
Of favorable changes in tides.
Anchors aweigh!
Feel the wind in your hair
Adjust sails,
And you’ll be all set.

Images courtesy: Dhananjay Bhati

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Be Still My Heart

Varnika/Moonlighting Scrivener

Moonlighting Scrivener

As the dust settled in your wake,

It riled up every past mistake.

I witnessed a fleeting moment of chaotic hell

Followed by a settling feeling of calm,

Unending, assuring and warm.

Tables turned

On the lull before the storm.

I could rest now,

Far from the weary exchanges,

Of bitter words and sour thoughts,

Of ego clashes and compromises.

The battle of the hearts

Was fought and won

And lost and retreated,

All at once and

Once and for all.

I can put my beating heart to rest now.

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no more

Max Meunier/Remnants from the Realm of Dissociation

Max Meunier

is it too much
to ask

not to feel

this affliction

to be
freed

from this sentence

run on
for too long

what cruelness had sent this

lone fool
out to forage

left to spent devices

affixed on the furnace

return all
to dust

i trust in its mercy

its silent allure

its answer, forthcoming

“i am here”

pray embrace me

with faith, less
no more

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As We Ponder

Max Meunier-Remnants from the Realm of Dissociation

Max Meunier

the sunlight
stretches
beyond sight

to gather at the morrow’s edge

where sorrowed songbird’s painted petals

one by one
in time will wither

waking hours
awash with wonder

quietly succumb to stillness

skillful are the stars then hung
as they had been
each night
before us

scholars and sages alike
insist on their furtive persistence

lovers
by their lives, convinced
they flicker but for us alone

skyward scenes
are seen reflected
flawlessly in placid waters

surface, once besieged by pebble
ripples verity surreal

radiance
assured surrender
resplendent
of familiar form

even our most sacred truths
on erstwhile stages
wax mesmeric

played out before rapt visages

visions evade reconciling

perhaps most beauteous of all
are blossoms
unbeknownst of impulse

layman’s waver, unallayed

aloft a living
veiled illusion

lost amid its grandeur
as we ponder its allusive lure

[image credit: unknown]

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