Some News

So it’s Christmas break for me and I will try to find some blank canvases (coffee cups) to work on, but Starbucks is making it difficult with their holiday designs. However, I have not been idle. I made a book, per request of my mother.

That is all the news I have. I will keep writing and hopefully I’ll come across a good coffee cup sometime soon!

Coffee Cup Poem no.29


The Flattery of Shadows When in Unusual States

How strange they must appear
to birds and squirrels
who cannot recognize
their own reflections.
is in constant revision,
constantly dressed in new clothes,
or going under the knife
to transform. 
My favorite,
when shadows chance upon each other.
At first, an awkward affair
but a moment, 
they settle into
their friendship—
become a new creation.
And soon I find myself
for new shadow-mates,
to fabricate
a new self.
The torso of a lamp-post,
branch arms, or,
tacked onto my body,
a head formed by apassers-by.
I love these costumes, and sometimes
I forget which shadow is mine.
Always, when I return
to the dimness of my room,
the illusions disappear—
my shadow becomes
a perfect mirror,
And like the birds andsquirrels, I wonder,
What is this curious thing?

Coffee Cup Poem no.28

So I know I’ve been a bit bad about posting, but it’s finals week! I have rarely ventured out from behind the computer. Alas, here is a new poem by D.P. with a little spice from Virginia Woolf and Natalie Goldberg.

Soundbites of Songbirds

What a Lark! What A Plunge!
she said, diving
into the depths of absurdity
and coming up for air
to breath in the clarity
of uncertainty
before she goes to seek her eternity.

Is it any wonder, the wonders
she finds while charting
the heart
the center
the truth of life.
What a lark! What a plunge!
She says as she dove
once again,
into the world of absurdity.

Coffee Cup Poem no.27

The Perfect Companion by D.P.

Inhaling steam,
I reach for the cup of hot brown,

swirls of honey, melted into my senses.
It wakes the cold in my soul
and softens the brisk bite of winter.

Notes of herbs and riches
slip into the cracks
and corners of my mind,
long frozen by want
for my perfect companion,
now held tight by shivering hands.

The warmth opens my day,
while looking out on snow tipped windows,
and closes it with a good book.
The Earl knows his way to a woman’s heart.

Coffee Cup Poem no.26

Today marks the beginning of winter, for snowflakes were falling all during the day! I think now I can officially begin my Christmas anticipation. (First draft on the cup, so it’s a bit shaky as a poem) By D.P.

A Shiver in the Air

The first snowflakes
fell from the sky
in tiny flurries
hanging on the eyelashes
of today.

The earth’s small way
of powdering her nose
multi-colored lights
brush her eyelids
with a dancing shadow
sun streaks show the age
of her face.

She sighs and a shiver runs through the day
raising chilled bumps on the skin of the earth.
Winter is here to stay.

Coffee Cup Poem no.25

Considering the name of the tea I was drinking, and it’s spilt presence over this cup, which really is quite a wonderful dye, I named this poem after it. An original by D.P.


I live in all moments
for all things.
For the warm oatmeal I had for lunch
and the person whom I shared that meal with
for family
for the taste of fresh coffee
for Philadelphia and Texas
and for everything those things make me.

I live for winter,
the Sequoia shedding its summer skin
as sunset leaves drift off
to sleep, making fresh beds,
cold comfort, for seeking squirrels.

I live for connectedness,
the strings that pull us in all directions,
but stay woven to bodies, words.
For everything that is past and future,
and especially present.

I live in all moments
for all things.

Coffee Cup Poem no.23

I thought I’d inspire myself by picking an old photo as a prompt for today’s poem. It’s funny because my Mother’s outfit is probably something you could roughly find by perusing the Urban Outfitters website. Anyway, first draft on the cup which is why it switches gears with my train of thought.

Family Resemblance

My Model Mom

It’s funny how fashions never really go away.
There is something modern
about the satchel bag hanging at her side,
the portrait necklace and earrings she wears,
the high waisted jeans and tucked in sweater.

That hat,
patched denim,
Gatsby styled cap,
is one she is fond of.
It hangs somewhere–
more likely is lost–
in the depths of her daughter’s closet.
A shadow of this picture,
her past.

When I put this hat on
I become her shadow,
her past,
her beauty,

And that is what I most love
about this.
Seeing it echo in my mirror.