Small Magics

I am a collector of small magics--

the silkiness of sidewalk moss,

the scrap of blue in a patchwork of clouds,

the bud on the end of a twisted branch,

an unexpected kindness.

I could press them dry

separately on their own page.

But I like letting them simmer,

stirred together in my pocket

until together

they take on a hopeful luster

and wholesome texture

that will keep me fed for days.

Photo by Almos Bechtold on Unsplash

Song Choice: A Kind of Magic by Queen

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings, where Rosemary asked us to write about something we feel strongly about. I feel quite strongly about holding on to the little things that keep my hope alive, especially in the middle of all the world's chaos. 

Sometimes my walks with my corgi Jelly Bean turn up some delightful things to notice. Sometimes its as simple as a stranger pulling over to help my Darling Youngest when their car had an electrical glitch, and then following him home to make sure he got here safely. I never got the woman's name but I am very glad for her kindness and calming presence when D.Y. needed it. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Ordinary Is

Ordinary is
feeling like an animated five-year-old
when the rising sun makes patterns through my curtains
that feel like a secret message for me to decipher.

Ordinary is
tasting the alchemy between the elements
that created my morning tea.

Ordinary is
picking up a wriggling earthworm from a puddle
and wondering if it thinks of me as a mad eldritch horror
that had a sudden moment of benevolence.

Ordinary is
tucking in the bones of the flowers that I planted on a whim
under a bed of decomposing leaves
much to the dismay of my HOA.

Ordinary is
staring up at the stars to chat about my day
and the way we always decide

this still isn’t a bad life at all
by the end of our conversation.

Photo by Carl Campbell on Unsplash

Song Choice: Ordinary World by Aurora

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Friday Writings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Ordinary.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Ritual for the Ordinary

Water from my kitchen faucet,
heated in a kettle bought online,
poured over loose leaves,

brings the scent to my nose—

there is no aesthetic
that can make this moment

more sacred than my stillness,
my attention,
my emotion,
and my will,
already do.

One of my favorite tea mugs with a portion of my my currently reading pile.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Simple Gifts arranged by Joseph M. Martin

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Friday Writings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United.

Mint

We are suited to each other,
I think.

She is patient
with my lack of experience,
not minding the absence of green
in my thumb.

Mint curls a tendril around me.
“I will teach you,” she says.
“All you want to know.”

For starters, she is independent.
Take her inside over the winter
and she will wither. It is no kindness
to keep her from the world she loves.

But that doesn’t mean
she’ll shun all attention.

Check in on her
on dry, hot days.
Mint loves to stay a little wet,
but not drown.

She makes a lovely companion
in the quiet of your back porch.
But mind that she’s in a place that suits you both.

Otherwise, she’ll run wild
over the rest of your garden
until all you can taste is her
on the heavy summer air.

There is something about mint
that plays well with my energy.
There is something familiar and dear
about her tingle.

There is something about mint that feels
like the sweetest magic I’d forgotten
or pushed away.

But mint holds no grudges.
So long as I respect her
she rewards me

with a bright, effusive flavor
that lingers in my mouth
or her distinctive scent
on my hand when I stroke her.

Photo by SIMON LEE on Unsplash

Song Choice: Treat Her Like A Lady by The Temptations

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for the prompt given by Poets and Storytellers United, Mining the Journals. I like to take notes on plants I try growing for various and sundry purposes. LOL, mint is the first plant I really tried to grow. It helps a lot that I enjoy a cup of mint tea blend in the evenings.

Moth and Firefly

Shayla had noticed Lisbet before the woman who ran the dairy farm told her to go mentor the new girl so she could learn how things were done. Shayla had apologized profusely when she realized Madame had only done it so that Shayla could provide distraction while Madame tried to seduce Lisbet’s beau.

“Don’t worry,” Lisbet said. “I was about done with him anyway. She’s welcome to him and his diseases.”

It wasn’t long after that they found they had a shared interest – magic.

“What can you do?” Lisbet asked.

“This.” And in a blink Shayla cast an illusion that blurred her edges so that unless you knew where to look, your eyes would slide over her. “And you?”

“This.” Lisbet said, casting a small orb of glowing light.

The witch trials were coming up. They had both secretly wanted to go for several years now, but it was only upon meeting each other that they decided to do it.

“Nothing stopping us from going as a team,” Lisbet said. Shayla agreed.

They whispered back and forth during the orientation session about what they thought the trials might be. Shayla was sure the witches were dropping hints in their words. A serious faced witch interrupted them to ask for their names.

“I’m Moth. She’s Firefly,” Shayla said.

The witch went away muttering something that sounded like “not likely to hug bears but still silly.”

“It was a little silly,” Shayla agreed later that night in the woods. “But names have power, and I didn’t want to share mine right away. Not until I was sure we’d pass.”

“We will. We’ve got 6 out of the 7 things we need to find with plenty of time left. Why those names?”

“Based on our powers,” Shayla answered. “And one time Madame compared me to a moth because I was a pest.”

“Shows what she knows,” Lisbet said. “We need your magic now.”

Shayla’s magic covered them both as a bear wandered through the clearing, ignoring them.

“My turn,” Lisbet said. Her orb illuminated a mushroom, the last item on the list. “We make a great team.”

“That we do,” said Shayla, following Lisbet back to the cottage and their future.

Photo by Taylor Smith on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: We Are Going to Be Friends by the White Stripes

Liner Notes for This Groove: This piece of flash fiction was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Butterflies and Moths. It was also inspired by the short story I wrote a couple of weeks ago, Witch Trials, just to see if I could find more to say.

Bloody Unusual

My
uncanny heart
is a lair
for numerous bloody unusual
tales.

Photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United - Unusual, Uncommon, Uncanny.

Also, on the advice of cleverer poets, a last minute word swap was made which makes it much better IMHO... "several" for "numerous".

Witch Trials

The moon had moved as far as the second highest branch of the oak tree. Melli sighed as she ruffled Gorgon’s fur.

“Soon, baby,” she cooed at the beast.

“Not soon enough,” fretted Gladys as she stirred the cauldron. “I want to know now if any make it through. Last year we didn’t have any.”

Cara set several bundles of herbs on the table. “None’s fine by me. I’d rather be sure they’re suitable than let just anyone in.” Several of the other women in the room nodded.

Melli laughed. “I can’t decide which ones are worse, those who faint at the first twig they step on or the ones who try to snuggle a bear?”

“That only happened once,” said Gladys. “Gorgon and I were able to whisk her off before anything bad happened.  It didn’t take much effort working the charm of forgetting on her.”

“It’s always easy on the daft ones,” Cara said. The room exploded in cackles.

Melli agreed with both Cara and Gladys. It was always a happy day when they welcomed a new witch to their ranks, but she didn’t know what was in the minds of some of the applicants. The forgetfulness charm meant some had tried more than once, but if they weren’t just the right sort of bold mixed with a generous dollop of sense, they would never be happy living this life.

“Still, I think we’ll have at least two new ones to welcome,” Gladys said.

This time Cara smiled. “The two chatterboxes? Yes. I heard them discussing how they might deal with some of the things they might encounter. They sounded sensible at least. I’ve never seen two that decided to team up before.”

The moon was just touching that top branch now. “It’s time to check on them,” Melli said.

The ladies grabbed their brooms or shapeshifted depending on their preference. The local dryads hadn’t raised an alarm, so no candidate was in danger of anything greater than embarrassment. Melli did hope those two girls did make it through. They were spirited enough not to shiver in the dark and sharp enough to know it’d be helpful to go together. Those seemed like promising signs to her.

Photo by Miriam Espacio on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Which Witch by Florence and the Machine

This flash fiction was inspired by the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Waiting. 

The Usual Place

The creek at Peace Valley Park

Meet me at our usual place.

You know, 

the one we found together.

The sun is bright enough

today to paint glitter on the creek.

Let’s both bring our lunch.

We can eat it after we go wading.

If the creek isn’t too high,

I might cross to the other side

just to see what the view is like from there.

We’ll walk as we go talking, taking in all the scents of the woods,

from honeysuckle to loamy earth. You always did like

the way it smelled like the sea where the streams met.

I’ll bring an Inca Cola. You bring a Jarrito.

We’ll crack them open by the shade of the hollow tree.

You can point out all the plants you know by name.

Me, I am still learning where to find mugwort.

Maybe I’ll be successful growing my own this year.

We’ll talk about all the boys

who did us wrong.

We’ll talk about the ones who did us

right and the creek will laugh

as it flows right over the rocky parts.

We’ll talk about places away

from this creek, the honeysuckle and the woods.

You'll talk about England. I'll talk about Japan.

And we really will mean it

when we say we wanted to see them together.

Meet me at our favorite spot.

I’ll be there even when the sun has set,

when the water’s laughter is whisper above a hush,

when the honeysuckle's scent is spent,

and the moon paints mourning silver on the creek.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: The Space Between from Disney's Descendants

The Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Where Are You Placed?

 

So There's A Price

I’ve heard people say,
“magic comes with a price”
as if it’s some sort of a warning.

 

Would it surprise them to know that

that the sky is blue,

and fire is hot?

 

Of course it has a price.

Why would magic be

separate from any other part of life?

 

Every day,

in ways large and small,

we always pay 

some sort of price—

 

not just for the things we choose

to keep in our lives,

but for the ones we don’t too.

 

Some aren’t aware

of what they are paying for,

with still interest accruing.

 

And there are others

who make it their business to understand that

life is the oldest and greatest magic there is,

and it will come with costs.

 

So I will choose

as sure as the earth under my feet,

as sure as the ocean is wide,

as sure as I find my peace the blue of the sky,

and comfort in the warmth of the flame

 

to knowingly pay the price

for the all magic I hold dear

because the price for a life without them

is more than I can bear to pay.

 

  

Photo by Bee Felten-Leidel on Unsplash

Song Choice: Magic by Olivia Newton John

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

When All Else Fails

I’ve been cut by light

as brittle as shards of sugar glass

(twice as cloying,

masking none of the bitter)

that left me

with inflamed doubts

trying to spread to every cell,

until I am more doubt than woman.

I cannot survive under the glare

of this illusion of light

and its false promises,

so I take my doubts

into the loving darkness

where true starlight's touch

waits for me

to breathe,

to release,

to heal,

every last taint

of doubt.

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Song Choice: In Your Eyes (New Blood Version) by Peter Gabriel

This poem was created for Poets and Storyteller United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, When All Else Fails.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Early Bird

The darkness doesn’t mind

which side you choose to greet it on.

I prefer to say hello

accompanied by only

the scent of my first cup of tea.

I love discussing the world

with my darling youngest.

I love laughing at its foibles

with my darling eldest.

I love sharing new experiences

with my husband.

But this dark, shifting

around on the far end of night

when all but a few patient stars

have withdrawn for the day,

is just for me,

and my wild ideas

that need steeping 

in deep darkness

alongside my morning cup of tea.

Bird on a Branch by Seiko

This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, Early Bird or Night Owl.

Song Choice: Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Morning

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Black Hollyhock

I remember when I first saw her.

I composed the hymn in my heart right away.

I can’t remember the other things

on display at the museum that day.

I only had eyes for that large dark flower

taking up most of the space in the composition.

I don’t recall the exact words I wrote later

but it was my first prayer of praise

for a goddess who taught me

how very beautiful 

and worthy of admiration

darkness can be.

Liner Notes for This Groove: In high school we had a trip to the Met in NYC, which is where I first saw Black Hollyhock and Blue Larkspur by Georgia O'Keeffe. I bought a print and wrote my first 'for fun' (as opposed to 'for homework') poem when I got home. I remember that I wrote it in the form of a prayer (I think I was inspired St. Francis's Canticle of the Sun) and that I liked it well enough to submit to my high school's literary magazine. And they accepted it! I think it was the first time it crossed my mind that I might enjoy this writing business.

Song Choice: Who Says by Selena Gomez & The Scene

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song of an Apocalypse

The bugs’ skitter-scatter steps

are easier to track than the fidgets of my thoughts.

It’s simpler to eat them whole too.

Memories give me indigestion

and their taste lingers unpleasantly.

Never mind, I’ve been told

I’m too crazy to remember.

Except that I do
remember

the world when I was young.

I had a theme song then

for those daily apocalypses

I was told would pass when I got older.

But an Armageddon came,

that left me to gather

the eggshell fragments of my mind.

Even imperfectly reassembled,

with cracks large enough

to let maggots dance through,

I haven’t forgotten

I wanted to be a light

for the ones that came after me.

Broken as I am,

I might be the only adult left

who remembers

that beautiful horror of youth

and wants to reassure them

this can be survived

even with a mouth full of spiders.  

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the very last (sob!) prompt at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, Play it Again Toads. I chose Kerry Says Find Our Poetic Voice. I knew I wanted to go with one of my "nerd poems" (poetry based on something I'm a fan of), but it took a bit to decide who's voice to go with. 

In the end I decided on going with one of my newer fandoms, the Netflix series Daybreak, which is a tongue in check look at the apocalypse with an 80's John Hughes-like tone to the whole thing (Matthew Broderick as the out of touch principal is an absolute delight). The character I chose to speak through was Miss Crumble a.k.a. The Witch.

Miss Crumble before the apocalypse

Miss Crumble after the apocalypse (yep, those are maggots)

If you followed the link to the trailer, you'll see that the apocalypse killed off most of the adults or made them into flesh eating zombies. Somehow, Miss Crumble came out of it... different. I don't want to give too many spoilers, but suffice it to say I think it's good that the kids have some adult guidance and concern in their lives, even if that adult is fairly bonkers.

Song choice:

Non spoilery one - Sing Your Life by Morrissey
Somewhat spoilery (but super pretty) - Sing Your Life sung by Miss Crumble and Angelica 

Thank you Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, for being so inspiring right up until the end. I will miss you.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Así Soy

I am magic
down to my every bone.

Deep in every cell

I carry the imprint

of some dancing mother

ready to embrace me

in the twine of forgotten DNA.

My magic within hums

in tune to the magic around me.

My bones remember the beat

even when my mouth stumbles over the words.

This magic and I are one.

There is no wall

saying, “Here it begins”

and “There it stops.”

But you want to quantify it, own it

while at the same time looking down on it.  

Imagine that…

Consider that magic flees from disdain

and force. Stop and understand

that eyes that have decided on definitions

before they are even opened are as good as blind.

Harvest Brew by Lady Viktoria
More of her enchanting art is available at her Etsy store.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads: Just One  Word - Imagine and Poets United's Pantry of Poetry and Prose #9.

Song Choice: Así Soy (Spanish cover of This is Me from the Greatest Showman) by Calle 42

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The Best Worst Thing: Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 39

When my high school sweetheart told me he wanted to break up with me "to date more classically beautiful women" it came as something of a blow. Yeah, even after people told me that high school relationships don't last, and that goes double for ones that turn into long distance things when people go off to college. What can I say? I was kind of clueless when I was young. There were warning signs things weren't rock solid between us, but it took that pronouncement to make things 100% clear it was over.

Of course I cried. I raged. My grades wobbled (the death blow arrived right before finals). Meals came and went untouched. Then one day I took a deep breath and looked at the new reality I found myself in. I didn't have to run back home every weekend anymore. I could be part of college life on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. I started to realize there was a whole side of myself I never let myself explore, because I had made some pretty big assumptions about what I thought my life was going to be like. 

I took art classes. I liked them enough to decide to minor in them. I started learning about religious traditions other than the one I was born into. I kept exploring them for years afterwards until I could admit to myself my path was more something to be sought by starlight than from a church pew. I started talking to the guy who lived one floor below me in the dorms. He was funny, sweet, and always had a mug of coffee ready for me. Dear reader, I married him. Today we're celebrating the birthday of our oldest child and we'll be married 25 years next May.

That I ever hoped that I could patch things up with my ex seems hysterical now. The other thing that's funny--he's the one who wanted to be a writer back then. Yeah, sometimes your world ends, but that can end up being the best worst thing that can happen.

Song Choice: So Much Better from the musical Legally Blonde

This article was created for Poets United's Moonlight Musings. So dear Groovers, care to talk about some of your best worst things? Let's chat about in the comments section!

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

These Things of Fall

October is my best month, Miki reminded herself, trying to forget the ways that fall was the worst. Her heart thudded as she crossed the graveyard with slow, measured steps that kept pace with the rhyme she repeated whenever she was nervous.

These things of fall make me feel tall

Apples, pumpkins – I love them all

These things of fall make me feel tall

Hot tea, bonfires –I love them all

“How many fall things have you added to that rhyme?” asked Mrs. Donahue as she got up from her morning chore of shaking her head at the condition of the floral arrangements on the graves.

Miki let out a deep breath at the sound of her voice and relaxed her grip on her backpack’s straps. “31 so far.”

“Reverse 13. That’s quite lucky.”

“I know,” Miki beamed.

Mrs. Donahue looked at the position of the sun and looked back at Miki. “You may be pushing your luck if you don’t quicken your pace. Won’t you be late?”

Miki retightened her grip. “I’ve worked out the timing. Even if I’m late it won’t be by much.”

“Not by much is usually too much for principals, unless things have changed since my day. You wouldn’t be trying to come in late enough times to get your privileges revoked, especially ones that involve public speaking?”

“I didn’t ask for it! I just wanted to submit a piece to the school’s lit magazine. If I knew I’d be reading it in front of the school I wouldn’t have done it. It’s going to be a disaster.” Miki pictured the mixture of bored looks and sneers in the school auditorium as she read.

“What if it isn’t?”

“I have 16 years of experience that say otherwise.”

“Maybe. But that’s not much when there’s a lot of life ahead of you. Would it help to have some friendly faces there?” Mrs. Donahue motioned behind her.

“It would,” Miki said.   

“Done. Hurry along now. And do tell that groundskeeper to weed this end of the graveyard.”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Donahue faded back into her grave.

Miki left, continuing to sing.

These things of fall make me feel tall

Odd friends who believe in me—I love you all

Art by Sunshine Shelle from her 29 Faces Series in Feb 2015
Follow her on Instagram for more of her delightful art.

Song Choice: Get By With A Little Help From My Friends covered by Peace Conspiracy and Meja 

This flash fiction piece was created for Poets United's Pantry of Poetry and Prose: In October...

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Excavated Magic: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 28

I could not begin
to feel my buried magic
until I saw it
as beautiful as a star,
at home in her precious dark.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' Tuesday Platform.

Liner Notes for this Groove: When I was a kid, I didn’t see myself too often in art, and not at all in the fantastical imagery I loved so much. There’s a lot that’s wrong with this era we live in, no question. But some of the little joys are seeing a.) the rise of indie artists and b.) that more and more of them feature women of color.

This isn’t something I like discussing too much at all, but I will say that when I was young, I was often reminded features like mine were not the ideal. So when I see pretty art celebrating looks like mine, I kind of have to buy it. Part of me feels a little vain for indulging in it, but the part of me that’s still an awkward 9-year-old girl is over the moon. Natasha Porter once said, “If life is a cup of tea, gratitude is the honey that makes it sweet.” I’m very grateful for these bits of beauty in a world that really needs it.

Art work by Don Martin.
You can purchase more of his fantastical art in his Etsy and Red Bubble shop.
Follow him on Facebook or Instagram.

Song Choice: Soy Yo by Bomba Estéreo 

Air and Fire's Girl: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 22

Air’s girl dances fast,

fire waltzing to a song

she knows in her heart.

Flame and wind will always be

hers, even when she stands still.

Song Choice: Slow Hand by the Pointer Sisters

This post is linked with Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' Tuesday Platform.

Liner Notes for this Groove: If I may be permitted to get a little woo…I am one of the airiest earth signs known to humankind. According to western astrology, although my sun was chilling in Taurus on my birthday, a butt load of my planets were hanging around in signs that are associated with the element of air (and I have a couple of things dancing around in fire too). Someone who is an expert on such matters told me that when they first met me, they thought I was a Gemini—until they heard me wax poetic over tea (then I outted myself with my Taurean tendencies).

Whether you place any stock in such matters or not, this much is clear—I have a tendency to want to do things fast. That’s not always such a terrible thing (I’m going to be delighted about that time I got the winning goal in sportsball forever), but in tea ceremony…yeah, it’s not really encouraged, no matter how well you know the moves.

I mean, you could. It just probably won't be right.

Funnily enough I found the answer back in air…in my breath that is. On my teacher’s suggestion I started pacing my movements to flow in synchrony with my breath, so each movement took on a rhythm that was fully mine. Not only that, it was a way for my personal style (LOL, my inner fire for my love of tea) to come through and be seen so much more clearly by guests.

In The Book of Tea Kakuzo Okakura wrote “Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence…It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life.” I am rather imperfect at being an earth sign, but in my practice of tea I can honor my inner air with my breath and my inner fire with my passion for the art form. My earthy self can take plenty of joy at eating the tea sweets, while my watery side delights in simply drinking the tea.

So dear Groovers, what to you is worth slowing down for? Or what's new with you this week? Let's talk about it, and as always, if you'd like to continue the conversation on your cyberhome, include the web address in the comments. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Confessions of a Tarot Deck Hoarder: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 7

The blessing of too many choices

can be a comfortable trap.

I make room

for the things that sing

to me in my key. 

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads' Tuesday Platform. 

Liner Notes for this Groove:

“What kind of tea do you want?"

"There´s more than one kind of tea?...What do you have?"

"Let´s see... Blueberry, Raspberry, Ginseng, Sleepytime, Green Tea, Green Tea with Lemon, Green Tea with Lemon and Honey, Liver Disaster, Ginger with Honey, Ginger Without Honey, Vanilla Almond, White Truffle Coconut, Chamomile, Blueberry Chamomile, Decaf Vanilla Walnut, Constant Comment and Earl Grey."

"I.. Uh...What are you having?... Did you make some of those up?”

― Bryan Lee O'Malley, Scott Pilgrim, Volume 1: Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life

I frickin’ love tarot and oracle decks. Oh I know that there are people with a way crazier collection than mine, but many of those folks are professional readers. I mostly read for myself and a couple of my friends. I am trying to be very selective about the decks I pick up. Cool or pretty art is important but that doesn’t always guarantee I’ll get the deck. I’ve found myself opting to buy an art print from a deck instead of the whole deck if it doesn’t speak to me. But I’ve been pulled in by the beauty of decks like the Shadowscapes Tarot, the Spirit Keepers Tarot and the OstaraTarot. If a deck touches a bit of nostalgia I might pick it up too, like the Last Unicorn Tarot, or the Fairytale Tarot. If it makes me laugh like the Housewives Tarot or the Hello Kitty tarot, that piques my interest too. So when I saw there was a Philadelphia based tarot deck featuring Gritty on the Devil card, I did not fight my temptation too hard.

I mean... it's Gritty! And c'mon Will Smith as the Fresh King 

of pentacles? Cups represented by cheesesteaks, the ultimate

comfort food? Of course I was an early kickstarter for this!

Realistically, I know that it’s silly to keep around decks I’m never going to read with. And I have gifted people with decks I wasn’t giving enough love too, but thought they might enjoy. I think I’m going to enjoy messing around with this deck for a while, so that will curb my impulses a little. I’ve learned to be similarly disciplined when it comes to writing projects. I have a few that are floating around in my head, but I’m not going to get anything finished unless I stick with the ones I’ve committed to bringing to fruition. I’ll still write down ideas and inspirations I get, but if they don’t fit a project, they’ll stay in my craft pile until I’m ready to give serious attention to it.

So tell me dear Groovers, is there something you can’t help but surround yourself with? Or what’s new in your world. Tell me all about it in the comments section. As always, if you have a cyber home you want to continue the conversation in, talk to me about it in the comments and hit me with a link.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Philly Forget Me Not by Hall and Oates

Solstice Song

Its music finds a way to seep into my soul, whether I am surrounded by the concrete spires of a city or enveloped by the scent of fresh cut pine and balsam on a bonfire.

Tonight is no different.

It is a song composed on lines of moonlight and spaces of shadow, played on the strings woven around my spirit and connecting me to the land, the sea, the crisp night air and the fire in the stars. There is healing offered here, if I don’t refuse its call, if I am willing to stop and be still. I pull on my coat, succumbing to the melody.

A break in the clouds gives me the view I need and at once I become moon drunk—giddy, warm and immune to this solstice night’s chill. I drink in more of the moon’s wild brew, find the most passionate stars to affix to my tenderest places and help guide me back to the place where I find aspirations still untarnished by disappointments.

That is when I add to the song, delighting in the harmony between the moon and me. We sing until morning, when I rise, spent but knowing I shall grow stronger along with the newborn sun.  

This prose poetry piece was inspired by the picture at the Sunday Muse #35, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s SundayWriting Prompt, and the wordles at Sunday’s Whirligig #193 and the Sunday’s Whirl Wordle 383.

Song Choice: Music of the Night performed by Andre Rieu


Notes from the Real World: Even when I was a kid I've been drawn to the changing of the seasons. Being more of a warm weather person, you might think it'd be funny that I'd love the winter solstice, but I've always felt a little lift in my heart, knowing the longest night was behind me, and ahead of me was a new year. This year, I had the distinct delight of being part of a solstice gathering with a group of friends, and by the time the evening concluded I felt a lightening of my spirit that I hadn't felt in a long while.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks