coffee at lips I read news

politics plague Placido

it makes no sense

(my wife said last night)

to think we’re doomed

yet want more children and I

think only of upcoming miles

on a last-legs car transporting

the present two to everywhere

I banish politics with a tab click

peruse prompts and think of

what to write while the cursor

winks and mocks in the void

but I know how to slay this dragon

36 now, not too old to dream. But they change, you know? A four bedroom with a deck. A week in Florida. A perfect cup of coffee.

15 years ago it was world peace, evangelism in darkest Africa, and writing a book.

15 years before that it was race cars, the NFL, and dragons.

Clearly I've gone too boring. I want to go back. But how far?

I'm too disillusioned for world peace. And Africa is so far away.

With any luck, I'll be back to dragons.

If I had not looked down so intensely at the milky brown liquid in my mug

I might have missed the distorted reflection

Of the dragon flying over head.

The cold mountain wind bit into the young squire's face, his young cheeks not yet hairy enough for shaving. He looked over at his patron. "Sir?"

Sir Grenhelm simply sat on his old war horse, neither looking very deadly. He drank heavily from a silver cup, usually affixed to his waist with a strap of leather but always in hand first thing. "Hmm?"

"It's nearly dawn, sir. Shouldn't we head in before the sun rises?"

"Not yet, squire."

Nervously, the squire rubbed his chapped hands together and turned to eye the opening ahead. "But sir...if we wait much longer it could wake up."

Sir Grenhelm continued to drink from his steaming mug.

A deep rumble echoed around them, and the squire nearly leapt behind the horse. After a few moments it subsided, the air going still once more save for the wind, which continued to nip at their noses. The horse chuffed.

"That...that means..."

"That means nothing." Sir Grenhelm sipped deeply and surveyed the mountain top, the jagged rocks around them still glistening with dew. "We can wait a few more moments."

"Should I ready your sword?" The squire eyed the nicks on the aging blade and again wondered whether Sir Grenhelm should really continue questing at his age.

"Not yet."

"But sir!"

"Squire," the old knight barked, causing the poor boy to cover his ears and stare at the cave entrance in fear, worrying he might have woken their quarry. "do you see this cup?"

"Aye, sir." He had prepared it himself, building a tiny fire that went out all too quickly in a gust of wind.

"And what is my cardinal rule?"

The squire sighed. This stubborn codger would be the death of him today. "Coffee first - dragons after."

Midnight brews Moon’s mocha beams,

Her phase, espresso-black,

Pours delusion, darkened dreams,

’Til light leaves, colors lack

Frothy fog conceals starlight;

Dense-whipped imaginations

Veiling eyes, an onyx night,

Diluting mankind’s vision

Cresting ’top their hills of flint,

The Dragon, breathing fire,

Swallows whole, the cup, to rent

Eve’s triple-shot attire

Photo Credit:

John Roever

Sunrise in Flint Hills

18 Sept 2016

Coffee is something I don't really like. But I was lucky for not loving it or not drinking it because it turned out later that I have essential tremor. I mean, if I have become addicted to coffee in any way, it would have worsened my tremors. But thinking now, I don't mind trying a coffee that was made on the fire of dragons.

The smell of coffee wraps me in its gentle embrace. The fairies fill it with probiotics, to prevent significant damage. The coffee releases a sparkle of purple smoke. Looks like someones feeling adventurous today. Outside drums can be heard a few yards away.

I scrunch my face, confused. A flick of the wrist shows the current events. It's the Spring Festival. Excited I rush towards the sound, forgetting my drink.

The Lunar new year has entered the year of the Rat. The lights dim the closer one gets to the drums. A resounding hit of the drums reverbrates through my body. Luminescent rats change quickly in color, floating through the crowd and under their feet. Suddenly they all gather in a shocking red to create a dragon. The music swells as dancers gather around the dragon. Fairies dance wildly around it's body, emphasizing it's power. Its roar releases a powerful show of fire. The fire separates into two. Two phoenixes take shape spiraling high into the sky. Intertwined, they become brighter as their speed increases. An explosion of light releases a mighty roar throughout the entire area. A dragon head seen for miles around adorns the sky.

Three men are approaching the ruins of the fortress. It looks abandon as most walls are destroyed. Inside they try to find shelter from the harsh winter. There is coffee in some pot, still hot which they drink without any conversation. It seems that it has been prepared for them. Still not of word leaves their mouth as cold winds is only thing to be heard, apart from hauling of the wolves.

-“Fetch the wood”, silence is broken in commanding voice to the fattest and the smallest man. Also he has dark beard all over his face. He goes out, but he is not coming back. As the fire is slowly diminishing, some figure takes the seat of absent fat man. They are dozing until huge fire in front of them prompt both men to look up. The third person isn’t their comrade, but some very old man, with the skin like of the shark, tiny eyes hidden inside eye cavities and fringes instead of hair. His gray finger calls them to follow him along the corridor. First part is open, but then they plunge into darkness, after some opening with white sharp objects all around; one man cuts his finger feeling it. They steadily go straight relying on touch, only. The passage is however, twisting and turning and the walls aren’t of any solid material. They are kind of alive to the touch and some strange noise can be heard more-less. It could be, but it isn’t underground stream. Also the stench of strange source, familiar but not so. As they move on they get used to it, still without clue what it could be. From time to time they stumble into mucilage liquid. The torch which their guide is caring isn’t for light but its aroma prevents them to be sick. After going many miles they find themselves in the chamber with some light as the leader confronts them asking to choose one of three doors to proceed further. Both man point to the left one.

-“Open it”.

Fearfully, they do what is commanded. Darkness is behind it. First man makes one step, but he can’t breathe. Old man takes another torch from the wall, lights it and passes one to each men. After that, there are only two of them in shrunk tunnel. The stench is awful, so they have to handle the aroma close to their noses slightly burning them. The progress is painfully slow, there is steady flow of mucus under their feet and walls are very soft and spongy. They realize there is no way back as they stop for a minute searching for each other in the smelly darkness. At last they enter another chamber with three doors. It could be the same one, but who knows. First man grabs the handle of the door to the left. Nothing. Second man takes the handle of the door to the right. Same result. Both try to exhale but stop the motion at half way as part of the brain realizes how bad the idea is. Standing in front of middle door it opens to them. After few steps they realize it is some big hall of the cave, with natural stairs going down, near the side of the wall. As they descent they comprehend the size of it. It is much bigger than the chamber above. They look around and notice the little girl in white dress with blonde hair looking up to them, holding some stick and hiding under the stairs. They hear some noise from the other side, dark side. It could be underground stream, but it is, probably, something sinister. They look to the girl with plead in their eyes, but something else comes into vision. The third man, fat, short and with beard. He isn’t normal self as he is walking funny by the wall and his skin is very soft like some gelatin. His eyes are nowhere to be seen.

From the dark corner gigantic creature appears. It is the dragon, as his swirling neck is unmistakable. However his green, enormous head is different than expected. It consists of huge sheep head and horn and very dark nozzle of the cow. It opens its mouth, but it needs not to, because both men are already extremely frightened. The tongue is unfashionable purple and acts as hypnosis to its victims.

-“What to eat?” - The girl asks, as both men, like one, points to the third, their former companion. The dragon grabs it, but spills him out.

-“Rotten!” – The girl says, as both are going backwards.

-“What to eat?” - The girl asks again, as both men point to each other. Fraction of the second slower is grabbed by the mouth of the creature and quickly digested. Loud belch seals the deal. “Is it fed?”, the remaining man is thinking to himself.

-“What to eat?” - The girl asks yet again. The man points to her, but dragon shakes his head and leaps forward. The man sees its throat and belch sound is in his ears, when he wakes up in his bed, immediately standing up. He walks down to the kitchen, holding his stomach. Same stench from the corridors of the keep can be smelled, but most of his brain is still in sleeping mode. He doesn’t turn on any light, but straight to refrigerator. He opens its door. There is pot of carbonade stew looking at him. His belly desires something else this time, a yogurt or pickles. He doesn’t notice small blonde girl in lower compartment looking at him. Instead he remembers, as the lights of his brain are slowly restarting, the legs of eaten man wiggling and dangling aiming to stay alive despite its body is already in the mouth of the dragon. It was so funny, remembering the same attitude of chicken legs without their heads. As he grabs the jar of pickles he notices the child who opens it mouth:

-“What to eat?” -

The jar of pickles turns into giant head of green monster, emerging ever larger, but he stills holds the jar and looks to the girl with last thought to his legs – “Would it be as funny as of that poor other man?”