Cups of Creativity

There is a creative energy looming in the air. I can’t point fingers at who or where it is coming from, but it is definitely present. Last week, my mom took part in a poetry competition. Her creative juices were on high alert and intense pressure, not only to show up to her pen and paper, but to deliver winning results. To put it lightly, she nailed it (I challenge you to write a poem with the word pusillanimous–not an easy task). While she missed the finals by only a few votes, her ideas and creativity proved to be a winning team. Her creative juices must have rubbed off onto me because while she was writing, I pulled out old ideas, new canvas and got inspired to create. I wonder what my great grandmother would say if she saw me using her fine china as a paint pallet?

I am impressed when our minds can deliver ideas on demand. For my mom, it happens late at night, between cups of tea and hand fulls of wheat thin crackers. For me it happens when my brush meets the canvas, while I am out on a run, or read something that sticks in my mind long after it has been recycled. While Portland itself can’t quite let go of its winter rainclouds, it is nice to know that you can glob warm colors onto fine china and stay dry with good poetry. Now– go pour yourself a cup of creativity and enjoy!

This cup is for my mom (who inspires me everyday)
and for Chris (who taught me to love making art).

Brunch
 by Suz Blackaby

Coy koi and other mousy fish—

The timid, pusillanimous,

Unanimously gutless cowards,

Cowering in the reeds—

Stay steeped within the murky mix

(Above the silt/below the scum),

Supposing they are safely, soundly

Hidden in the interim.
Along the rim, a heron waits.

Pacing at a patient gait,

It waits to catch (so shy of sense)

The quick flick of a silver fin

Or crimson ribbon—just a glimpse!

As sheepish fish slip into sight,

It waits and, tasting victory,

Moves to strike.