Monday, 31 March 2014


Everything I Know About Coffee

I have a love hate relationship with coffee. When I love it, I crave it. Rich, dark roast is my one and only desire. Two cream, two sweeteners; my wake-up in a cup. 

My best friend will often bring me this liquid gold when I am feeling blue. Heck, she will bring me coffee when I am happy, sad, angry, or bored. Coffee is a key component in our relationship; it is what ties us together. We laugh over a coffee; we cry over a cappuccino; we sit silently and wait for conversation to come over our coffee of choice; we natter on and on for hours as our coffees grow cold in the bottom of our cups.

There are times, though, when I hate coffee. The thought of the tell-tale aroma of a roasted bean makes me physically ill. I don’t know what spawns this sudden change in taste, but for the life of me, I cannot bring myself to choke down one mouthful, let alone three or four cups. At the time, it tastes putrid, thick, and clotted with cream and chemical sweetness. I still try, though. I still go and stand in line at the local coffee shop. I still order the same size cup with the same essential condiments. I still open the lid the same way. But I am always disappointed when two hours later I am left with a soggy paper cup brimming with cold, creamy liquid - nauseating and horrendous. Perhaps this is because it reminds me of sharing coffee with the man who helped conceive me. Perhaps I am reminded of he way he slurps his coffee and smacks his lips together when it's a bit too hot for his liking. 

I have another friend I have known for longer than I have loved (and hated) coffee. She, on the other hand, was born with an espresso in her hand. She only ever drinks her coffee black and always from a bucket. She refuses to order any size other than the largest available. She is impatient, urgently awaiting her caffeine fix, and orders hers with a little ice in it so she can drink it right away. And, while she drinks, she smokes. For the longest time, if she had a coffee and smoked, so did I. It never seemed to matter that I had given up smoking years before, and had no desire to light up again. If she lit a cigarette and sipped her coffee, I would too. Together, we would sit outside drinking coffee and reminiscing about old times.

Coffee often goes hand in hand with my relationships; it became an understanding, a gift of sorts, between friends. Perhaps that is why I was so pleasantly surprised one day, when my somewhat distant husband showed up at home with a gift just for me: a cup of coffee just the way I like it, piping hot and totally unexpected. The only other time he ever bought me coffee unprompted was on my 22nd birthday, almost six years prior. Maybe (not quite so surprising): we are now divorced.

By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

Wednesday, 26 February 2014

Lock Me Up....

This is definitely not award winning poetry and certainly requires some work, but a fun little poem nonetheless.

Lock Me Up

Twelve times a year, or more sometimes, I completely lose my head,
I'm nuts, but don't you tell me that or you'll take back what you said.
My husband knows, my parents know, I'm sure the kids do too,
Look out, she's back, it's PMS, what the hell we gonna do.
This womanhood we all go through is worse for some than others,
It's part of life for all us girls, our sisters and our mothers.
The sad thing is it's not just gross, there's the hormones, and the tears,
I cry and yell and scream and shout each month of every year.
My husband thinks I'm crazy and wonders what he's done,
One week a month I'm an evil bitch and never any fun.
My kids can never figure out which mommy they're dealing with,
Sometimes I swear they want to find another place to live.
Don't get me wrong I'm still just me, their mommy and his wife,
I'm just kind of out of service; it's all a part of life.
One day I'm me, the next I'm not, the change happens over night,
They say it's all just natural but this just can't be right.
Each little thing is magnified and bound to piss me off,
You may think your tough, but just you see, I'll show you who is boss.
One minute I am laughing, the next tears are running down my face,
I'll beg my hubby to hold me close then say I need my space.
I'll eat the chocolate in the fridge and the chips off every shelf,
Then I'll climb up on our scale and say how much I hate myself.
My closet holds two sets of clothes to compensate this bloat,
Seven pairs of stretch pants and a fluffy blue house coat.
My face breaks out in zits that would put any teen to shame,
I curse and swear and call her out, Aunt Flow she is to blame.
I think my hubby wants to lock me up, say goodbye and lose the key,
But then he would remember that this was never really me. 
Bless his soul, this man of mine, for riding this wild ride,
For never giving up on me and always standing by my side.
I swear if it were up to me I'd send myself away,
A spa I think would sure be nice for the entire seven days.

                            ~ T.J. White (c) 2014

Tuesday, 25 February 2014

Untitled Musings

Sometimes when I write I close my eyes and just type. Whatever words, rhythms and rhymes come into my head I just write down. This seems to be happening more and more often over the past few days. 
Today, during some down time I sat down with my coffee and computer with the intention to write something though I was unsure what exactly. I took one sip of my much needed (and well-deserved I might add) coffee before setting it down to begin writing. Before long, my musings transformed into what you see below and a cup full of cold, not so delicious, coffee. 
Although this is still a work in progress I thought I would share it here. Please feel free to comment and share some feedback. 
For now, I think I will try again with the coffee. Perhaps this time I will drink it while it's warm. 


Go ahead, walk away from us, take it all in stride.
Don’t look back I’m just your girl, can’t say I never tried.

You say the grass is greener on the far side of the fence,
But how do you know this is true if you say you never went.

What makes this place your prison walls, the gates that lock you in,
It is not me that keeps you here, you hold the keys within.

No one ever said you had to stay if you’re heart does not belong,
But lie to me I beg you not, it is not I who’s done you wrong.

It is you, your bleeding heart alone, that wants to go a stray,
I love you dear, I truly do, but I won’t stand in your way.

To each his own despite our vows, promises forever lost,
You made your choice, you broke my heart despite the tragic cost.

The days of love and lust have long passed by us, you and I,
But sometimes it’s not about the magic but choosing not to say goodbye.

Have you ever thought you might be here because you know,
That love takes work and time to ripen, blossom and to grow.

Whoever said love was easy never knew of true love’s pain,
Real love will weather all the days and grow stronger after rain.

I know your heart has wandered and you think I can’t forgive,
But forgiving you and moving forward is the only way I’ll live.

What can I do to make you see, that we can weather through,
That I am worth my weight in gold when standing next to you.

I know things are not perfect and sometimes it seems too much,
But reach out your hand and feel the magic, it’s right there in our touch.

We are worth a battlefield, the fight through drudging days,
I will give you all of me, my love, if only you would stay.

I beg you please don’t turn your back to walk away again,
My heart may ache and break apart but we’re worth it in the end.

We are no more broken than you convince your heart we are,
Stay with me now, let’s fight for us and never be apart.

It’s not too late for you to turn, come back and hold my hand,
I’m standing here , by your side to face what God has planned.

                                                             ~ T.J. Ruberto © 2014

Monday, 24 February 2014


The creases have yet to fall from these curtains I have hung,
Fold lines that intersect, infinitely straight.
Not hung long enough to transform the starched rigidness,
For them to loosen and to drape.

The dust has barely settled on the shelves above my head,
Books lined like soldiers; spine to spine and row by row.
There will be no silhouette cast in grey powder when they’re gone,
No stories read or words inspired with memory in tow.

The pictures hung upon the wall have not faded or discoloured,
Some frames still remain unhinged and rest upon the floor,
Artwork unseen by guests or I, turned to face these walls,
Never stared upon with hungry eyes begging ever more.

The home that never was a home, just a place I came to stay,
A door, these walls, a window and some things,
A place I will remember, but not dwell upon in time,
A place that didn’t give me much, but helped me find my wings.

                                                             ~ T.J. White © 2014


You say you angry, the rage inside ya’s burnin’ bright,
You say it’s in your blood, something just ain’t right.
You say it ain’t cause of me, then you change yo mind,
You say it makes yo head hurt bad, pain that make you blind.

I say I can’t take no mo’, cause you drivin’ me away.
I say I’ve had enough yo shit, no good beggin’ me to stay.
I say I’m gone cut you loose, leave you on yo own,
I say I’d rather walk on out, I’d rather be alone.

Then we say we love each other, but we screamin’ down this place,
We say we can’t never be apart, but we beggin’ for some space.
Then we say we ain’t gone walk away but we turn the other way,
We say we gone talk it out, but there ain’t nothin’ left to say.

                                                             ~ T.J. Ruberto © 2014

It's been a while.... Disclaimer

It's been so long I can't remember what I wrote in the last blog entry.
BUT, here we are. Writing. Again.

It calls me. I swear it's like a voice in the night (and the day) that beckons me to the keyboard.

I may have said this before, but I will say it again: Please don't read too much into my personal situation when reading my work. By all means take from it what you will, but don't make assumptions on what my life must be like. I have to say this because some of my work is... well... dark. I don't always write based on personal life events. Sometimes I just write. It's what comes out. For example: the next blog entry, which will immediately follow this one, came to me in a voice (no I am not schizophrenic) I had never heard/felt before. It was just there. It's not my usual style, but I like it. I think others can relate.

I digress....the point is.... don't worry about me. All's good in the hood as I often say. ;)