The Mustache

I’ve realized recently that my blog routine has been lacking in originality. I got in to spotlighting other authors, discussing, art(ists), and talking about my goals, but I stopped sharing a lot of my work. Part of that is because I haven’t had a huge volume of new work lately, an issue I think can be partially fixed by trying to provide you with some new ESTyree Originals. Happily, my sleeping self seems to have agreed with the need for more because I woke up to several text to email lines that seem to make up a free form poem. I’m not sure what I was dreaming about but I will now present to you:



(The lines I received exactly)

if form emerged from the shadows shapeless save for

the mustache that waved gently in the breeze on either

side of the presumably male face

No words were spoken

no sound was made

the only movement in the room was that acccursed mustache

It seemed to dance

taunting us

waving at us

curling in the air creating shadows within the shadows

the only form with is shape do in shape with recognizable form

the only thing touched by the breeze

It was a living thing that mustache

hitching a ride on a shadow on the hint of a ghost of light

a living thing come to visit in the deep dark of a cold midnight

A dancing mustache come for a dream

all I wanted we found out where are stories


I know, weird right? Like I said…no idea what I was on about BUT…kind of a hauntingly eerie poetic piece. Let’s clean it up a bit and see what a coherent Beth can do with it, shall we?

 th (3)

(A little bit of spit shine)

A form emerged from the shadows

Shapeless and long save for the mustache that waved

Moving gently in the breeze on either side of a presumably male face.

No words were spoken,

No Sound was made,

The only movement in the room

Came from that accursed mustache,

The handlebar contours bouncing lightly.

It seemed to dance,

Taunting us with its moves

Waving at us from across the room.

Curling in the air and creating shadows within shadows,

The only form with a real shape,

The only shape with recognizable form,

The only thing touched by the breeze.

It was a living thing, that mustache,

And it hitched a ride on a shadow,

On the hint of a ghost of light.

A living thing come to visit in the deep, dark

Of a cold midnight.

A dancing mustache, come for a dream.

All it wanted, we discovered, were our stories.

We gladly shared them.

Elizabeth S. Tyree

Please leave me a comment or two letting me know what you think. Did you like this piece? Should I share more of my personal writings? Do you have some writings you’d like for us to see?

Until next time, May you have a wonderful and blessed day! Happy Groundhog’s Day, Happy February, Happy Month, Happy Life…may the blessings and inspirations flow for you.



This morning my daughter looked very seriously at the wall in our restroom and told me that there were sheep eating RIGHT THERE MOM! I suppose it is true that inspiration can come from anywhere…Enjoy!

There were sheep on the wall in the bathroom,

grazing on grass we could not see.

Sheep on the wall in my bathroom,

not one, not two, but THREE!

Sheep on the wall in the bathroom,

Wandering by the corner happily.

Sheep on the wall in my bathroom,

Where are they from? You can search me!

Cab Driving Baby

Running down the open road, taking my fares where they go

I’m gunning up and down, with a rabbit, a cat, and a clown.

The rabbit jumped out at the playpen, the clown didn’t get past the toy bin,

The cat is still hanging on, with the cab stuck in her claw.


I’m a cab driving baby, an ottoman my car,

I’m a cab driving baby, I go really fast but I can’t get far.

A cab driving baby, all my toys go hide,

A cab driving baby and I’m taking my cat for a ride.


ESTyree (for my Monkey as she learned to walk)



The Mystery of the Missing Moon

This week’s short story jumped around my brain but wouldn’t sit still long enough to turn into anything other than this poem…my first attempt at poetry in a very long time! I hope you enjoy and have a Blessed Day!


The Mystery of the Missing Moon

“Mommy, where’s the moon?” was whispered with quiet fear

If the moon is gone, what else might be here?

“The moon is never gone,” she assured,

Deep down she was worried.

The moon never ran away,

The moon never even hurried.

Where might the silver disc have gone,

When would it return?

No silver light meant they were dark until dawn.

Suddenly they heard the big woman’s voice,

“Little girl, why are all the spoons in your toy box?’

A laugh, a squeal, a forced choice,

A scrape, a pull, a soft clang,

The light suddenly reflected once more,

The ‘moon’ was home again,

And little Marty Mouse was tucked in safe under the counter.