Rancid Well

People drew essence
from his existence
They felt nourished
by every drop of him

Hopes and dreams
inspired his giving
He thought
wisdom never ran dry

Then doubt rained heavily
and filled his heart
overflowing with uncertainty
He started to speak
stale words

His well of knowledge and wisdom
turned rancid
People were wearied of his speech
and flet from his presence

Honest And Hard Earned

A farm girl decided to survive in a big city.
She tried all decent work to bring in income
to pay for their daughter’s education,
so she would not need to follow her footsteps.

She sold rubber sandals in the market.
She mixed cement, dug trenches
and laid bricks on construction sites.

She is 5 feet tall in sun tanned skin.
She rode on a 28 inch wheel bicycle
carrying an ice box filled with ice blocks.
She waited outside her daughter’s school
in many scorching summer afternoons.
Children swamped out the school gate
at the sound of the bell.
That was the best time of her sales.
Children were reaching their hands high
to pay for the ice blocks.
It looked like a vigorous bidding scene.

She barely kept up to collect the coins
while giving out the ice blocks.
Yet her eyes always spotted her little girl
once she appeared outside the school gate.
She reached into the bottom right corner of the ice box
to retrieve the special perfectly frozen vanilla ice block,
handing it to her daughter standing on the sideline.
She never kept any eye contact though,
for the fear of the children would laugh at
her little girl has a mother working as a petty street vendor.

She received great education opportunities
from her mother’s hard labour and vision.
Every time she sucks on a vanilla ice block,
her mother’s sun tanned forehead
soaked with hot summer sweat
comes into her mind.
The melting ice block,
her melting heart,
shows up as streams of tears
she is too proud to hold back.

– dedicated to my mother

Queen of The Night

“She will meet you in ten minutes. Would you like a tea, coffee or water?” The girl asked.

“Water will be good, thanks.” He replied.

“Sparkling or still?”

“Tap water will be fine, thanks.”

He got up from the nubuck leather couch and walked towards the loft style gallery area. All the walls were filled with tasteful paintings except a space at the far corner, hung an empty frame, it looked a bit out of place. 

“Your tap water is over there by the couch, but she is ready to see you now, if you are ready?” The girl approached him.

“Ah sure sure. After you.” 

He was led to a small but functionable meeting room decorated with neutral toned modern furniture. It had a view of the Wooloomooloo Finger Wharf. He was left there to admire the view. There were cyclists and joggers. He was a little bit surprised to see them exercising in mid-morning. He turned around to the sound of the door being opened. Her hourglass body was hugged by a black knee length A-line dress, her siren red stilettos made an undeniable statement.  

“Apologies for running late. I hope you got a chance to look at the gallery.” She turned around to close the door. He had a full view of her back. A metal zipper ran full length of the dress, leading his eyes to her toned and well-defined calf muscles. 

To him, she looked like a queen of the night, mysterious and arousing. He quickly interrupted his own thought by thinking about the sweaty cyclist and joggers he saw earlier on. 

“OK, I am all yours.” She walked back to him.

“You what?” He couldn’t be sure what he heard.

“I am all yours. No interruptions.” She said again and sat down while gesturing him to do the same.

His face turned red. He sat down and avoided eye contact before he gathered himself. “Oh, of course. I was surprised to get the call about this meeting. What I means is that I am flattered. You know I am only a start-up artist. I had my first exhibition and only sold one painting, to my grandfather.” He laughed a self-inflicted sarcastic laugh. 

“I was once a new kid on the block. It’s understandable that you don’t consider your first exhibition successful because you didn’t sell many paintings. The mission of my gallery is to give emerging artists a platform to showcase their work and get a start in this highly bias and competitive market. I saw a few of your paintings sent to me by my curator. She’s right, your work is fresh and unique. I want to purchase the one titled “The Forgotten” and display in my gallery. I hope you see the frame I chose for it. Say no if you don’t think the frame works.”

“Ah my God! I don’t know what to say. Thank you! Thank you! For giving me a chance, a head start. Oh my God. Is this happening?”

She let out a string of laughter. “Don’t thank me. You earned it. Your work is niche, and I love niche.” She looked into his moistened eyes, “get out of here before I change my mind. Leave your account detail before you leave so you’ll get paid. I evaluated the painting and had a price in mind. You can say no to the offer, but I think you’ll be happy with my offer.” She winked at him before he quickly exited the room in case his tears of joy fell.  

He left his account detail with the girl at the front desk. She processed a payment straight away and gave him a printout of the transaction record. He was stunned by the high price of his first legitimate sale.  

“She wants to take you out for dinner to discuss more business. Here are the available time slots, which one should I book you in?” The girl asked.

Dinner?!!! Didn’t mind the business bit. His primal instinct was giving him an erection, for some strange reason. Not strange, it’s her curves and the siren red stilettos. He picked a time slot that was the soonest. 

Code Word

Living Poetry prompt – Picnic

Prosecco in the chiller
French brie with rice crackers
Carrot and celery sticks
We were off to a picnic!

We walked a mile
deep into the curve
of the sandy bay
passed the nude beach
waved at saggy breasts and balls

We set up the sun tent
spent a Sunday morning
making out
But we told everyone
that “We are off to a picnic!”

My 1st Book Released

My first book is officially released today! I am stoked 😸
You may pick up a copy on:
Barns and Noble
Search “The Scars We Don’t See by Cassa Bassa”
If you read it and write a genuine review, it will help me to grow as a writer.
Thank you!

My Eyes Behold You

He is goofy
and into Motown music
He got an old soul
like the oud wood
trailing behind long after
he left the room

I often
stand in a distance
look at him
through a stained glass
church window

At best
I manage to make out his silhouette
I see him
through and through

Publication – The Scars We Don’t See

My collection of micro fiction The Scars We Don’t See is out.

Amazon UK
Amazon Australia
Amazon US
Barnes and Noble


It started as an intention to leave something for my son to keep when I am gone (a bit morbid, I know). Then through the process of being guided by my publisher Tara and my editor Candice, to put this book together, I felt inspired by the joy a completed book brought to all parties involved. I am eternally grateful for Tara and Candice, deeply encouraged by Benjamin , without them, this book would not become a reality.

I will be posting in the next few days to share with you more about this book. I’d love you to make a purchase, read it and write a genuine review for me, which will help me grow as a writer (who just enjoys writing).

With love and respect, Cassa

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