“Portrait of Self”, 8 1/2" W x 11" H, colored pencil on paper © 2017 by Chas Wyatt

Those weathered eyes, that stoic expression; what do they reveal about me? I looked stoic up in the dictionary and it said . It seems to fit that portrait and oft times it does fit me, although I also have a lighter side. Life hasn’t been a bed of roses for me, but, there are many that have fared worse in what life shelled out, toiling endlessly, as day became night.


Photo by author

“Raindrops”, an illustration that I am using for my publication’s logo, 10" h x 12" w, colored pencil on paper, © 2020 by Chas Wyatt

You have stumbled across this publication somehow and are wondering what it is about. Mainly, it will be stories about my life experiences, although I will also throw in fictional stories from time to time and maybe poetry and prose, as the inclination and creative muse strikes.

To have a better understanding of the publication, therefore, I feel it is important to know something about the author of the publication. I am both, an artist…


“Jade”, 24" H x 30" W, oil on canvas, © 1991 by Chas Wyatt


“Light at the End of the Tunnel”, 10" x 12" colored pencil on paper, © 2020 by Chas Wyatt

Thank you for choosing love over hate; thank you for embracing the light over the darkness. Thank you for choosing over deceit and lies. Thank you for realizing that life is a precious gift and that all lives matter. Thank you for using science to come to logical conclusions, rather than relying on rumours and unproven conjecture. Thank you for calling attention to injustices and once again embracing the concept of Thank you for letting your voices be heard…


“Spanish Dancer”, 9" x 12", acrylic on canvas © 2012 by Chas Wyatt


“Infinite Period”, 10" x 12", colored pencil on paper, © 2020 by Chas Wyatt

“I would hurl words into the darkness and wait for an echo, and if no echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.” ~ Richard Wright, “American Hunger”, 1977.

The infinite period continues on through the void, the sentence has no ending and cannot be defined, or encapsulated in a world of conjecture, or logic. The verbs and adverbs rebel against grammarly perfectionism and cast asunder preconceived ideas and notions. The nouns and pronouns march against the vicissitudes…


“In Praise of Soul & Sea” © 2020 by Chas Wyatt, acrylic ink and colored pencil on paper, 12" x 12".

Every time I turn around, there is another new publication dawning on Medium. I have wandered into a few and have had my stories, essays, or poems accepted at times. Sometimes not.

I do not recall the exact words in the invitation I received from when she asked me to joinI was delighted that I had been asked, however, and submitted my short prose, ~

may be a small publication, but, I have grown fond of it. Although authors mainly…


“Wildfire”, 12" x 12", colored pencil on paper, © 2020 by Chas Wyatt

Labor Day, 2020; high, dry winds blew into the state of Oregon. Most did not know what foreboding message they were sending. Perhaps we weren’t listening; or, perhaps we just didn’t hear. That night my power went out, or maybe it was shut-off by PGE; I’ve heard different stories. The powerful winds helped to ignite and spread wildfires all across the state. The next day there was a bank of black and red clouds hovering above the Cascades, not far away. They appeared like thunderheads, but, they contained no rain. It was just smoke.

In two days I would receive…


“Blue Sapphire”, 12" x 12", colored pencil on paper © 2020 by Chas Wyatt

She wore a faded denim jacket with a single blue rose embroidered on the back. Her dark raven tresses hung down covering one side of her face, peek-a-boo style like a Brunette I could tell from the black tank top protruding from underneath her jacket that she had an aversion to bras.

Her jeans clung to the curvature of her figure like an Anaconda coiling around the branches of a tree. The aroma that wafted through the air as she passed was an intoxicating and seductive mixture of opium and jasmine. On her feet she wore black velvet…


“Maga Mask”, background illustration by author, mask painted by author; photographed by author

I rarely delve into political discourse, other than leaving a comment on something someone else has written. I do not enjoy conflict; others may relish it. Now, at this time on the planet, I can no longer go silently into the night.

There is no LookI am an old white man. I cannot possibly know what it is like to be a black person in America. I cannot know what it is like be black and be pulled over by the cops at night in the inner city. …

Chas Wyatt https://raindrops.substack.com

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