Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Some paths don’t make sense until you look back and see the world you helped heal. Trust your calling. Trust your glow. The journey is worth it. 🌍💛
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Today at the P’osies Cafe we have Part 3 of Mr. Daniels and His Cup, written by me, Tannika Nikeya.
In today’s story we have humility, hope, humor… and a coffee machine about to snap. So sit back and enjoy.
Part 3 Daytime Crew
(c) 2025
Mr. Daniels nodded his head, his face serene, and proceeded back to his seat at his usual table in the middle of the cafe.
“Shrek was about to blow his lid about his darn wallet he lost.” exclaimed Gregory. The cafe broke out into united chuckles.
The momentary burst of laughter then faded, leaving the familiar, comforting clatter of cups and the low hum of conversation. The cafe went on about their usual routines and morning bustle serving each customer and sending them on their way with their favorite beverages and pastries.
Mr. Daniels watched the staff settle back into their rhythm. His coffee, from which he had just taken a tiny sip, sent up a faint, comforting steam.
He noted Kimberly wiping down the counter with long, firm strokes. She was such a pleasant young lady who embodied the virtue he just told the man in the expensive blue suit to possess. She served more than just coffee; she served humility and patience that accompanied her smile. She doesn’t know her power yet, but it is immense, he thought.
Next was Lesliana, shy and timid, back at the register, her big smile reappearing as she thanked a customer. Lesliana worked to help pay for her college classes. It wasn’t easy to juggle her studies and a job but she needed the money for school. This was her seventh year at a four-year university, but this was her last year. My last year of college she would tell Mr. Daniels. Many of them mistake velocity for progress, Mr. Daniels mused, but patience and trusting God’s timing is a virtue. She carries hope, a quiet fire that needs only gentle tending.
And Gregory, who had a rough childhood in foster care, was already making the next customer laugh. He thought his job was only making the latest latte or frappuccino. It was not. His task is the balancing of sorrow and bringing joy to customers, Mr. Daniels thought as he observed him. For Gregory, laughter was a mechanism he used to aid himself in difficult times. And now the laughter he coaxes out is a necessary pressure release for the souls gathered here.
Mr. Daniels folded back his newspaper and sat it on the table next to his cup of coffee. He often poured his attention into the stories of the daytime crew more than he read the newspaper.
Kimberly would often talk about her parents. Her dad was gravely ill. As often as she smiled, no one knew just how worried she was about her dad who had lost so much weight and could barely walk now, and her mom who looked after him. After work, Kimberly would stop by to check on her dad and her mom. This Saturday, she looked forward to sitting in with her dad while her mom got a 60-minute massage courtesy of Kimberly. But at this moment, worry lay right behind her smile because her mom reported her dad hasn’t been eating much.
She had prayed with her mom after her mom gave her the news, trying to chuck fear aside and nurture hope for a miracle.
Mr. Daniels knew about her dad as he had listened intently to every detail Kimberly shared about him. He had watched as her colleagues wrapped their arms around her and assured her it would be okay.
Kimberly threw herself into her work, making sure the cafe ran smoothly and delivered those same cozy vibes it gave each day. The sun settled in just as the crew did, alternating spots and illuminating the cafe through the big picture window. The crew picked up their pace as the store became more alive.
Just then zzzz, zap could be heard and then a pop.
Gregory jumped back from one of the major coffee machines, with his eyes wide and his head leaned back.
Hey Friends, welcome back to the P’osies Cafe Series! We apologize that P’osies Cafe was closed yesterday. Some things came up and we got a bit delayed. Nonetheless, we are open today and have a new treat here at the cafe: part two of Mr. Daniels andHisCup of Coffee.
Enjoy!
Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee: The Lost Wallet (c) 2025
But Kimberly didn’t think he was rich at all. She had watched him on numerous occasions pull out coins and count them slowly, then hand them gently over to her or one of the baristas in exchange for his routine coffee.
And today was the same. Mr. Daniels limped in, gave his usual nod and proceeded to the line. When it was time for him to order his morning coffee or shall we say daily coffee. He would sip on this one cup his entire stay. Kimberly appeared from the back with a stack of cups in her hands. “Hi, Mr. Daniels, good morning!” “How are you today?”
“I’m well, Kimberly,” he slowly replied. “I hope all is well with you, today.”
“Oh, Mr. Daniels, this morning has been rough.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that Kimberly,” Mr. Daniels empathized. “But don’t worry, things will work out just fine,” he continued.
Kimberly let out a sigh and then released a smile. Mr. Daniels, in the midst of paying for his coffee, pulled 16 quarters out of his coin pouch. He laid them down on the counter, counted them one by one, and then picked them back up and handed them to Lesliana. Lesliana was another daytime crew member but also a full-time student at the local college. She seemed shy and timid but always smiled big. In fact the daytime crew at the P’osies Cafe, no matter what happened at the cafe or in their personal lives, never hesitated to smile. That was what set them apart. Their smiles were just as warm and inviting as the cafe.
After Mr. Daniels received his coffee. He sat down at his usual table. He set his coffee down and picked up the newspaper that was placed on the table by Kimberly earlier anticipating his arrival. While the steam rose from his coffee, he opened the newspaper to read or browse. No one knew if he read the newspaper thoroughly but he sat there quietly. Not one word.
The chimes on the door eagerly announces the next set of customers coming in one by one. A rosy cheek woman with a baby in the stroller who too had rosy cheeks. Two teen girls giggling, excited about the day ahead. A tall teen boy with glasses and corn rows whose face was buried in his phone. A petite woman with long hair, dressed in a mustard color blazer, long leather black skirt and leopard heels. She quietly and confidently walked in. And then a buff man wearing an expensive blue suit, white shirt and carrying a briefcase and talking on his phone came into the cafe.
Mr. Daniels slowly looked up at the man. In fact, everyone turned their attention to him as he came in because he was loud, a little too loud for the morning time where people had only been up for one to a few hours.
Some of the daytime crew felt relieved when he received his coffee and exited the cafe. But five minutes later he was back. He frantically rushed in even louder than when he came in before. And the chimes retreated back to their resting position just as quickly as they did when he rushed in. His briefcase swinging in his hands. “Where’s my wallet?” he belted out.
“Excuse me sir,” Lesliana softly responded.
“Where is my wallet?” he repeated. “I remember having it here at the counter.”
Kimberly walked over to the cash register and Lesliana. “Sir, we can surely take a look around the store right quick. Are you sure this is the last spot you had your wallet?” asked Kimberly.
“Come on, I know when I last had my wallet.” He retorted impatiently.
The man announced that he will call the cops.
“That will be fine sir but while you do that I will continue to check the floor. Can you retrace your movements?” She asked him.
Kimberly took a deep breath and told Lesliana to help the next customer who had come in after the man. Kimberly stepped from behind the counter and began to walk around the store looking at the floors and tables.
The man turned red and demanded his wallet, his voice high and grating. Kimberly grew worried. She frantically searched for the wallet of the man with the expensive blue suit, her eyes darting under tables.
Just then, Mr. Daniels slowly rose. Every joint seemed to creak a silent protest, but he moved with quiet, deliberate determination toward the belligerent man. Mr. Daniels didn’t speak until he was right beside him, and then, he gently extended an old hand holding a black leather wallet.
The man stopped mid-sentence, his jaw hanging. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled, his eyes narrowing at the old man’s patched coat and worn shoes.
“And how did you get my wallet?”
Mr. Daniels held his gaze—a gaze that held no judgment, only patience.
“You dropped it here on the floor as you left,” Mr. Daniels stated simply. Then, his voice softened, carrying just enough weight to cut through the man’s anger. “Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays foolishness. I understand that you lost your wallet, sir, but please be patient and kind.”
The man snatched the wallet back. He looked down at the soft-spoken old man, ready to unleash another loud, dismissive retort. But something in Mr. Daniel’s eyes—a depth that seemed out of place in a coffee shop, or perhaps the sheer, unruffled calm—captivated his attention.
The man didn’t soften completely; the impatience was ingrained. Instead of arguing or shouting, the man merely gave a curt, tight nod—a visible effort at restraint.
“Right,” the buff man muttered, shoving the wallet into his inner suit pocket. He looked around the cafe, his face still flushed, then spun around and walked out the door, mumbling something under his breath.
“Thanks, Mr. Daniels,” Kimberly said with a relieved smile, watching the door swing shut.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Today, we have a fresh new poem being served. Grab your tea or coffee, come on in and enjoy!
Smile & Grace (c) 2025
Written By Tannika Nikeya
Love how you walk by people, acknowledging them with a warm smile—like chai tea’s warm embrace, silently sharing with them God’s amazing grace.
But I notice there is one person who doesn’t receive as many of those smiles, treated as though she were a forgotten child. Can she, too, have that same patience and mercy?
Can you give her that same smile— not just with your mouth, but with your eyes?
Or will the little girl in her continue to feel despised, less than, unseen, unheard, unworthy of love?
Give her your attention Receive His grace His mercy that His unfailing love will trace.
Let her know you see her. Don’t allow her to shrink or hide. Stop, embrace her, and let her smile shine on the inside.
What small act of kindness could you offer today to someone’s unseen heart… and even your own? 💛
I’m charged up and ready to write! This evening, while I fast tv, I am going to do some reading (just a bit) and writing (just a lot). I am excited because after having experienced writer’s block in my writing journey, lately, I have been flowing. God has graced me to crank out either a blog post here or a poem or song there. And now I’m back to writing short stories.
Oh, I forgot to mention: I will be writing while eating me some Chinese food. My favorite Shrimp Egg Foo Young and Shrimp Fried Rice.
I am additionally working on new pieces for a new series titled Persevere and an additional collaborative series with my bestie titled P’osies Cafe.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about.
In this series, my best friend, Saneatra, and fellow writer will join me at our virtual writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens, and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes.
We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Think of this as your favorite local cafe, but instead of coffee, the aroma is of fresh ink and well-worn pages. Pull up a chair, get comfortable, and let’s get started. We’re thrilled you’re here.
Stay tuned for our first work of this series!!! In the meantime, check out my bestie on Facebook and Instagram: Saneatra polk as well as on TikTok, Saneatrap.
“Can I Depend on You” is an intimate conversation with God — asking, believing, and surrendering. When life gets uncertain, His faithfulness remains. A heartfelt Christian R&B song of learning to surrender and trust God.
Writing has not only been a hobby of mine but a lifelong companion and confidant: helping me express myself, learn, and now encourage others. Writing allows us to be creative, tap into the recesses of our hearts, and map out the matters within. It gives us space to pour out — although not always seemingly smoothly and freely — the contents of our souls. Through writing, we find our voice. And for me, it’s not just me finding my voice but fulfilling a tentacle of my purpose.
I write to release, to be creative, to learn about the world around me, and more importantly, to encourage and teach others.
Writing is both an art form and a necessity — one that will never be replaced. Writers are essential. We write for speeches, television shows, movies, plays, songs, books, blog posts, research papers, advertisements, news articles, textbooks, obituaries, and so much more.
AI, And the Human Touch
But as the world evolves, so does technology. And its “baby,” AI, has now arrived, rapidly transforming the internet and our world. With a few prompts, one can use AI to produce a paper or even a book.
AI and technology certainly have benefits. They’ve decreased production time, simplified tasks, and brought vast amounts of information to our fingertips. However, the rapid growth and widespread use of AI can be concerning, especially since regulations around its use are still being defined. In the wrong hands, AI can blur the lines between real and fake, and without genuineness or integrity, people can be misled, manipulated, or even put at risk.
Let’s also be honest: many jobs have already been lost due to AI’s rise.
Still, AI is here. And as writers, we can continue to thrive, even in the midst of its rise. We can also use AI with intention and integrity.
Here’s how we can navigate AI as a writer:
Use AI tools like ChatGPT for brainstorming, research, or outlining your ideas.
Let it assist you with editing and tightening your writing.
Generate images to complement your writing projects.
Always fact-check the information AI provides.
Be transparent with your audience about the use of AI-generated content or images.
Cite your sources properly.
Keep your human voice strong and present — that’s your signature.
Remember: AI is a tool, not a replacement.
Freepik: wayhomestudio
To my fellow old-school writers: rest assured that our art form is not lost in the sauce. Keep writing. Keep enjoying the process: the one where you explore and untangle the contents of your heart. Where you take note of the world around you. Where you capture memories and moments. Where you blend words with joy, uniqueness, and creativity. Where you offer encouragement, truth, and hope.
It started with introducing my first self-published poetry book, Setting The Captive Free, as well as sharing my journey of faith, growth, and writing.
It later expanded to also wanting to further my writing skills and experience.
It allows me to share my writing, new and old, from poetry to feature articles. From words of encouragement to skits. From sharing learned lessons to moments to remember.
4. To encourage others to take one day at a time along their journey of life and healing.
6. To get used to using my voice.
5. To remind myself and others who struggle with anxiety or even depression to rest, persevere, and hold on to God to get you through the fight.
7. Lastly, I blog because it allows me to let my hair down a bit. And whether I am blogging about beautiful moments in nature and around me I have taken with my camera or blogging what I learned from spending time reading my Bible while sitting down to a cup of hot water, honey and lemon, I can express it freely with my writing.
This is my new series where I introduce you to some of the past material I’ve written. I have written skits for special events at church and I have also written short stories, some of which I admit are half-done. Did I tell you, I once created my own entertainment magazine in high school! But I won’t be sharing my little paper bootleg magazine. At least for now. Anyway, welcome to Tannika’s Writing Vault and enjoy!
Here is an article I wrote when I was in college studying English: Professional & Technical Writing with a concentration in Journalism. It was subsequently asked to be published on a Hip Hop site but I can’t seem to find the site anymore.
Hip-Hop As A Learning Tool
By Tannika Moore (c) January 4, 2007
Today is Wednesday. It is a little past three in the afternoon and a young group of students are talking and laughing with each other while awaiting today’s instruction.
Like any teacher, Mr. Alexander Fruchter gathers his teaching materials. But instead of a teacher’s edition and a grade book, he pulls a couple of CDs out of his bag and plugs in the portable CD player. He loads in one of the CDs and presses play.
After the chorus, Evidence (member of Hip Hop group Dilated Peoples) begins spitting 16 bars of rap lyrics on “You Can’t Hide, You Can’t Run”.
“On to me, I’m on to you, it’s no mystery
Better think fast, the future just was history
This is where the plot thickens, regardless of wealth
Cause the worst person to run from is yourself…”
As today’s worksheet, Fruchter gives each student a print out of the song’s lyrics and a Hip Hop quote of the day written response sheet.
If Hip Hop was a person, it would be the most popular football player (maybe Basketball player) in high school, sought after by ten college recruiters. Hip Hop isn’t a person, but it is popular and it continues to grow.
It has travelled from the 1973 block party in New York to the university lecture halls and has finally stopped off at a class of third to eighth graders on the South side of Chicago.
While a host of universities like Stanford add Hip Hop courses to their registration books, Fruchter has opted for a more familiar classroom setting.
“My goal is to teach elementary and high school students in the city. These kids are starting out on their academic career and I feel that these kids can benefit more [from this course],” Fruchter says.
But Fruchter makes it clear that this is not a course simply on Hip Hop history and culture. “I don’t consider this as Hip Hop academia and I’m not saying I am a Hip Hop historian,” Fruchter says.
Instead Fruchter says that this is a course that uses Hip Hop to communicate to the children and teach them psychology and sociology. He also uses this course to enforce reading and writing.
“I call the course ‘You Can Quote Me On That’. It is primarily a psychology and life skills class. But it also teaches poetry techniques, critical thinking skills as well as reading and writing.
For 24-year old Fruchter, teaching grammar school students is nothing new. He went through the Teach for America program where they recruit candidates who will commit to teaching for two years.
After being certified, Fruchter started teaching full time, in 2004, first as a summer school teacher in Los Angeles and then as a second grade teacher at Charles R. Henderson on Chicago’s South side Englewood area.
Fruchter made the switch to fifth grade in 2005, at Henderson. So, to most of the 15-20 students that show up to his “You Can Quote Me On That!” course, Fruchter is a familiar face.
Tannika Nikeya 