just before sleep
drags me down to dreams,
the faces form from nothing
of everyone
I never knew
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
The Great Coffee Throw Down
It
is one of my great privileges as a poet to have opportunities to share the love
of poetry and the joy of spontaneous bursts of writing with like-minded
friends. Last weekend I issued a
challenge – “throw down” – to a group of fearless and fun-loving artists. The
topic was coffee (or tea) and the form was personal choice. With their permission,
I share the results below:
Morning made morning,
Now slow
Prerna Katare Tonk
The innocent cream
of morning sanity d rush
Mary Scott Sayre
Waiting
By her
On countless
childhood mornings (folded now
Into a single moment): slowly drifting
Out of sleep into a quiet waking,
The morning light not quite yet edging round
The curtain, I can hear the day begin
In kitchen sounds: the burbling coffee pot,
The clunk and swish of coffee poured, the clink
Of spoon in mug. Yes, soon the day begins,
But not just yet.
To brew. I spoon the sugar in the cup,
And pour, and stir, and add my half and half
And watch the color swirl and change. I sit
And curl my hands around the cup, and feel
The heat through flesh and bone. Yes, soon
The day begins, but not just yet.
Mary Mueller
Morning Mercies
Making me human,
Waking me up, the Spirit
Must flow in each cup.
Kelly Belmonte
coffee percolates
while sun dances
on last night's party
glasses drying
in the sink
Rebekah Choat
Magic Potion
As I sit here staring into the dark depths
Of the cup that I cradle between my cold hands,
The swirling together of steam and my breath
spins a thread that trails off towards fairy-tale lands.
My fancy goes floating away on the mist
To somewhere off the map and somewhen outside time;
I stand among trees that the first snow has kissed,
In silence unboken except for the chime
The feeling it stirs is more worship than fear;
Perhaps it is only a herald of morning.
Kevin Belmonte
Bliss in the air – fond smell of morning,
‘til I’ve had a cup – all others take warning!
Still there’s a kinder side, I trow,
And of that, I’ll sing –
The smile that she shows
for the first cup I bring…
Kelly Belmonte
cafe mit schlag and
conversation, waiting on
time in Traiskirchen
(senryu, memory of summer in Austria, 1988)
The palate;
So get up
And get at it
And brew the elixir
That keeps its promises. But is foul to
the palate;
So get up
And get at it
And brew the elixir
That keeps its promises.
Marilyn Leider
Caffeine shot
Uncalms us-speeds the clock-spins faster-
But might the mug,
The pouring and the rising of steam,
Uncalms us-speeds the clock-spins faster-
But might the mug,
The pouring and the rising of steam,
Unchug our chugging
And what once was rushing forth
Might be a libation for the sake of the soul.
Then let come the calming
And the savoring.
Makes mourning of
Souls arushing elsewhere
Speeding
Spun
Shot out.
For the goodness
Of the soul.
The innocent cream
rifling up the caffeine
almost a cacophonous assault
on the olfactory nerves
cajoling the paused rush
in a tumultuous avalanche
of morning sanity d rush
in a tumultuous avalanche
of morning sanity
Mary Scott Sayre
cold cup of coffee
With its
Melted whip cream top
I sensed
Her long anxious wait
for me
To approach, and begin
Holly Ordway
Into a single moment): slowly drifting
Out of sleep into a quiet waking,
The morning light not quite yet edging round
The curtain, I can hear the day begin
In kitchen sounds: the burbling coffee pot,
The clunk and swish of coffee poured, the clink
Of spoon in mug. Yes, soon the day begins,
But not just yet.
Today I rise (the
light
Has just awakened
too) and set the potTo brew. I spoon the sugar in the cup,
And pour, and stir, and add my half and half
And watch the color swirl and change. I sit
And curl my hands around the cup, and feel
The heat through flesh and bone. Yes, soon
The day begins, but not just yet.
Morning Mercies
Making me human,
Waking me up, the Spirit
Must flow in each cup.
coffee percolates
while sun dances
on last night's party
glasses drying
in the sink
Magic Potion
As I sit here staring into the dark depths
Of the cup that I cradle between my cold hands,
The swirling together of steam and my breath
spins a thread that trails off towards fairy-tale lands.
My fancy goes floating away on the mist
To somewhere off the map and somewhen outside time;
I stand among trees that the first snow has kissed,
In silence unboken except for the chime
Of a faraway bell
I can only just hear
As it tolls out –
what is it? – a welcome, a warning?The feeling it stirs is more worship than fear;
Perhaps it is only a herald of morning.
But I cannot stay
– my elixer is gone
And back in the
“real” world, the day’s getting on.
Lines about
Coffee
(inspired by
Ogden Nash)
O flavorful bean
– grace in a cup,
Do your good work
– please pick me up.Bliss in the air – fond smell of morning,
‘til I’ve had a cup – all others take warning!
Still there’s a kinder side, I trow,
And of that, I’ll sing –
The smile that she shows
for the first cup I bring…
cafe mit schlag and
conversation, waiting on
time in Traiskirchen
(senryu, memory of summer in Austria, 1988)
· Jean Matson
Saturday Morning
Yesterday's coffee,
Starbucks no matter,
Promises much
But is foul to Yesterday's coffee,
Starbucks no matter,
Promises much
The palate;
So get up
And get at it
And brew the elixir
That keeps its promises. But is foul to
the palate;
So get up
And get at it
And brew the elixir
That keeps its promises.
The morning light not quite yet
edging round
The curtain, I can hear the day begin
In kitchen sounds: the burbling coffee pot,
The clunk and swish of coffee poured, the clink
Of spoon in mug. Yes, soon the day begins,
But not just yet.
Today I rise (the light
Has just awakened too) and set the pot
To brew. I spoon the sugar in the cup,
And pour, and stir, and add my half and half
And watch the color swirl and change. I sit
And curl my hands around the cup, and feel
The heat through flesh and bone. Yes, soon
The day begins, but not just yet.The pouring and the rising of steamThe pouring and the rising of steam,
Unchug our chugging
And what once was rushing forth
Might be a libation for the sake of the soul.
Then let come the calming
And the savoring.
Morning made morning,
Makes mourning of
Souls arushing elsewhere
Speeding
Spun
Shot out.
Now slow
For the goodness
Of the soul.
The curtain, I can hear the day begin
In kitchen sounds: the burbling coffee pot,
The clunk and swish of coffee poured, the clink
Of spoon in mug. Yes, soon the day begins,
But not just yet.
Today I rise (the light
Has just awakened too) and set the pot
To brew. I spoon the sugar in the cup,
And pour, and stir, and add my half and half
And watch the color swirl and change. I sit
And curl my hands around the cup, and feel
The heat through flesh and bone. Yes, soon
The day begins, but not just yet.The pouring and the rising of steamThe pouring and the rising of steam,
Unchug our chugging
And what once was rushing forth
Might be a libation for the sake of the soul.
Then let come the calming
And the savoring.
Morning made morning,
Makes mourning of
Souls arushing elsewhere
Speeding
Spun
Shot out.
Now slow
For the goodness
Of the soul.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Friday, October 28, 2011
night language
empty into night
the sky pours language
we cannot hear
yesterday's nightmare
a cricket
a yawning echo
the sky pours language
we cannot hear
the hum of silenced
tv; the muffled scream of yesterday's nightmare
five miles away
by the ocean a cricket
between land and sky,
resonating within a yawning echo
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