Coffee Cup Poem no.56

Spring Break is Over (My Mind is Still Hungover From Last Semester)

Slowly it’s coming back.
All of it.

Early dew signals the lark from slumber
and it clears its throat to whistle
and my mind is back,
was it really ever lost?

Words fall still and silent
dead weight in an empty house
decorated in spider filled cracks,
webs waiting to corner its prey…
oh, there shall be none today.

Not until the half moons open
and light sheds dust into animation–
thought is life, they say
or do they?
Oh, but today, today.

My mind returns not today, but tomorrow
a day to late when returning from break.

Coffee Cup Poem no.55

Bad News Comes Slow On a Summer Breeze

It cannot wait, it cannot come too soon
I think, waiting for you in the harsh of summer,
As life hangs heavy in the still of afternoon.

I sit quiet amongst lush grass ruin
Of a day spent alone, long in loiter
It cannot wait, it cannot come too soon;

The Shadows’ wistful waltz mark half past noon
And Take a bow on a sun tipped flower
As life hangs heavy in the still of afternoon.

Let us go then to a tristesse tune
You and I, we speak in a whisper
It cannot wait, it cannot come too soon.

Your hands soft and white as moon
I cannot help but see it across your face, a crater,
As life hangs heavy in the still of afternoon.

Silence sucks away the breath from June
Your back turns and my glow grows fainter
It cannot wait, it cannot come too soon
As life hangs heavy in the still of afternoon.

Coffee Cup Poem no.54

Mrs. Ramsey, A Moment of Thought…

There it was before her–life
swelling in the tips of her fingers
and pouring out of her–
the essence of her being, rising
in a flame of exhalation.

Suddenly everything is reversed–life
a single eyelet of water
hanging–in this moment everything–
the instant held in a sunburst petal,
the whole of the world held in suspense.

There it was before her–life
dangling in the cracks and cobwebs
collecting dust in the corners,
my heart, lying, waiting for this
the sum of everything hanging on a moment.

Suddenly everything just is–life
the world in an instant, waiting
for this realisation and the essence,
the essence of my being swelling up
raising in a flush and suddenly this is it

I am whole.

Coffee Cup Poem no.53

Fog Rolling

Soft fog rolls in beyond the mountains
pushing the larks songs from my ear
and covering sunburst buds of spring;
my window steams in anticipation

of the coming cold. I see the toes of trees
curl and the leaves huddle and yawn, as I too
hug my shoulders seeking warmth, invisible
and creeping through faded cracks.

I sit and watch the changing light
streak through my window. I hide still, waiting,
and the fog rolls through the walls into
my soul and I feel closer to the mountains.

Coffee Cup Poem no.52

Sorry to be such a downer to day, I try not to do it too often but sometimes thought rests on the unhappy.

Sleeping through Dinner

I know what it is to lose yourself
in sorrow.
The world is a small window, convex
and you’re on the wrong side,
peering out into the great expanse,
missing out,
it hurts.
Life is through there,
streaming by and you’re banging
trying to slow it down,
wedge yourself in between it
and time.
It gets you.
That is how I know I am lost.
Something in you goes mute,
a whistle escapes, but I miss it
and everything goes

Time is carried without you, and
as you sit quietly peering out
and into that expanse, I see.
I see it in your heart,
and the world I see,
I see it means nothing.

Coffee Cup Poem no.51

The Crow

ka-caw! ka-caw!
cries the crow over the songbirds
drowning out their whistles and hums
for the harsh crack of his caw.
Do their colorful coats irk him so,
so much so that his heart turns dark
and distant to their melodies?
no, none of this bothers the crow,
his cawing is the song of pride
a pride that masks his blackened eyes
to the colors of the larks,
his darting eyes follow the truths they foretell.

ka-caw! ka-caw!
cries the crow over the songbirds
drowning out their whistles and hums
for the harsh crack of his caw.

Coffee Cup Poem no.50

Storm clouds gather over fields of lush green
as wet edges of sky soak into the fields,
blurring as I drive. O’Children hums,
and a dark, bottomless voice surrounds me,
the chorus of children rising as it begins to pour.
Twilight breaks and torrents sweep
lift up your voice, lift up your voice…
red poppies bounce under god’s drums
the train that goes to the kingdom…
and hoard life given,
have you left a seat for me?
life erased by dust and wind
is it such a stretch of the imagination?
I clutch the wheel as sky blurs into field
it’s beyond my wildest expectation
something in me feels the seeds breathing
we’re all weeping now, weeping because…
breathing in salvation
forgive us now for what we’ve done
salvation that comes in short measure
there ain’t nothing we can do to protect you.

Coffee Cup Poem no.49

Watching the Wind Through Glass

Twitching, the coral blossoms shake
in what seems to her an endless green expanse,
pierced only by the blue-grey horizon
that touches its blurred edges
all the while, twitching.
The cracked chestnut holds steady,
an anchor in a cloud of madness
its verdant-coral pulled away,
astray, confused in blue horizon,
the anchor holds with unwavering stability.

She watches the slight movements in the shades,
perceiving the quick shift in hues
as a life in seeds is carried away
deep red in safety’s bosom,
fading pink against that blue escape.
How unpredictable, how by chance,
she thinks, is the nature of leaves
only the etched trunks hold inflexible,
the trunks, an anchor
loosing children as if they were replaceable.

But isn’t that the way all things go?
Her life, a flower, left to chance
pulled into that expanse without notice.
But isn’t that the way all things go?
A waiting game, shifting slightly in place,
shuffling of feet, waiting, never knowing…
But isn’t that the way all things go?
An anchor, illusions of safety
stirring, always looking into the expanse ahead
and never knowing, never knowing…

Yes, she thinks, turning back to her knitting,
that seems the way all things go.

Coffee Cup Poem no.48

When I Read…

Transport me to live one thousand lives
and trace the lines of
love unrequited, love begot,
love squandered and love sought;
to violence avoided, violence fought
terrors survived and lives lost–
the essence of humanity defying time,
traced and transcended by simple words, generations.
Empathy captured in ink symbols and signs,
breathed in as the air of life,
never really lived.

I do not see the world in a grain of sand,
but rather in a word.
The word that wraps me in its arms
betrayed only by reality’s interruptions…
the travels I have had with this word,
the memories forged but never truly owned.

Yes, my heart is in this ink,
my world in the another’s pen,
the key to my heart in the hands of others,
my life lived in the a book of wonders, indeed.