And then…

(Pic by Amanda – accidental photographer, scientist, friend)

.

.

Without warning –

Freedom.

It comes upon me now and then

And once again I am inspired.

Can it be true that this is mine…

… All of this, to do with,

As I please?

Without warning –

I realise.

That my actions are not just my own

And someone else feels the ripple,

Of my discarded truth, or

Half hearted attempt –

To make it right.

Without warning –

Life.

I want it like my morning coffee –

With sugar.

I want it with a crust –

Like humble pie.

I want it with the occasional static.

Without warning –

It’s gone.

And I never said I’m sorry –

To that guy at the grocery store,

Or that woman in the picture theatre.

To that dog I didn’t pat.

To those friends that never gave up –

On me.

Coffee 2

 

Frosty air made me fumble the match and it tumbled into the pile of broken twigs I had piled beneath my *billy.  Only one match remained in the box.  With some trepidation I withdrew it and dragged it along the striker. Orange flame danced at the end of the splinter of wood and I touched it to my tinder pile. Sparks rose quickly in the thermal draft.  Anticipation grew as I added coffee.  Aroma lifted my spirits and I knew today would be my day.

 

 

*a billy is an Australian term for a kettle or tin used for brewing coffee or tea over a campfire.

If Coffee was a sound

 

I was thinking – Coffee is a drink, a drug and a colour; what if it was also a sound?  I asked some friends what it would sound like.  This is my interpretation of what they said.  Thank you for you help guys 🙂

 

At a silver moon,

On a distant hill,

A successful hunt is announced.

A pack of dingoes howl…

Maybe this is the sound of coffee?

 

Through an open window,

Released from the smoky confines

Of a single bed studio,

A haunted alto-sax brays a single

Inspired note…

Does it scream the sound of coffee?

 

Beneath the rain soaked street

Gurgles unknown liquid.

Through untold twists and turns

To hidden places,

That beckons the seeker…

Does she hear the sound of coffee?

 

Between the madding crowd

His footsteps carry him to the source;

A gentle buzz.

Like a distant, overheard conversation

That’s never whispered behind his back…

This is surely the sound of coffee?

 

Across an African plain they come;

One million hooves.

Their thunder quickens one’s breath,

Enlivens one’s heart,

Crescendos and carries one onwards…

Mirroring the sound of coffee?

 

Ocean waves crash in salty air,

Hissing against a golden beach.

Washing away all signs of intervention.

Nature’s white noise,

Enriches the senses and moves the soul…

Closer to the sound of coffee?

 

A gentle shrug and soft sigh,

A look that drifts into the distance,

A mind at peace and pondering;

If a tree falls in a forest

And nobody is around to hear it…

Will that be the sound of coffee?