Until The Words Flow

Writer’s block stops me, holds me poised

over PC or pad.  It’s not for lack of interest,

the harder I try, the less I produce. Perhaps

it is that I am drawn to rest, I find sitting here

appealing from time to time? My purpose is to write,

but my mind wanders, coffee cup in hand, I think of

checking facebook, my email, see what my writing group

is producing, or if anyone commented on my blog. I need to sit

with purpose, begin with stream of consciousness until the words

flow freely, I see a few seeds sown that has possibility, might grow

into a poem.  Perhaps writer’s block is more my own doing than I can

admit. I’ll think about it over another cup of coffee, maybe mocha this time.

Instant Coffee

Instant coffee taste bitter on tongue.

Cigarette throat, hoarse and raw.

Yellow fingers with bloody cracks

reach for another Camel. He swears.

Swollen eyes flinch as the hotel florescent sign

shines gawdawful yellow into the early morning

squalor. He gulps the last inch of vodka

then places the bullet in the chamber.

Coffee Game

Choices assault my senses,

coffee hot, cold, sweet, bold,

but she doesn’t even look

at the menu overhead.

She stops her sentence,

I halt my thoughts. Will she

give in to the aroma and pull

of the pumpkin spice latte..

mocha she says without a blink,

it’s always mocha but I always hope.

Coffee Zone

I sit here in contemplation as I write, read,
gather my thoughts, listen to the timber
of voices rise and fall around me. Life flows
here, through me and out again to others. There
is a symbiosis hard to explain to those not
enamored by the glory of life in the zone.

I hold the pottery cup in hands that soak
up warmth. Let the steam wake me up
before the coffee has its way with me.
Words will flow now from mind to fingertips
onto the bleached paper or computer screen.

I head back to Florida tomorrow. I love it
there but I will miss this place, this scene,
these smells, voices, and the cocoon
I have around me here in the Coffee Zone.