Come sit awhile
stir the cup of wealth
arabica roast in hands
the kitchen door opens
coffee bubbles up
words spool like cotton
reels of smiles
subtle sounds do not fool me
this cup is half full
and the miles of sheets
untangle
woke to find the
" The Rose of Sebastopol"
on my brow
glasses askew
tried to read till the end
in my mind's eye
I saw blood and guts,
nurses in white linen
and robes ravaged by gunshot and fire
I have seen this-
worn death like a shroud
held hands of the dying
and the living
to make well
all worthwhile
on release of doors and hinges
now untied by nothing more than a name
sprung out a beginning
of something
told as a story now
to you
Tuesdays deliver newspapers
tobacco
a hot cup of tea
maybe
hot buttered toast
poached eggs
the mither of having
to decide
which comes first
the Post Office
or the Supermarket
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
..and somewhere between the supermarket and mail, I hope there's a poem..lol.
