We all have them,
Two stirs right three stirs left,
Cream swirling to the left in coffee,
Like scars in your mind,
Of the life we all must live.
Howling at the moon,
When the predator cancer,
Has had your loved ones,
Unable to keep up your urban front,
Without the ritual of morning coffee.
Freedom from the coffee,
Freedom from the grief,
Freedom from all the baggage,
Dreaming in red while I sleep alone,
Mono mind one level lonely.
Mevagissy town for the smugglers,
With George Moorland and his wreckers,
Up against all smugglers and,
The gargoyles of their minds.
Alone at midnight with the fire,
On the sandy beach crabs cooking,
Dinner almost ready, mind
Trying to catch up to the change,
Of pace from city living to loving,
Every moonrise over fire lit beaches.
this is one of my older pieces origanly posted on my all poetry account about three years ago.
when i spotted the prompt “liquid” on #FOWC this morning i thought of coffee then remembered this piece.