Here we are in Washington D.C.
Watching the change of the guards
On guard
It is going to be a day
Not to be remembered
But just another day
Unfortunately not a great day
Just a below average day
Here we are in Washington D.C.
Watching the change of the guards
On guard
It is going to be a day
Not to be remembered
But just another day
Unfortunately not a great day
Just a below average day
11:57 The clock reads
Momentary and sedentary
I return to the road
We travel so often
Yet so unfamiliar
Unusual
The hope of unity
A collection of ideas
Almost perfect
But perfect in its imperfections
It has beauty despite moments
Of Lack of direction
Proceed on our journey
To find people
To share moments and peace
This is my idea to bring
Return to the pages
Settled in and getting away
Too long
Can get contagious
I don’t write
Due to lack of inspiration
Rather I am not writing
Because it has become
A lack of motivation
Unfamiliar sensation
But it is a coal covered jewel
Untouched as the days continue
First the idea sprouts
From mind to fingers
Scatters across the keys and onto the page
I resurrect the beast laying dormant
Back to writing and enjoyment
With rest comes ideas
Ideas with time
And now it is time to return
To the pages
To the writing burn
Bradley is a happy man
He falls asleep on the island
To the sound of a bellowing fog horn
Cutting through the air as rich as worn leather
He awakes to coffee that envelops him
With a hug
Rather than a mere raspy handshake
He is content on the coast
Billowing up steam from a morning roast
Falling asleep as the fog crosshatches the eve sky
Across the bay
Happy till the day he may day
Rent control his eternal protection
Umbrella’s held in rather polite distinction
Humanity’s bustle he has no strict participation
Watching the sunrise
Heightened by windy anticipation
However the wind blows
On the edge of the sleepy little beach town
Bradley has it right
Bradley is a happy man
Just on the outskirts of San Fran
–
The fleet of beans
From all over the world it brings
A cup to hand
An arithmetic of modern invention
Shipped all over with modest intention
From the solid green
To a hollow black and brown
The second crack sound
A record taste of tremendous body
Not to be deceived or forgotton
With authority flavors delivered
A coffee from Burundi has me completely
Enthralled
Oh the mass expanse
Leaving with more questions
Than response
More wonder
Than commonness
Untapped full potential
Sky lark
Singing confusing poems
In the limitless above
I take for granted
The monstrosity
Of eternal
Infinite
Can be distracting
When I look above me
I can not imagine that to be
Eternity
Eternally confused
This massive expanse can only provide
More questions and confuse
So universe I must ask you
How infinite can you be
Without anyone understanding thee
Radiant blue on crisp white
Bright
Bridges at night
City comforts on the side
This time
This night
My wife and I hold tight
Clean cement under warm winter skies
Our feet tap the pavement
Like full bellied
Petite
Mice
We balance love work and
Life
Tonight
Sourdough, coffee, and Christmas
In Union Square
Bustling happening
On an evenings care
Touching shoulders
On crowded streets
Big city
Can sweep you off your feet
I barely look up
For all the treasures lay ahead
On a Friday nights nights
Under the Square lights
Time for reflection
Stray away in all directions
Hold true
True to let go
On Sunday I owe this ode to you
Sweet coffee
How it has joined great minds
Connecting people in common time
Real time
The fruit of the coffee tree
In Brooklyn connecting lives
Is what it can be
But thank you coffee for today
Somehow you link people up
In a mysterious way
But it is all the same
On a Sunday