Poetry

DON’T FORGET THE COFFEE SERIES – DAY 2

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

For Day 2 of my new coffee series, I had intended to post something in prose, but I found myself reading through another coffee poem that I wrote several  years ago. As I read it, I was tempted to add some more thoughts to it, so I did. And since it is now a new poem — sort of — I decided to go with verse again today.

NO NEED FOR FALDEROL

I joined the queue outside the door,
Just after 6:00 a.m.
The morning sun had chased the fog,
But warmth was pretty thin.

My breath formed steam each time I spoke,
And pockets warmed my hands.
I yearned for coffee, hot and strong,
A large cup was my plan.

We inched along with moderate speed,
And soon I stood inside.
The fresh aroma brought a smile;
It’s tantalizing tide
Mingled with the cozy sounds
Of orders glorified:

Venti Frappucino – Tall
Mocha Latte – Grande.
Americano, Cappucinno,
Really, there’s no end.

At last, I stood before the bar;
The young barista frowned.
He know I’d order coffee – plain.
No whip, no froth — just brown.

I hate to disappoint him so;
He’s quite sweet after all.
But coffee is its own reward;
No need for folderol.

I’m all for staying true to form — 
A purist through and through.
The best coffee experience:
Unadulterated brew.

DON’T FORGET THE COFFEE

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

 

I got to thinking this week that it has been a very long time since I published a post about coffee. Now, for a dyed-in-the-wool coffee lover like me, that should be considered a sin. So I have decided it’s time to do a new little coffee series. I think I’ll call it “DON’T FORGET THE COFFEE.”  And I decided to begin this new series with a brand new poem by the same title.

DON’T FORGET THE COFFEE!

Whether rushing off to church on Sunday morning,
Or heading out to work from day to day,
I have one specific task that’s mandatory,
I must make a pot of coffee, come what may.

Now, it’s not that I can’t function without java,
I have jumped from bed and tackled urgent tasks
Without the soothing and uplifting beverage,
But why should I? That’s the thing to ask.

I require so very little to appease me,
And I gladly do my work and extra too.
I don’t ask for extra pay or laud and honor.
All I ask is to enjoy my daily brew.

It’s about the only thing that I indulge in — 
Well, there’s chocolate — I admit I love that too.
But if I forgot to make my pot of coffee,
Why, I just don’t think I’d know quite what to do.

For no matter what the new day has in store,
I am quite convinced that all will turn out fine
As long as I do not forget my coffee — 
Nature’s tonic with a touch of the Divine.

STEPPING STONES TO HEAVEN

| Sandra Pavloff Conner


Today I got to thinking about the Smoky Mountains and how much I wish I were there. I love being in the Smokies, and if I had my way, I would live there for the rest of my days on this earth. Unfortunately, I can’t make that work, so I have to settle for visiting there and only very occasionally at that. A few years ago I wrote a poem — a cinquain — about my love for those mountains, and I thought I’d repost it today just because I felt like it. Some of you may remember it, and some of you have never seen it previously.  Either way, I hope you enjoy it today.

STEPPING STONES TO HEAVEN

Heaven
Is a little
Closer in the mountains.
My heart’s at rest there, and I can
See God.

MY NEW SWEEPER — A SAD POEM

| Sandra Pavloff Conner
Image courtesy of Wolfgang Eckert @ pixabay.com

I bought a new sweeper —  light-weight.
It sucks dirt up fine, and that’s great.
When dirt canister’s full,
From the unit I pull,
Empty dirt and return in clean state.

Now, I managed to pull the part free;
Emptied dirt and cleaned filter with glee.
But when all was replaced,
Sweeper did about-face,
And spewed out dirty air right at me.

Now, it no longer sucks dirt or lint.
And the owner’s book gives me no hint
Where the parts all belong,
So I can’t fix what’s wrong.
And I’ve wasted the money I spent!

CHOOSING THE PERFECT PET — POEM

| Sandra Pavloff Conner
photo: Istvangyal @ pixabay.com

CHOOSING THE PERFECT PET

Sometimes I wish I had a dog that I could call my own.
He’d keep me company, and I would never feel alone.
I’d pet and pamper him and give him yummy little treats.
And I could tell him everything because he’d be discreet.

But then, of course, I’d have to train him not to “go” inside.
And when he had to “go” I’d have to be there by his side.
I’d have to walk him twice a day with poo bags in supply,
And regular visits to the vet could run my checkbook dry.

Dog food to buy, and dog supplies, could use up cash I’ve saved.
Add discipline and training to make sure he’s well-behaved.
And bathing him and grooming when he might not want it done.
The more I think about it, it just doesn’t sound like fun.

After consideration, I am very much inclined
To get a furry puppy of the artificial kind.
They’re cuddly soft and stuffed with cloth and never have to “wet.”
Yes, I’ve decided that’s the kind of puppy I will get.

‘THE PASSING’ — NATIVE AMERICAN HERITAGE MONTH

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

As we near the close of Native American Heritage Month, I decided to share a poem I wrote last year that focuses on the heartache and loss that came to so many of the American Indian tribes at the hands of greedy people and government agencies. This particular poem emphasizes the history of the Cherokee people because they are part of my personal heritage. But we want to remember that every tribe was affected negatively — even in heart-breaking ways — and unfortunately, all the prejudice and ill-treatment has not completely disappeared yet.

Original watercolor by Sandra Pavloff Conner


THE PASSING

Today the old chief passed,
Enwreathed by potent memories
Of battles fierce, of freedoms lost,
Of smoking pipe with enemies
Who swore to keep the peace treaties
But quickly spurned such promises
When greed for lands gained upper hand.
Today the old chief passed
And hastened to his ancestors,
To mountains, valleys, fertile plains,
Sparkling rivers, fields of grain,
Miles and miles of vast domain
Where Cherokee live free again,
Never again to be betrayed.
The old chief passed today.

THANKSGIVING POEMS

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I sometimes like to go back and browse through my holiday writings from past years. The poems and stories I wrote 2 or 3 — or  8 oar 10 — years ago meant a lot to me and still do. So I often recycle them when those holidays roll around again. I hope you enjoy these recycled Thanksgiving poems.

`

AH, THANKSGIVING, HOW I LOVE YOU!

Ah, Thanksgiving, how I love you!
Golden crowning jewel of Fall,
Beacon of warmth and cam’raderie,
Sending glad invitation to all:

“Gather to worship; gather to visit;
Gather to focus on all that’s worthwhile;
Feast from tables resplendent with harvest;
Feast on the love in a touch and a smile.”

All the year’s labors weigh heavy upon us.
All the world’s problems seem bigger by far.
But out from that wearisome struggle you call us,
And laying it down, we run to where you are.

And whether in cottages, mansions, or churches,
Community buildings, or tables in parks,
We gather with gratitude full – overflowing;
To the Giver of blessings lift voices and hearts.

Then we return to life’s pattern awaiting.
Filled up with joy, we set off on our way,
Warmer and richer and kinder in spirit
For pausing to celebrate Thanksgiving Day.

*** 

THANKSGIVING ACROSTIC

Thursdays come and go; in every month there’s four or five.
Hardly anyone’s attention they demand.
Ahh, but there’s one month when Thursday is a special day.
November’s got the situation well in hand.
Kinsmen young & old along with neighbors, best of friends,
Stop their normal labor briefly and, instead,
Gather close, declare a feast, and celebrate all day
In churches, homes, and civic halls – wherever led.
Voices glad and warm with love fill up the heart and soul,
Inviting those attending to lay burdens down.
Neath autumn’s healthy harvest, tables beckon us: so come;
Giving thanks to God, now let us gather ’round.

***

WHAT’S FOR DINNER?

I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.

It’s happened thus, in passing years —
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I’ve set my mind;
He’s been there to greet me.

Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!

So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why, once again this year,
Ham will greet the carving knife.

***

HAVING A HAIKU DAY

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I just felt like having a haiku day today. No particular subject matter. I’ve been all over the place subject-wise. So sit back and enjoy these 5 little capsules of my thoughts over the past 24 hours.

KEYS

photo courtesy of MSA-90 @ pixabay.com

Where there is a key
There is a door to open:
Adventure awaits.

SMOKY MOUNTAINS

`

The mountains call me:
“Come nestle in our bosom.
Your dreams are safe here.”

CHRISTMAS TREES

photo courtesy of Gerd Altmann @ pixabay.com

Stately sentinels:
Evergreens with glitter dressed,
Guarding Christmas joy.

FEATHERS

`

Feathers fascinate.
Fluffy soft, yet not fragile.
Plumage fit for flight.

AUTUMN

photo courtesy of Visions Seen Photography

Favorite season.
The year preparing for sleep
‘Neath blanket of leaves.



A DRINK CALLED ‘JOE’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I’m still working on my coffee poetry book, and I’m thinking about including this poem in the mix. I’m not sure yet, because I’m not positive it’s clear and understandable. If any of you who read it on here have an opinion about whether the point is clear — or confusing — let me know in the comments. Thanks. And — hopefully — you’ll enjoy it.

A CUP OF JOSEPH DANIELS???

I heard the story this way,
And perhaps it’s mostly true:
That way back when, in World War I,
Coffee’s popularity grew.

It seems a Joseph Daniels,
Navy Secretary then,
Made efforts strong to change some things
And bolster moral men.

He instituted new rules
So Navy guys would think,
And contemplate the consequence
Of inebriating drink.

Banned alcohol consumption,
And, naturally, that led
To stewards brewing coffee more
For sailors to drink instead.

According to the legend,
This mark the guys did toe,
But much disgruntled at their loss,
Nicknamed their coffee “Joe.”

A NEW COFFEE BOOK IS BREWING

| Sandra Pavloff Conner
photo courtesy of Engin Akyurt @ pixabay.com

I’m working on a new coffee poetry book.  It will include a little more than poems though. I think I’ll use several of the coffee photos and quotes that I used in my coffee lovers journal and intersperse them between the poems. I’ll have to see how the plan works out. Right now, I think it is destined to be more of a “coffee table” book [no pun intended :)] with full color inside. I have loads of coffee poems already written of course, but I have to write some new ones as well. Today, I thought I’d share one of the newest — hot off the press, so to speak.

MY BEVERAGE OF CHOICE

I have a great respect for milk and tea,
And I drink both of them occasion’ly.
I’m not a snob, though some may think me so;
It’s just that I’ve a favorite drink called ‘Joe.’

It’s quite a nickname, that, and quite a tale
Of how it came about, but truth to tell,
That story isn’t pertinent to this rhyme,
So I will share it all another time.

For now, I’d like to focus on my cup.
Its freshly-brewed aroma lifts me up.
The coffee’s hot and black and medium roast.
To celebrate, I’ll make a tasty toast:

To coffee, life’s elixir, piping hot ⸺
The energizing drink that hits the spot.
But comforting as well; it soothes my soul.
My beverage of choice: it wins the poll.

PICK-ME-UP CINQUAIN

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Life gets so busy, and I’m finding it harder and harder to post on the website the way I used to. I miss it. And I decided today that it has been entirely too long since I have written some cinquain — or since I have written about coffee. So I decided to combine the two subjects and here’s what I came up with.

photo courtesy of coyot @ pixabay.com

PICK-ME-UP

I need
A pick-me-up.
And I know what will work:
A cup of fragrant, fresh-brewed joy — 
Coffee!

It’s great
At any time.
One cup won’t be enough.
I feel inspired to brew up a
Full pot.

YES!
🙂

 

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS CHALLENGE – ‘Better Left unsaid’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I came across a new challenge today — well, new to me. It’s hosted by Jim Adams on his WordPress site at this link.   The challenge is to write a story or poem based on the theme “Better Left Unsaid.”  So I’ve let my poet muse have sway and posted my response below.

 

BETTER LEFT UNSAID

I could have told him how I felt
About the lies he’d told behind my back.
I could have spoken out and said
That he a basic moral code did lack.
I could have talked to mutual friends,
And told them scores of ugly things of him.
And when I’d finished, they’d have said
They were inclined to believe all of them.
But once I’d had revenge on him,
What would the outcome be inside of me?
My sinking to his level so
Would mean I was as vile of heart as he.
But if I leave those thoughts unsaid,
I’ll rise above them, so I’ll remain free.

MARCHING BACKWARDS

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

They say March comes in like a lion
And tippy-toes out like a lamb.
But where I live things are all backwards,
And, frankly, I don’t understand.

When March came along all was quiet;
Our lion must have been asleep.
For weeks we’ve had somnolent weather,
Right up to March’s last week.

Now trash cans are tossed to the neighbor’s;
A box on the porch flies around.
The flagpole is bending way over,
And outside I can’t stand my ground.

This last week of March is so gusty
With all sorts of things on the wing.
Our lion has finally wakened
And now wants to prove he’s still king.