AUTUMN PERFUME
Bonfire:
Smoke drifting by,
Fragrant with scent of leaves
Still crisp and sweet from frost’s kiss.
It’s fall.
AUTUMN SONG
Crunch, crunch.
I love the sound.
My fav’rite time of year.
My walks are filled with song as leaves
Crunch, crunch.
Well, here we are at day 7 of this series already. This poem will finish up our little coffee adventure. Hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have. And today I’ve chosen to use Cinquain — one of my favorite poetic forms — to render my coffee thoughts.
DELIGHTFUL DRINK
Coffee:
Delightful drink.
Beverage of choice world-wide.
Stimulates yet comforts body
And soul.
THE HEALTHY BEVERAGE
Coffee’s good for many things, according to reports:
It stops a headache fast as any meds.
Science tells us that it can protect from heart disease
And certain kinds of cancer hold in check.
Neurologists have proven coffee quickens brain response
And stress and tension it can help release.
It’s nice to know my favorite bev’rage is so good for me.
I wonder how it works for soaking feet.
HOW TO SPELL COFFEE
C is for the comfort
That comes from every cup.
O for turn the switch ‘ON’ — leave it there.
The first F is for fragrance;
The aroma is unique.
The second F for friends with whom I share.
The first E is for eating
Something yummy with each cup.
The last E for erase: Gone are my cares!
BY THE POT
Drinking coffee by the cup is fine
If my day is going well,
And works getting done on time.
But lately I’ve been having quite a lot
Of days when I need coffee by the pot.
A cup or two a day is pretty norm.
And that satisfies my soul
With its fragrance rich and warm.
But days this year — normal they are not!
So now I’m drinking coffee by the pot.
How about a week of coffee poems? Are you up for that, Readers??? Well, I need to lighten my mood this week, and coffee does that for me. So get ready for 7 days of “Coffee Is A Poem.”
HAPPY PLACE
The mornings now are frosty;
A nip is in the air.
My favorite month — October —
Is golden everywhere.
And even though I’m bothered
By some aggravating cares,
I have a fine elixir —
Ah, it’s fragrance fills the air:
I’m brewing up some coffee,
And I’ve made enough to share.
I’m yearning for my ‘Happy Place.’
Come, Coffee — take me there.
Persistent breeze,
Pressing on trees,
Playing with branches,
Tickling leaves.
Not a wind:
Not hard or mean,
Nothing threatening.
Quite crisp and clean.
Lying at pause,
Like a pup at rest,
Or a dormant wave
Before driven to crest,
This playful breeze
Turns off and on —
Dances with branches
And then is gone.
But soon returns;
At the trees takes aim,
And tosses and tussles
In its innocent game.
I posted this painting a couple weeks ago, but later I discovered that my muse just insisted on creating a little poem to go along with it. So here’s the poem and, of course, it’s only right that I show you the picture again, since it was the inspiration.
LEMONADE STAND
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Then set up a stand near the road, in the shade.
Offer to passersby at a fair price
For lemon juice, water, sugar and ice.
Most likely, no one will stop and consume.
And some may imply you take up too much room.
But in the end, if no money you’ve made,
Just kick back and chug all that sweet lemonade.
Well, my three-week hiatus from writing for any websites — and focusing on my art instead — has done me some good. I’ll try to get back in the saddle now and focus on some things that have to be written out in words. But even if I’m back in the saddle, I think I’ll move forward at a trot, rather than racing speed. I’ll work my way back to writing publicly in as relaxed a manner as possible — beginning with this light-hearted poem:
Writing
Can be a joy,
Except when it’s a drag.
Words must be disciplined,
And that’s the gag.
Therefore,
I took a break
From writing anything.
And gave myself to art,
And had a fling.
So now,
I’m in the mood
To write a thing or two.
Thoughts that have been backlogged
Are now in queue.
I have a little coffee poem for you today.
Enjoy:
LIFE’S NECESSITIES
Of life’s necessities I’ve made a list.
Coffee’s there, and at the top it sits.
Some think I would give chocolate highest place;
To their surprise that’s simply not the case.
For chocolate, though my fav’rite candy treat,
Which quite enthusiastically I greet,
Still has a drawback, for when I indulge,
It has the power to add another bulge.
Plus it makes me thirsty after all,
So then for something wet I have to call.
That’s why I put it second on my list.
And coffee gets first place, I must insist.
Besides that, coffee always smells so great,
And when it’s brewing, I can hardly wait
For that first sip — so warm and rich and pure.
For agitated life, it’s nature’s cure.
photo: courtesy of Methawee Krasaeden @ pixabay.com
The truth of Jesus Christ’s complete redemption can be told in any form. In this post I’ve set God’s truth into Cinquain — one of my favorite poetic forms.
Virus:
To lots of folks
It is a scary word.
But there’s a name that can kill it:
Jesus!
Disease
By any name.
Must bow to Jesus’ name.
His sacrifice redeemed us from
Disease.
Have faith.
Get in His Word:
He says it’s medicine
For every ailment we can face.
Trust Him.
(Scripture References: Acts 3:16, Philippians 2:9-10, Galatians 3:13-14, Proverbs 4:20-22, and Psalm 107:17-20)
A VESSEL OF STERLING
While browsing antique shops, I made a great find!
Unearthed a rare treasure. Never saw one in kind.
An elegant bowl, with a handle and lid;
Beneath so much tarnish, it’s true beauty hid.
Though black with the ages, I hugged it to me;
I paid the man gladly and danced home with glee.
Polished and rubbed to a radiant glow,
On party buffet my prize purchase would show.
It gleamed and it glowed, holding punch the next day,
When – horror of horrors – I heard a guest say:
“Heaven help us! Is this the best silver you’ve got?
I’ll not drink my punch from an old chamber pot!”
~~~
THE FOOT TEST
I know in this old world, it’s sad, but true:
Emotional relationships can fail.
And marriages, though formerly ’til death,
Now change as fast as color on the nails.
But I’m convinced our troth will still endure.
I’m sure of you as you are sure of me.
I know because we’re comfortable together
When on the same footstool we prop our feet.
What better test of faithfulness and trust,
Than doffing shoes and bravely baring toes.
Our feet look comfy, happy, and complete,
And for commitment’s sake we hold our nose.
~~~
photo: clker.com
Roses are red;
Violets are ———- purple!
Doesn’t it bother anyone that numerous poets for centuries have painted those innocent little violets blue? Of course, I know that there are, indeed, some strains of violets that are more blue — and even some that are pink and white. But I have to believe that they are the exception, because, after all, the very name of these flowers is spelled v-i-o-l-e-t.
However, I’m not really complaining about the color of violets. I just got to thinking about that particularly well-known poetic line and about how we as poets really do feel we have our own kind of literary license. What is it about poets that makes them think they can write just anything they want to write as long as it rhymes and keeps the meter smooth and uninterrupted? Well, I’ll tell you what it is about us:
We love words — the sounds of words — the rhythm of words — the music of words. And we love playing around with lots of different numbers of syllables. We love to hear consonants repeated, vowels repeated, digraphs repeated. And if we need to turn a sentence around backwards to get the right rhythm — or leave out a couple letters replaced by an apostrophe — or go beyond the norm with hyperbole — well, it’s all part of what we see as our job —— and to be honest —— it’s part of the FUN of writing poetry.
True poets follow rules of meter and rhyme and correct use of figurative language. But we also follow rules of emotion, yearning, and imagination. So, yes, we do believe that it’s okay if we altar reality a bit here and there or say things backwards. If it helps make the poem touch a heart, grab the imagination, take the reader to another realm, or tickle his funny-bone, we figure we’ve done our job well.
And, personally, I think that’s why a poem can speak to readers in such unique ways. People don’t always realize it when they are reading a poem, but it’s those quirky kinds of things — those little excursions away from what is generally the “accepted” pattern — that has caused many a poem to grab a place in the reader’s mind and heart and stay there.
So okay … here’s my version:
Roses are red;
Violets are blue;
We don’t always stick
With only what’s true.
We’re looking for words
With meter and rhyme,
And if we can’t find them,
We might tend to whine.
So cut us some slack;
We’re doing our best.
If a poem gives you pleasure,
It passes the test.
Memories so sweet:
Daddy baking cookies from
Fam’ly recipe.
Hungarian treat:
Flaky, sugared, golden dough
Stuffed with hickory nuts.
Each year at Christmas,
In kitchen warm and cozy –
Memories so sweet.
For decades, my dad (who was Bulgarian/Polish) baked Hungarian cookies. It was a recipe handed down from one Balkan country to another, and was a favorite of our family. However, in the last several years of my dad’s life, Christmas season included so many other activities as well that sometimes he just didn’t have time to bake those cookies along with everything else. When those years came along, he baked them for me on my birthday instead, which is February 1st. So it’s right that I’m thinking about them in February this year. I can almost taste them even now.
The Happy Wordcrafter 