I am a coffee shop bum these days. In the past year, I've probably spent nearly 30 hours a week in a coffee shop (usually Cafe Vita, sometimes Bauhaus, rarely Starbucks) because I worked from home yet needed a place to go where there was no t.v., no phone ringing, no distractions. Kinda pitiful? Probably. Haha. But, truth be told this coffee shop-hopping started long before last year. In law school, Bus Boys and Poets was my library, my senior year of college, Starbucks and The CoHo were my LSAT prep and thesis writing offices, and in my year off between college and law school, Starbucks was my place to sit and write poetry.
So. That was my long-winded way of introducing the Coffee Shop Series: poems I scrawled on napkins sometimes because I didn't go in to the coffee shop planning to sit and write, yet found myself needing to write once I sat. It's nice to look back at these and remember how I felt at the time--even the painful ones. For my first installment here is Strbk #1.
Starbuck number one,
cuz I never done that coffee shop napkin thing
But the words replay in my mind
and force themselves out in splurts and puffs like the espresso machine behind me
Like chatter mixed by rainfall and Christmas music and cell phones ringing
flinging themselves against each other
until one becomes another becomes nonsense becomes thought becomes poetry
So let’s see where it takes us
Right now I’m taken nowhere, everything is black
Next I’m taken aback by the quietness of my soul in its loneliness
My friend I sorely miss
But this ain’t no love thang the way you might think
It’s a love so deep I can’t understand it
So profound it’s on the brink of supernatural
I try to catch it all
in words but they succeed in failing me
This comforts me
who wants to find mere words to say what’s ailing me?
The pain of losing one’s life-giver?
a memory of love and triumph
You told me once you go, not to stop living
But life just ain't the same without your laughter
My tears cloud my sight from any happily ever after
that is absent from you
You said you’d be in a better place but I can’t erase the look on your face
When you slipped away
I miss you
I wish you
Could have had more time
I wish I could have taken your pain and made it mine
I wish I could climb up to heaven and just give you one last hug.
A poet without words I am
I spit out blurbs
and stumble over verbs
this seems so damn absurd
for me, the poet
friends say it’s writers’ block
but I know it aint just that
you see my flow it
usually flows like
rivers, like an ocean of emotions
and as I frustrate and stutter with my pen
I watch folks laugh and think epitaphs I feel uncomfortable in
is it sin to not express
when feelings buried in your chest
rest stagnant, spoiling
wasting away all that’s fresh?
nothing left to write
my creativity fights my confusion
giving birth to stillborn disillusionment
no direction but in the search for clarity
change is life but I’d just like to find constant lies somewhere in me.