I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. I am also into writing poetry. Come along for the ride.

Posts tagged “coffee shop

When Summer Remains


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It is that feeling of never wanting to let go,

the clean, crisp, cacophony of morning song,

they’re in their shelters, the wood in throng,

we all witness the beauty that time forego.

 

Feel the gentle heat of a sunlight mastery

Quiet we do recognize our vulnerable

task to Nature’s plan, we then are able

To know this simple summertime legacy.

 

A passing season, a time when life alive

teaches our body to respect an energy

takes our lives beyond simple normalcy,

a vision, fantasy, an opportunity to thrive.

 

In her arms that one cool summer day,

was my heart in hers to forever stay.


Gentle Breeze Will Stay


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When first I sat down in my morning wonder,

I think about place, and reason why,

glance to a man-made water flow in blue sky,

a forest green fills the world far beyond eye.

 

It is immediate always she can become my

central focus on a beautiful morning in July.

I can easily recall a time I might cry,

yet for now, sweet muse, does mind wander.

 

I took a picture as a way to describe this

silent peace, music sheltering the natural wave

of city traffic blends a natural green vision,

of Nature’s wonder in yet man-made design.

 

His search a quiet state of mind, savor the breeze

For in glance I realize why in sky I cry with ease.


Here As I Am


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I do ponder the many faces,

oh so many hours of time,

lost on the need to recognize,

a desire to know more,

and yet,

for the moment,

just this,

these eyes, maybe a smile,

certainly the extent of a hot summer day,

coffee, laptop and a little music,

and am I a part of today’s society?

 

Have I met the standard of approval,

a person may suggest to themselves in private,

while whisking away their latte,

perhaps a chi tea, or the coffee of the day.

 

We’re all here

imagining only that which we are,

in the manner of a moment capable

of grasping, while all around us,

the life of others seems to replicate the same.

 

At least the coffee is fresh,

beyond the ideals turned stale.

We might just sit here every day,

same chair, same glance through windows,

perhaps never to be noticed again,

at least so the mind seems to say.


Cafe Dreamers


There’s a rain steady,

keeping indoors the traveler

whom might be seeking the wood,

may stroll along the coast,

skipping rocks, switching thoughts,

contemplating the beauty around them,

instead,

the coffee shop,

holds promise to the conversations

around that though similar, seem different,

contain stories all the same,

yet unique,

their worlds are always different,

in the context of their moments,

until we can catch each other’s eyes.

 

We wonder about the people next door,

a table nearby our own private world,

did they speak of it,

were they aware,

was there a time in their lives when everything,

seemed similar, possible, simple,

perhaps it is true,

they say it often enough to never forget,

we’re all the same,

we haven’t any lead on the element of change

the human condition might experience the same,

euphoric wonder built upon manifest tragedy.

 

I was sitting along with my company,

my world against hers,

together we were watching our own world,

responding to the elements in a unique fashion,

yet still, very still, almost

in a sort of decopaged setting,

still life,

to be measured in someone else’s eyes,

for they are the judge of this life,

not us,

we are simply the portrait.

 

A stillness in the air,

while we wait the rains,

they might part to give allowance

to nature’s Grace in the wooded freedom

of a dense forest,

away from all wander of deception.

 

While I stood inside the sidewalk cafe,

I watched the people around me,

create lives of envy,

to balance those of misfortune,

whose measure relied upon me,

or my own eyes, or their’s or someone

nearby,

with similar passion.

 

Yet in all of our sightings,

there seems only one reality.


Savor This One


My mind, my body, my eyes,

have this perpetual desire,

though it’s, well, known, has indeed,

been done, thought about, imagined,

played out.

 

I’ve read about it, been turned on by it,

felt the enticement of the excitement

beyond it.

 

Yet I cannot still call it my own,

our own,

this intrigue,

a thoughtful repose,

a candid shot in the mind of others,

I still only count upon the fantasy.

 

A gray day, an indiscernible disappointment

for some,

for others it is the excitement,

traffic,

people watching, people seeing, people wanting,

different shapes and atmosphere and mood.

In the coffee shop on a simple afternoon,

where the stories are being told,

yet we are all so left alone.

 

A dark persona meant to simply allow space,

moves with a silent purpose,

eyes upon her are anticipated,

yet she has practiced diversion,

allows her life to be contained,

cup in hand, glance to the walls,

all filled with humanity inside their frame.

 

Choose the table,

please, I’ve arranged myself for you,

to be nearby, close enough to know eyes

suggest a scene,

only if you decide,

I can wish upon a dream,

I can hope to set the tone for this scene.

 

Wraparound legs, a turtleneck plays inside silk design,

she is stunning in her desire to be the elegance

she certainly portrays in a delicious

natural sense.

 

Sit there – my eyes dart away, my expression flush,

I wait in hope this lovely woman

will allow my eyes to exchange smiles with her,

though there is more to the story,

a lust, a desire, a certain silent seduction,

a pairing of ideals, of mood, of anticipation,

I would if given avenue, begin a quiet caress,

soft shoulders that speak of need,

lips, with little of a painted display,

yet certain to provide the sensuality my yearn

might feel if given a key to this fantasy.

 

She sips, while book open, her eyes devour

this moment with a delicious affect

speaks to my loins, I do want her now,

she glances my way,

the intensity of my need widens her eyes,

gently,

her book closes, a sip, a moment to ponder,

she steps out of my fantasy, to yet an exit nearby.

 

Deftly, my books close, book bag sorted,

my exit apparent,

I reach the car,

step inside with my state of mind,

anyone might ascertain,

yet remains completely my own,

for the moment.

 

‘Did that work’ she says, with a smile, buckling in.

I glance upon lithesome … eyes,

the pullover she knows is my favorite,

a complimentary scarf so elegant,

smiling,

I gather a breath, ‘Oh my, I do so … ‘

 

sweet lips entangle my reaching gasp.

 


Wondering Out Loud in Coffee Shop


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Imagine if the world could understand

A woe as troubling in its demand

As the will of man when caught in the grind

Of a wandering mind, lost in remind.

 

Gather steam and feel quiet urgency

His heart suspends, ask certain clemency.

For one short moment, serendipity

Steps forward cries a surreal pity.

 

Glance around the room, today strangers will

Know there is true love by apparent shrill.

For though we call it inevitable

Still as her sweet heart shreds we feel able.

 

Oh to feel her soft caress, distant eyes.

Bring bodies close, let me shadow your cries.


Quiet Friday In Coffee Shop


Inside this place with so many conversations,

in lies, in testimony, perhaps a confessional,

the voices are quiet on a lonely Friday evening

when a listener might wonder if alone is real,

wishing for the banter,

the loud grinding noise of an expressive machine,

delights the aromatic nature of each possessor.

 

Tonight he waits with patience,

allows trepidation to filter into his state of mind,

the ever distant grains of sand that swept together

give a certain barrister nightmares,

but he,

the man alone in the coffee shop on Friday night,

only imagines her walking through the door to break the silence,

when she does,

he wonders if she might,

would she share the moment,

the victory of silence,

with some canned music overhead,

a surreal notion while the moon paints yards

across the city,

here,

a Friday night,

when she does appear, he will, he might,

a tear of joy,

a balance to the helpless plight,

forever love.