sipping coffee now
outside my window a peace
morning ritual
©️Scott F Savage 5/2020
the ‘b’ series
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Tag: coffee
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Peace & Coffee
Posted at 10:51 am , on May 24, 2020
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Effort No One Believes
Posted at 10:15 pm , on April 29, 2020
We can bask in an open plaza,
pigeons teasing tourists
couples hand in hand,
the market square
everyone visits,
everyone walks away,
pictures and memories,
of a place we might wish to stay.
My eyes were already on the corner
the cobblestone walkway, the coffee house,
where you may be,
as you have been always
in my dreams
as far back as I may ever recall.
And then a breeze, afternoon sunlight
your silks dance, your eyes do shine.
I may be a stranger in the day,
a coffee is my ruse, a pad of paper I say
in the pages the desire and passion
I may have for the woman nearby
whose eyes follow suit,
in wonder of each passerby.
What is the world we live in,
how do we all seem to find
a similar roadway, a walkway,
a comfortable setting,
outdoor is a romantic interlude
simply sipping a coffee
measured by posture and glance.
Yet I am incapable of following
my dream having reached a limit,
again, I am alone, that stranger
walking through the plaza,
eyes sometime looking,
most often askance,
still searching,
wandering soul,
trying to repair an unraveling heart.
We pass in such is intrigue in the steps of our lives
without completely knowing dreams keep her alive.
© Scott F Savage
the ‘b’ series
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Repeat Willing
Posted at 7:21 pm , on April 6, 2020
I wonder why I so easily found love,
a certain flattery perhaps,
a quiet afternoon, with a sense of passion
moving through the minds of travelers,
a cup of coffee,
a familiar posture,
and suddenly there began a return
in immediacy,
no need to wonder,
we knew decades before.
Yet when love
does become a primary mystique
in our lives,
the confusion we feel
is like the storm passing over
drops no rain,
only a hint of our
dependence on living inside
the climate of weather.
We could repeat,
take a risk,
and we did for a time,
while the world did continue
to exist
in whatever pattern of purpose
we might imagine.
I remember seeing the balance of weights,
offered our lives a reality of finding peace.
© Scott F Savage 4/2020
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A Midnight Run
Posted at 12:12 am , on June 4, 2019
If I might say hello
before we say goodbye
we might in a farewell
never feel a need for why.
Midnight tear just rolled my cheek
that wetness there I could feel
I knew in that moment you were with me
together we can feel this cry.
This morning begins another hour
thoughts of you will carry me through
each time when I can imagine
every aspect of my life with you
For every night begins imagining you,
wake up to a sky in a spectacular blue
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A Love Story, Perhaps
Posted at 8:44 pm , on March 12, 2019
This one would probably be best described as the things I miss, when in love. It is the little things after all, that seem to come back into our mind when we wish to remember. When we haven’t actively put memory out of our mind, it can be quite pleasant to recall the beauty of engagement.
Walking in the rain one night, we circled around a city block, occasionally finding shelter, not to hold one another, only to find some sort of refuge from the rain, both like teenagers, hesitating to bring ourselves any closer to one another, just fleeting imagination we both were afraid to share. It wasn’t until minutes before we got into our cars to depart, she told me she wished I would have just grabbed her and kissed her. Of course, I drove home in tears not knowing how to deal with the sudden confusion I felt in my heart, knowing our spontaneity was beginning to wane. Or perhaps it had already.
Another walk after having coffee together, we found ourselves in a square, less romantic really just a parking lot in early winter, but there were windows everywhere – we could have imagined it to be some European plaza if we allowed our sense of imagery run away with our hearts. We found an open passage in an alley that would eventually take us back to our cars. Walking into this little hovel, we noticed dark, perhaps abandoned windows all around us, and a high picket fence, where then I did press myself again her in a moment of passion and we both fantasized living in the stucco shelter nearby where we might make love well into the night, the morning, the life we could lead together.
Then there is the simple gesture of being together, sharing a coffee with one another and the smile she would have in her expression every time I would take a pen, a pin, an object and punch a bigger hole in the breather of my coffee lid, it became an endearment that I liked to do – the reason so the coffee would flow better of course – but really just being able to put a smile on her face.
Finally, standing in a sort of mock tower in a park one early evening in winter, imagining just how sensual our illusions could be, alone, wilderness, in love.
Just the little things I guess perhaps make up real love stories.
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Missing Rhythm
Posted at 8:33 am , on February 9, 2019
I miss the sunlight
an imagined moment might
shelter peace tonight
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Walking In
Posted at 4:35 pm , on November 30, 2018
Its atmosphere
familiar
the sounds, the people, the energy,
a little Moody Blues,
I’m with her again,
in this moment,
I can feel the soft touch of fingertips
searching, yearning, a quiet resonate gasp,
the nature of this,
a love
we both would understand
if confusion could not lay in between,
the soft sense of a night sky,
familiar ground,
a coffee nearby,
another nostalgic notion,
I do recall
when last I did see her,
it was here in this parallel universe,
where our lives
were tied to the reality of a locked door,
a smile, a laugh, a knowing glance
a quiet evening,
when love did seem to draw
hearts closer together,
to another time,
in recent days,
lips did touch,
lives did matter,
time did
stand still while
walking in.
~ finding my way, a personal journey ~
for Zelda
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