Lockdown Coffee

15th May 2020


It's Friday again. I know the weekend is coming mainly because there is no Writer's Hour on Saturday or Sunday. So what happen's? Well, what happens is I do no writing,or very little. I might do some morning pages, but that's about it.

And I miss it , I really do. Some mornings I wake up and think shall I stay in bed for a bit longer and not do it this morning, rest my tired bones,  but then something compels me to get out and get at it. It's my great motivator and one of the blessings of being in lockdown. This morning a friend from Buckinghamshire ( you know who you are) joined us and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Coffee

She sits at the dining room table,

 her computer set up,  notebook and pen,  

a mug of instant beside her

 and it gets me to thinking...

I miss the aroma -  exciting, enticing, inviting 

I miss it wafting around me, witching it's way 

into my dna,

It lures  me in, it says: 

 I'm here for you, we have a date you and I

you know you love me

I'm here, waiting for you, 

 I'm dark , I'm rich, I'm strong,  come on. 

I miss the steps, I know them well 

that take me  through the green door

I miss the welcome awaiting me  

the laughter, the din, music  on low, 

I miss the view from the window

the pier head sitting on the horizon, 

I miss the young girl, Cara, 

who is at uni, lives in halls

has left a boyfriend at home 

two hundred miles away

I miss, all this, 

my favourite place, 

For coffee.

No weak Aldi granules here,

 poured into one lonely mug
no sitting behind  closed doors,

 staring sleepily into space

hollow blank face, 
wondering what the hell's  going on

what is it that's so wrong,

 out there in the world. 

Are there people who  are happy, 

in another distant place?  

Have they found a cafe open for,

A coffee






 





I miss those days when I'd take my book

find my nook,

 in the corner by the window
position myself so I could see the 
 people passing by,  

turn my shoulders just a little 

so the sun warms me from the outside in,

Then, when perfectly relaxed,

I'd 
 drink my coffee

delicious Cappucino,


I miss meeting friends for a catch up 
when we'd all have our different requests

always latte for Di, with a slice of cake,
"A slither of cake with my coffee," she jests 
A Mocca for Mary
Her coffee

I miss those days before lockdown 

when a frown, 

didn't bring you down 

When getting together, put back your smile, 

and all this while, you enjoyed a coffee.

I miss those days , in so many ways,

meeting friends, was a normal thing
But Mr Corona Virus  has been hard at work
 has us all tied up, dangling on the end of his string
Until cafes open, no
Real coffee

We do have a percolator and some coffee beans to go with it.
But it's not quite the same as making arrangements to go out for a cappucino. 

What do you miss in the lockdown?

Day 24 - Breathing

24th Oct 2019


Day 24 - OctPoWriMo  2019

Breathing

Crowds

Breathe mist into icy air

Scurry along this  dark evening,

Eager to get to ...

Theatres, Shows,  meetings with

Friends.

Keep cold at bay with

Furs, scarves, hats, gloves.

Hurry past...

Past railings

Where you're sat on

Your cardboard mat

Past...

You...
In  the air

Tempting aromas - burgers,,
chips,  onions,

( I've always loved the smell of frying onions).

You,

Hunched over,.

Hands gnarled, red

 "a man of the road".

They, look away.

Are you invisible ?

No, they don't want to see..

Don't want, to "get involved"

Make excuses:

"There's no need for anyone to be

Hungry in this country"

Your blanket,
pulled up under your chin,

little protection.

A small family notice,

See you,

Are moved,

Bring coffee, chips.

A cheery word,

Acknowledge you,

Listen to you,

Then go their way,

You, watch,
Hands caressing warm cup
You, smile...

Teepee

1st Feb 2019



Struggled to write just the 100 words for Friday Fictioneers today. Had to edit from 300 - ish. Hope it still has some sense.
Might still write  a poem with in response to this prompt though.




Wild Place
 
Rosanna pulled back the canvas.
"Wow, Clare look. The sky - pink, purple, orange, hues of  blue.
And mountains ..."
Her sister looked through the peephole.
"Wow that's amazing. But I won't forget."
"I know. Let dad sleep. We'll make coffee."  Wrapped  in blankets they walked to chairs, left out the night before.
" You know they always planned to come here,  the two of them ."
"Yes, but not with us, Ros.  Dad's just being weird."
"There used to be four chairs," Ros sat down, "lately only  two," she wiped away a tear, "and  now three. We're here because dad needs this."

No Going Back

26th Nov 2017


The temperature recorded just above  freezing in the car this morning.
 I shivered.
That can't be right. It must be at least a little below freezing point.
But I've always been a cold mortal. I turned the heating up high hoping it would
 soon kick in and warm my nose and my fingertips.

Anyway, later, on this bright winter morning, home at last,
wrapped up in layers, drinking warm coffee, I tune in to radio 4.
 They're telling the  story of a homeless man.
 I sit up, listen more carefully, look out at the grey skies.
Is there snow on the way?

Apparently this man  finds a ladies handbag in the centre of Bolton.
 Now, you might be tempted to think  think he counted his blessings
 and  rifled through the bag to find anything that he might be able to use.
For sure he could make his life a bit more comfortable even
if only for today. Keep the cold out with a pair of gloves.
At least buy some hot soup.
I mean, it fell into is path, so to speak.

But no, our man decides  he wants to find the owner and return it to her.
He thinks she'd be upset,  be missing it. It's got her bankcards in there, after all.
Maybe she'll be going without food herself. She needs her her purse.
No, he'll find her.
For two days he gradually makes his way, mostly walking, 
in the direction of the address he finds on her driving  licence.

When he thinks he must be in the vicinity he begins to ask  people
 if they know the  place. He shows them the licence.
Eventually he stops  a young woman, tall, dark hair, knee length  black skirt
under a three quarter red coat. He steps in front of her when she tries to pass
him by without making eye contact.
She looks at the licence he holds
Forced to look, she her eyes dart back to the little card.
Turns out she knows this girl, we don't find out her name,
and messages her on facebook.  She pulls her phone from
 her coat pocket,
begins messaging, arranges a meeting between the two
in the coffee shop just around the corner.

 The young twenty year old is delighted to get her handbag back,
all the  money, cards and sentimental, personal belongings still in place.
She was touched, surprised. Our homeless friend didn't take anything.

They kept in touch.
She went on to create a crowd fund site to help him get off the streets.




Such a heartwarming tale on this bitter morning

A poem:

No Going Back

Determined to save your sanity

You left

On that crisp, cold December morning

You left

With nothing but the clothes 

On your back

And the whole of your world in a

Very small sack.

You had no idea where

You might go

You just kept on walking

Hoping you'd know

That was over a year 

Ago now

You've got used to the road

Got some 

Know how

Wrapped in your blanket

You're there 

Outside the  Station

Sloane Square

Creases in your hands

Deep set in grime

Hair molded against brow

matted with time.

The cup at your feet waits

Waits for passers by

To see

But they all rush past

Without a glance though some will throw 

Ten pee

You left that day and 

Though it's hard this way

There's no going back 

No going back 

For you
You left

Work Ethic

5th Nov 2017

I have found a list of poetry prompts for November so I thought I'd give it a go.. It'll keep me going as I don't seem to have much inspiration of my own.
Today's prompt is "Work Ethic", which is very timely as I've just discovered a book I want to read entitled "Deep Work" by Carl Newport. ( Rules for focused success in a distracted world.)  Has anybody out there read it? It's a bit expensive to buy, only having been released last year . I think I might see if the library will get it for me.

Work Ethic

Having a real job would be easier
than sitting here trying to motivate myself
to do the work I must.
With no boss to answer to or oversee me
I procrastinate and use avoidance techniques
do anything but the thing
I should be doing.
Come on now, get to it, focus
you've got this
you can do this
OK a cup of coffee forst
then I'll start.

Found

22nd May 2017

The birds are making a racket but I love it and am thankful. I don't think I can get to TTOT today ( Ten Things Of Thankfulness) 

One more though - I did do a book review for a magazine this morning and sent it off.

That'll do for now. 

A little story from the prompt "found". 

Found...

Sally rolled out of bed, stretched, took her pink dressing gown from behind the door and slowly put it on taking time to tie a neat bow at the front.  She loved its softness against her skin and hugged herself as she went to open the curtains.  The bright sunlight that entered the bedroom, showed up dust and untidiness, which she hated, so she set about making the bed and clearing the clothes from the floor, taking extra care with her husband’s things, folding everything neatly and putting them in his drawers. 

She arranged the items on his bedside table as she liked them:  the lamp with movable head so he could read in bed, the photo of him with a lump of rock - apparently a particularly important find.  She spat on it, then polished it with her sleeve and placed it back with delicate precision.  Lastly she picked up the book he’d been reading for over a week now, “Reading The Rocks” by Marcia Bjormerud, a present from her the previous Christmas.  

Instead of putting it back she took it with her downstairs to the kitchen, where, after filling the kettle, she sat and opened it.  On the inside of the cover she had written-

To my dear husband with much love.

Hope this gives you many rocky moments to remember.

Happy Christmas,

Sal

Rocky moments - she thought he would find that amusing, but, as with most things, he wasn’t moved at all. Apart from seeing him reading the book avidly night after night she would never have known if he appreciated it or not.

She flicked through a few pages aimlessly, then threw it down on the table and went to make herself a cup of coffee, switching on the radio as she went by.

And now the news where you are. – she pours water into the mug  - Early this morning the  body of a man was found in the  River Colne, three miles north of Watford.  – she puts sugar in, one, two, three, stirs, takes her cup and sits at the table -  The police haven’t released his name but say they are asking for witnesses and think it may be suicide. There have been two other deaths in the past year in this stretch of the river, both of which turned out to be suicides.  

Sally sips her coffee.

 

  

In The Garden

2nd April 2017


Day 2 of the poem a day in April .

In The Garden

Sitting in the garden 

coffee and birdsong bring peace

 to the soul while bones

 are warmed

rhythm of water trickling 

into pond sends ears tickling

leads the mind to meditation

a butterfly- red admiral maybe

whiffs past nose 

lands gently on Budleia 

pink and yellow tulips 

stand tall in front of her

giving homage

lavender also gives of itself 

an aroma - sweet - memories

of female ancestors

and we sit

just a bit longer.

Coffee Cream

14th Feb 2017

A short Valentine's Day story . Hope you like it.

Coffee Cream

“That was so good. We should do it more often,” Paul smiled, raising his glass of red wine, clinking it with his wife’s, “cheers love.”

“Yes, we will, we will,” Lucy  hoped she wasn’t over enthusiastic in agreeing.  She looked around at dirty plates, waning candles - evidence of their special Valentine’s Day meal and she didn’t look forward to another effort so soon.  All she could think of was being with Josh.

“Look, there’s a chocolate left, you have it dear,” leaning across the table he handed her the heart shaped box.

“No, it’s for you, you have it,” her eyes held his in a warm, knowing gaze as she pushed it back to him. How could she love both at the same time? And when she was with one, always wanting to be with the other? But that’s the way it was. He was speaking again.

“Come on, Luce, it’s coffee cream, your favourite.” he took it out of the box and tenderly offered it to her. She didn’t take it.  He put it on her side plate.

“ I want you to have it,” she said, “ you always let me have the last one. It’s your turn. And I won’t hear another word about it.” She picked up the plate and placed it in front of him. She tried to be a good wife. And she did love him.  A heart shaped chocolate was such a little renunciation compared to all the times she had been too distracted with Josh to even get his dinner on time.  Even now she wondered how he was. Was he pining after her like she was him.

“Shall we sit on the sofa?” his soft words coaxed her and his arm reached out for hers.  “We’ll sort it out like when we were courting.  You remember?”  She wasn’t quite sure she did. He took the plate with him.

“ Mmmm,” sighing  she slumped down next to him.

“Here,” looking into her eyes he bit the chocolate in two. He ate one half. The other he slowly, seductively eased into her mouth, “share and share alike, that’s what I say, just like the old days.” He moved his hand from her mouth to her cheeks and to her eyes, that touch of his that always sent waves through her body making her feel fluttery and thrilled at the same time.

“How long have we got?” he drew her closer.   

“She said she’d have him all night as long as he slept.”

“He’ll be fine then.”  He pulled her off the sofa, “He’s over a year and your mother’s good with him. Let’s go...” and taking her hand, he climbed the stairs ahead of her.