We celebrated on a ship abroad in a coffee shop.
We took our order to go, the view of the street clear.
The people smiled and adored their conversation.
A debate of what to try.
What to order.
This delicious smell.
Brewed dark, served light.
Foam covered lips.
A slited cap to release steam.
And here we are merely afloat.
We blend into the flavor.
I don't think I'll find a place as great.
An iceberg has sunken our ship.
Stirred around until all has dissolved.
This sailboat of ours coming to an end.
Crashing against our lips.
Directly against our tastebuds.
With us the remains of sweet rummage and cream


Go West, young man
And open up a Roth IRA
Something that you can put your dreams in
And watch them grow
Free from the taxes and penalties of normal existence
Somewhere between dreaming
Finding out what's behind the veil...

Go West, young man
And invest in a good pair of shoes
Start walking down the street
Whistling Dixie and all sorts of hogshead soup
Telling people
"Hey Joe, ya look great today!"
Slapping them on their rump and arguing
About whether voting for Doritos flavors
Is the heart of true democracy....

Go West, young man
And when you see the sun rise above the horizon
Just before you get to Denver
Taking a left to shoot toward Taos
Remember that all the money and bullshit and hotdogs
Cannot give you the bun
The mustard
The ketchup
Of peace of mind.




Here, just listen to this:  [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjgndGuy77o]  


Lo, coffee in wee tazos as from thence
How sparrows gaily call is't? to avail
Dawn's warming light which wears Spring in betrayl
'Spite frigid airs, me chattring to Dad hence
About when buds will 'gin to peer fr'intents
Upon the distant tree; and whiles I hail
Such notions, he sez Winter's in detail
Too young yet, noting he's no hopes for sense.
I was not happy, was I?  Just in tour
Seeing how that April haunts the waking view,
Likeas October did one June as twere.
Snow melted by the brief thaw's rain, these blue
Skies oddly wear an eye akin in poor
'Scuse to late March.  And really, what is new?


Well?  Isn't music a hearty change and too refreshing, c'mon, isn't it though?

I think it's midnight
and now my coffee is cold
but my heart is stale

V 4d

I love my morning coffee,
It is hot and strong,
Like a firm handshake or a warm hug first thing in the morning,
It gives me the masculine strength to start the day and venture into the life of a parent raising a son.

The aroma is familiar and friendly,
One that takes me back to my days at university – the first round I mean.
When time was flexible, and it was ok to live on porridge and rice for five days, and then smoked salmon and cadbury’s chocolate on when I got paid, because there was always someone to buy the next beer.
In that four bedroom shared house, with guests every night, I drank my coffee black, because the milk was always out. Come to think of it, the toilet paper was often out too… so I kept a secret stash.

These days, I add a dollop of thick cream to my coffee in the morning for richness and indulgence,
It whisks me off to a place of my dreams – Pari
Where I imagine myself in flowing skirts, and bright red lipstick
As I laugh loudly to jokes spoken in beautiful sexy French by tall handsome men,
Here I can speak French, laugh in French, make love in French and I am honoured as the beautiful Aussie goddess I am.

I’m not sure where said 8 year old is whilst I am in France … I guess he is there riding his bike with the locals and whatever 8 year olds do… but he is not sipping my coffee.

I drink my morning coffee from a great big mug with painted dragon flys on it,
The dragon flys reminds me, everyday is new beginnings,
A chance to transform what was before,
To sore high and far,
And that nothing is ever stuck in one place.

As I towards the end of my cup,
I swirl the coffee and the cream back together,
The temperature has dropped,
The taste is not as strong,
But the impact on my day is for ever, as I return to my place and my life to hear the words ‘mum, what’s for breakfast’.

I love my morning coffee.

Jun Lit Jan 10

ang kinagisnang duyan,
sa puso'y kumakatok:
halika, kita'y ipagsasalok
kapeng barako, ika'y lumag’ok
kung kulang ang 'sang tasa'y
mayroon namang mangkok -
Sa Lumang Lipa, ang pakilasa’y
pakiramdam at hindi tam’is
kagaya ng pagsasamahan
o pait na dulot ng kasawian.

Inaapuhap sa aparador na pinagtaguan
ang malukong na tagayan
ng nagkaribok na kabataan;
mula sa sulok ng balintataw,
nilililok, aking natatanaw
ang mga imahen, hindi mga anghel,
nagbabalibol ang kaibigan
kong tagapagtanggol,
habang sa kabilang koponan
nanlilibak ang kalaban -
ako ang bolang pinagpasa-pasahan
binugbog ng mga kahon ng lipunan
kahit alin doon, walang pinagkasyahan

mga kahong nagtatakda ng katangian:
     ang tao ay dapat ganito,
     ang kilos ay dapat ganoon
     ang suot ay dapat ganyan
          ang maganda ay ganito ang kulay
          ang makisig ay ganoon ang taglay
          ang tindig ay hindi malambot na gulay:
“kahon, kahon, kahon,
magkasya sa kahon
kapag nagkataon
lagot ka sa poon”

wari’y multong takot lumingon
ang nagtulug-tulugang kahapon
sa ngayo’y gising na kampon -
pinalaya ng kupas na maong

Sisinsay na laang ako doon
at sa huntahan ay tutugon
kung saan nahapon
ang labuyong
hindi kailanman inilaban sa sabong

panalo ka pa rin at karamay,
kapeng gawa sa gal’pong
     barako sa isip
     matam’is sa puso
     at sa lalamunan ko
     ikaw ang kasuyo.

To be translated as "Brewed Coffee V (My Memories of Dear Old Lipa)"
Rick 6d

how many poems are written about
love and hate
living life and welcoming death
happiness and sadness
the fearful and fearless
sanity and madness?

how many poems are written about
darkness and light
the sun and the moon
the stars and the galaxy
the universe and our planet?

how many poems are written about
the trees and the rivers
the mountains and the valleys
the animals and sea creatures
the oceans and the land
the sky and the clouds
nature and everything it provides?

how many poems are written about
anxiety and depression
suicide and living life to the fullest
music and silence
philosophy and art
incarceration and liberation
coffee and tea
booze and drugs
war and peace
politics and religion
sex and celibacy
masturbation and addiction
and those who use it
for recreation and those who
believe it’s an abomination?

how people are drunk?
drunk on alcohol
drunk on love
drunk on books
drunk on ideas
drunk with magic
happening all around them

how many poems does it take
to sing?

how many words do you need to
piece together to end this poem?

as many as it takes
until everything is
swallowed into the
abyss of nothing

Eight cups of coffee,
A long night, waiting for love to come home again...
A cold moon is looking down on a bitter Soul,
Dust bunnies are making love in the moonlight.

Always waiting, never seeing you,
Bitterly cold, lonely nights, looking for your ghost at the
bottom of every empty cup,
Painting love poems with bittersweet, coffee grounds.

Still looking back,
asking, when will you come home?
Looking at a closed door,

Should I remain here waiting, with an empty heart?

Still unable to forget you,
can't leave this place,
eyes are always searching, cannot see past my broken heart.

Or move on,

Opening, a closed door to a new life and new dreams,
filling my heart with new love, new hope,
and say goodbye to my lost love, forever...

Copyright © 2018 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

Soundcloud poetry recitation

I’m sitting in an ordinary coffee shop,
Listening to ordinary people talk shit on their ordinary lives.
How many ordinary men do I have to listen to bitch about their fat wives and their loser kid’s
Before I combust into a million pieces of myself,
I wish I could scream that what you have become is not what you have to stay.
You can still feel hope inside of your heart and spark inside of your soul,
Ignite your flame, feed and grow it.
Nourish the being inside of you telling you to rebel.
Give in to the devil on your shoulder and figure out how to begin again,
Because existence is much more beautiful when it is accompanied by a side of life.

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