It’s one of the paradoxes of life that when I write on a regular basis I don’t realize how it affects me. The act of composition improves my mood provides a tremendous release of stress.
The urge to write compose has been steadily building over the past week, but the pressures of work and life in general didn’t leave me with the time to do anything. This morning the urge pushed me over the edge. I had to write something. Anything. Bad or good. Casting about for a subject for a poem, my eye rested on my cup of coffee.
Without further ado, I give you the following verses:
An Ode to Coffee
By Byron Gordon
The fragrant scent of roasted beans
Fills the air and floods the nose
The promise of caffeine means
A final waking from morning doze.
A little cream, no sugar please
I’m already sweet enough
A little more cream, don’t tease
Drinking it straight’s a little tough.
Perfect color, coconut tan.
I pause before the first sip,
To savor the growing elan,
Then the first bitter taste, just a nip.
First sip of warming delight spreads
Now sharpening synapses
A better high than any meds
That gives a boost to all the senses.