just another sunday 

do you remember
those sunday mornings
sipping coffee in the silence
of the still sleeping house
i used to believe
in so much more
fate and faith, my foolishness
held keys to the kingdom
resigned and breathless
passions packed away
like children’s books
left with the echo
of the man that never was


jazz cafe

java and jazz
on a thursday night
two bucks in the bucket
to watch the show
it’s jazz night
i’m becoming a regular
but no one knows who I am
dressed in full regalia
at a table, alone
mysterious vagabond
in goodwill best
writing away
in silent oblivion
in sputtering bursts
musing through my mind
over the incessant din
of cafe conversations
perusing the crowd
for a friendly face
finding only strangers
for now the atmosphere
is enough of a friend
the waitress graciously
brings another refill
i’ll be up half the night
at least the nights are better
than the days
when everything is gray
of gravel and snow
finish this cup and
it’s back to the highway
i ache for a cigarette
java and jazz and
an evening escape

dos cafés

sultry saxophones pianos grand
last sip of the evenings wine
two coffees large and sweet
fingers dance on ivory and brass
joy before the busy wakes
distance means nothing
and everything

to share a porch
on mountains overlooking
to hike their paths by day
at night the stars to sleep beneath
a cottage framed with hammocked trees
beauty is what beauty sees