Tuesday, 5 February 2019

A cup or five







Reusing

Years ago, if I saw the word ‘coffee’ in a poem
I would groan and shift in my seat
At the tired cliché of a weary writer
Reflecting over a hot beverage, possibly abroad.

But now I, too, am tired like words, lost like sense,
And coffee calls from every side.
From choppy chains to specialist brews,
I buy it, drink it, know it’s too late.


RF 2019


Not many poems of late but here is a little one. And I NEVER post photos of food so here is a part of a recent birthday lunch. It was a bit frozen in the middle but that is January birthdays for you (and the company was good).

(Added later) And I forgot to say that this one makes me laugh (if no-one else) because there used to be a running joke with a Leeds friend about a 'latte' coffee being pronounced 'late' (early days of Starbucks in the city I think...).

x

2 comments:

Helen said...

Hello! Every now and then I journey back to the beginning of my blog, re-read and sometimes edit poems, read comments. You asked a question way back in January 2011 about an image I used and I never answered. Well .... Anselm Kiefer is a favorite artist of mine and it is his painting. Hope this finds you well. I enjoyed your coffee talk poem.
Helen in Bend Oregon

Rachel Fox said...

Hi Helen! Good to hear from you again!
x