Ahh, Sunday paper, cozy pj’s, fuzzy slippers and fresh coffee –

The Spiritual Life of Coffee

The coffee pot spits.
Its purpose fulfilled.

As I pour the elixir
it spirals into form
separated
from tropical plant
to industrial plant
from bean to grind
individualized
from carafe to cup
transformed
from black to light
from bitter to sweet
realized
mother of light and sweet

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. jenn nixon
    Feb 22, 2009 @ 14:05:22

    Hey Vikki!

    Love the poem. Wish I loved coffee. Don’t, but I do love how it smells, just never acquired a taste for it. Shame, huh?

    I think I may have worked out my next project. Right before I went to bed last night! See, you helped!!

    Reply

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