Quiet Cup of Coffee

My normal morning routine is to wake up earlier than my wife, dogs, and sometimes visiting grandson to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee while I do some free-writing to help get head working and words down on paper. The following poem was written during one of those early morning free writing sessions.

It’s early no one else; yet, is awake.

The sunrise is looming; still in darkness,

my cup of coffee brewing awaits.

Souvenirs stand like proud soldiers.

In the shadows of my library book case,

without boundaries or orders.

Outside light is now beginning to break.

A squirrel on the fence hopping; a crow,

standing sentry calls for his murder to wake.

Hands and senses now warmed up.

Brilliant screen before my eyes; astonished,

world events intervene with my cup.

Thin black lines on paper rapidly appear.

Contrast against the rustic wood; my hand,

travels along the table, pen bleeding fear.

Constant tapping of a strong tail wagging.

My dog’s clumsy excitement; beating the wall,

breaks me from my focus and outside gazing.

Once untouched, the day is now open.

Quiet reflection interrupted; restlessness,

others that saw night’s slumber have awoken.