The Spur of Coffee

is sweet, savory, seasoned

taste, of black gold.

The evening family meals over

a steamy cup of bitter-sweet nectar.

A taste

so profound, it’s  memory is unforgettable.

The smooth flow of ambrosia

clenching the thirst of millions,

and it’s a legal

drug too.

It is like the

warm baths

on a cold winter morning.


Coffee is served black,

like pure crude from the depths of our withholding earth.

It’s color untouched as it comes

from the clutches of the straw sacks.

The ceaseless darkness

is so pure

that it evokes the most bloodcurdling

of tastes.

It is like the night sky over the vast field

obscurity veiled my visions, as

a black, beautiful, blunt tang.


It is the energy,

that drives you during the late night shifts,

the closing eyes, dreadful sleep washing over you like the relentless waves of the ocean pounding on the coast,

and with a single cup, gone.

The steam rising beyond the boundary containing nature’s gift to man,

freshly grounded, from a flame kissed bean

from  reddened berries, they descend.

Picked by negligent hands,

and with a gentle touch they a are brought down

to be enjoyed.

The spur of coffee is nature’s gift to man.


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