We’ve stopped,
and our aching bodies function again,
after three hours in hyperspace.
Place your feet on martian
aggregate. Bright white walls,
candy coloured cuddly brand
logos, shining in a radioactive
post apocalyptic flicker.
The foyer, home to sedated
loney cheeseplants living
next a faux-oasis in a stasis
of activity. Baby changing
facilities, sterile loo blocks,
faint wafts of coffee blending
with strangers urine and diesel.
Our seat is plastic as we tear
open our plastic prey from
their cartons.
Brown watery coffee,
depressed freshly
prepared sandwiches from
an industrial estate off the M5.
Our eyes never meet as I
glance at the cars outside.
The passive audience of a
Theatre of motion.
Stage left.
Stage right.
Travelling to that
same inevitable destination.
Posts Tagged 'coffee'
Services (Gordano)
Published October 28, 2009 Poetry , Prosody , creative writing , poem , verse 1 CommentTags: breakfast, coffee, creative, creative writing, gordano, moto, motorway, petrol, poem, Poetry, Prosody, service, station, verse, welcomebreak, writing
Cafe II
Published April 8, 2009 Uncategorized Leave a CommentTags: coffee, creative, creative writing, notebook, people watching, poem, Poetry, starbucks, verse
Written in Starbucks, after buying a new notebook and pen for very little in a sale.
New pen, new book.
Fresh ink, fresh look.
Strutting in Starbucks,
reminding everyone I’m a
Writer.
Remind myself I’m a writer,
A poet with prose, praise
for my freeform frantics
And my enjambment antics.
Praise for coffee and jazz,
For oriental students
Clucking and chatting,
Praise for sale pens
Praise for sexy intellectuals,
Praise for everything I can see
from this table.
Cafe
Published April 8, 2009 Poetry , Prosody , Thoughts , creative writing , poem Leave a CommentTags: cafe, coffee, creative, creative writing, people, poem, Poetry, tea, verse, watching, writing
Written on the back of a bit of paper whilst eating a bap and drinking tea in the best cafe in Fore St.
Lets sit in a Cafe
And watch people pass their day,
Watching other people on their way,
To work.
Not a Starbucks or a Costa.
Because they all Costa lot more
Then this place.
Only here can you get more
Mochilatto for your DiNero.
Its not a dive, and it’s alive
with cosmopolitan chit chat
Hustle bustle, this and that.
Gentle reggae playing
in the background.
Artists sketching, writers scribble
Doodles. A kid slurps noodles,
Slapping and slurping in time.
To exotic rhumba beats.
As a quiet mardi gras plays
Over the radio.
Subconsciously people tap
Their feet, but they’d never
Admit it.
Only when the cafe closes
The chairs dance to a
Beat that played hours ago.
