Choreography of Coffee

a latte ole



packing grounds

I’m cupped

I’m spooned, in one, in two,

Shots of  cappucino brown

I’m found


in coffee rounds

in Coffee Houses

I’m here not there

for roasting and for healing

on leave

on grounds of feeling

and in search

of smoother, softer, kinder dealings.

“I’m missing you”

rolls rich and sad,

over lips and tongues

Pours over rims and brims and hoods,

like drifts of snow on fur capped, tossled hers and his.

The snow is falling  where you are

and here outside on thirsty parking lots

as I remember just how deafening

both truth and silence are…

and so I drive my car

the deer line miles

in running, running, mentally that long fence

that rivals Jean Claude and Christo

toward  a peace and freedom

I’ve lost my place and so…

I’m rather here inside…

both touched and untouched


so much to see and smell and hear, and find.

I’m parked inside the coffee house of her, and her, and her,  and him.

I’m making love here in my heart

and feeling lots

of latte


Start to work…..slow and easy

Prayers and songs are playing


I’m swaying in His eyes

and his eyes too.

Italian business owner.

His meeting ends.  Eyes meet.

He stays here for a little longer watching

what he just can’t miss in me…

All that intreagues a lonely, privileged man

across a crowded, boiling space and station.

He doesn’t know what I don’t have for him, and yet…

He’s watching me and making reservations

in wanting to know, and showing curiousity

but, I’m fairly clueless for awhile…

Oblivious to him…in what so naturally I give

and he won’t get in more than smiles and conversation

Heh, heh….the holiday display is really every day for me

in terms of personality, I just don’t think what others think…

I park, I sit, I situate

spread out to write, to wait the whisperings


innitiate the ritual

Cat arch my aching back to form just one of many

illlustrated long, lean, feline stretches..ouch

but I am breathing purrs,

no mind for who or what is here around me

I’m only stopping, pausing paws

I’m only stroking keys and keyboards

It’s only for a moment….nothing special

my levitating in the beauty of this moment

if only for myself and for the  presence of it.

I rest, I rise, I stretch, I stroll, I sit again

I wave this long soft, fluffy


in weaving, waving


of up and down and smiles, and

no frowns

leave open space and time and Macs to tick tock

tick tock….and I,

Like time…..I try to stretch it,

stretch it out,

Curl up

I am as sweet soft cinamon

a powdered sugar French toast kiss

a warm, wet, drippy pastry roll for brunching

a bagette branch of my own artisan creation

a pile of fragrant fir boughs

a nest of  woodsy cones and pillows

Nose to knows to No-s to

No doze

I rest here hours and hours

where hours of rest and down at home have failed

Slip off to near blessed slumber

I see much better in this Pixar dream

here in this silent observation

In celebrating  inner precious gifts from God

as if this were my one Last Supper in His company.

Though I’m a sinner… I am.

Clumsy child, me,

a kid in housewares, furs and furnishings

sure to brake the glassware

to crumb the cake,  to blur the vision

and bur the trail.

I lick the sugar, spice, the missing Irish creamer topping

I munch and nuzzle fluffy, overflowing pastry

bounce from chair to chair in overstuffing

Happy me in people warmth

and kinder kind

and kinder lines and line ups

Amazed at what I find

and wonder

in being gifted soft lit charming beauty in this vision

lowlight….. far from fast serve and fighting

undemanding unassuming in this room

without life’s limits and demands

all set and  situated in creature comfort

and filled with love for others and Cans not Can’ts.

I open, peel the citrus orange I’ve grown here in my healing

a Christmas blend to share with friends I long for making

a swirling heat and convalescense in my empty loins

a strange familiar Misto-ry of beverages and strangers

Colognes and Cozy coffee smells suspended ….real

and hanging here like stockings in the Christmas air

Pretended new, in new familiar welcome looks

Hello, Hellos…..


Wish you were here in sharing with me

All of this

Just wonder what we’d make

among our conversation

What would I say?

What would you say… or wouldn’t say to me?

if only you would speak to me in tones meant more than…

the safer Please and Thank you.

Within within the coffee tin

establishing a newness and acceptance

Establishing and practicing

a ground more rich and richer in the finding, than in the loss and ending of things

I skip, and run, among the playful grounds of once mistakes

They form a waiting ribbon waving in the summer winds

they form the shapes of coffee pots and lemon drops, and friends

I’m minding what I’m finding far from all the blinding winds

and all that once did bind me,

the squeeling steam and kettles,

Black Friday rioting and biased riddles

far from the vaccuum noise and airbrakes

ethnicities and blinds, and what’s at stake…

far far from these IS what I wish to see

in better blends from light to dark roast kinds

I want to find in me the friend I want for mine

Sumatra to Park City  possibilities

and sons in Italy

warm buttered toast

and honey

spreading calmly, softly

Like oil in and on my stomache

and salve and soothing ministered to skinned knees.

To Love in all its beauty is my journey

full flavored and emotional without duty.

Still it is  fraught with fear and worry

Here, where money begs to buy…

It can not, nor can Fame provide nor

tension tame toward devotion

or a Godly name.

I canvas each and every face here in the Coffee House

and spaces mixed in conversation,

in faces bound to leisure, work,

from calm to hurt to animated

Life’s celebrations

I see the study groups

the counseled, duped,

the college kids

the business types

the husbands, wives,

the interviews

the bored, deprived,

Smooth faced, smooth legged,

and in between.

The middle age, the colored,


haired and hairless,

harried, loosers,

one hit wonders,

long, and longer yet,

the unemployed

drop out, boarders, burnt and fried,

the lonely, and ignored.

He happily brags lift tags through tears

now gets a lift himself

in hope

in back to work


a bus return to Salt Lake.

Cheers and drinks his Coke,

While those he serves are here too:

Clomp, clomp, clomping ski boots

like heavy wooden shoes,

back to back, hard chairing

head to head, they’re hairing

brush up against retired

Professors once respected, now too tired

are all professed, tenure expired

indebted and forgotten

Degrees and letters just can’t be sold or bought

except for coffee table coasters

all turned to coffee, distance, boxed up

fear of aging… and supplying

what they can not so easily give in intimacy,

Constructions since gone lost to heartsick and to dieing,

Some remedy, ward off  in turning pages,

of James Monroe, in stretching tired wages,

saving sentimental, stiff spine dated novels,

the printed word on paper will someday also be forgotten

Permineralized in prenups and in living wills

Tandy lineups,  last year’s laptops, this years notebooks

Smartphones,  and social networks,

Communication slows

but I will not forget you.

Some other customers,

They’re not so nice rice

puffed up in their high price, puff down parkas

They’re tossed used napkins

alone and broken hearted

in memories, in crumbs ground into

wood and carpet

Next to the ski and bike shops

lift chairs, city bus stops, ski bums,

black diamond bound

All these, will see their day on crutches

ground slowly down

in lost and found, on cafeteria trays, in rubbish

the foolish, clueless. rich, and poor

religious shoppers, less and more

Each one will find their place……Reduced

to writing and to thinking old news

whisk, whisk, coffee rings, swig whiskey

whisk questionably away from risking

For now it’s Payday, Town Lift, play day,

and UP DOWN  Old Town, Main Street.

Just for a moment though,

they pause,  Salute in commandeering

Suds, soapy dishes in the sink

No one can pull rank here but greasy pots and pans

and butcher knives

We’re soaking for a feel good and a drink

for easier cleaning tips and Better Homes and Gardens

for scouring the moment if not for hours

awaiting sunny, fresh pack,  Dawn,

and blue bird ski days

Clear haze.

Such is the sight and plight of humans

Dish water and cold coffee will decide

Which life path will be chosen and get cold first?

Rehearsing winter verses, snowplow hearses

The Winter of the heart is cold and deep

without His Love to keep us warm.

But what is this?  A miracle. His Grace.

His Love appears as children.

Yield to a row of ducklings on parade

Their feet are moving way too fast, in Vfib rate,

squalking, squeeling, crying, kneeling, playing

all webbed in wonder and big eyed

the tiny children on display

suspect they’ll fall down in the supervision

Big eyed….both they and we are in our eyeing

They bring a warm wind to adulthood’s winter chill

Until we’ve good luck and a better feeling

the others in the wagging tail soon bend to craning at them

and set aside sad thoughts of grief to joy in rum, pum, pumming

The Christmas child and children supersize the feeling

expand the season away from GETTING, more to GIVING

To instagramming, Meme-ing baby Jesus, fill the world

with joy…..they tote their crackers, cups and juicy juice

As purple laughter spills down short front sides and boots

and tiny, fuzzy winter scarves and coats are ruined… it’s no use

They rub their grubby little mittened hands

on cozy, wollen, beany caps, these kittens

the sippy cuppers, the tumbbling toddlers,

the interrupters of my naptime…stand simply…lovely….stained and blue spruce

Can’t help but laugh

in silencing my questioning…..of Who should be here napping?

My laugh contained, repsectfully, I smile a cheshire grin

and wish again, this irritance were more my happy folly

la, la, la, la…..I plug my ears, and close my eyes to

…..missing school and children too

While all, and both before behind the register resume

the work of social, bright and better businessing,

of pregnant ladies making beverages and welcome singing

Twirl with smiles, and memories of  a Christmas past.

Reminded of those precious years I took for granted, and what we have now

In love’s more recent makings, recognitions,  giving and taking.

How will they all remember me? The children?  The coffee girls remember…

and say may name as if this were my home.

I feel each time as if I were that precious child of five years old.

And they are making cocoa just for me, and I am drooling chocolate donuts

I’m wanting to return again, again, to this good feeling and enactment

Attractions only Wendy, or a mother could perform

or ones I sometimes long for or pretend to know

in going back to coming happily home.

The snowy late day snowboarders give pulse to this

in forming drippy, sagging lines like sugared maccaroons

the frosted sugar cookie in a child’s sticky hand and mouth

a messy picture made by elves

We’re here…”Give us some coffee or a beer!”

all on display before the dayglass

all in a row with cookies, registers, and payrolls,

The workers keep the leisure pace,  the happy face, the calm composure,

pumping mocca in hot coffee cups and taking orders

I’m chasing promises of company and Christmas borders

I’m licking chappy lips and watching happy chattering faces

I’m bubbling with laughter, with little care what’s taking place here

I’m wanting lots of whip cream

I’m careful not to wear out welcomes,

And never want to waste the beauty of this Fibonacci

the spiral syrup moment

sprinkled now on top with mini morsels,

she’s chipping and I’m tipping for these extra specials

I’m making make-believe my mustache in the mirror

in payment and in talk and walk away

I’m looking for the look of  joy, discovery

or better yet….acceptance, Love.

In mirrors behind stirsticks, straws and stryro-cup-caps

No plastic plug pin Mermaid dip sticks here for that

no holding back the sweet, or rushing down, or rising blush

or movement on the scrimmage line

No hurrying in or out to rush, rush….feet, feet, feet….

to hurry up…..or penalty…delay of game…appologies for waiting…hm

I’m on the slow track. YES!

Im dialed in to… bradycardic slow feet, to long sit and warm seat

soft buttery caramel, this I am

in melting like molasses into lounging leather couches

from which I watch and write

to my delight

a perfect

choreography of coffee!


About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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2 Responses to Choreography of Coffee

  1. J T Weaver says:

    This is really good. Full of honest emotion. Damn good!

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