Well, it's got to be coffee and it has to be Italian; Lavazza Qualita Rossa for preference. I've just brewed the first invigorating hit of the day and am supping it on a beautiful sunny Blackpool morning. Every day starts with this routine, 0 to human in 5 minutes - whether the sun is shining or not - courtesy of a "damned fine cup of coffee." That's a phrase any Twin Peaks fan will recognise, though in my experience there's a world of difference between the weak swill most Americans call coffee and the powerful muddy concoction that fuels your Saturday blogger!
Coffee has to be fresh, hot, black and strong, stylish, unsweetened, aromatic and stimulating. Brewing and savouring it is a ritual and a pleasure. Were I to be stranded on Roy Plomley's apocryphal desert island, my luxury item would almost certainly be a stout cafetiere and an endless supply of Lavazza coffee. I probably drink three good cups on a typical day: one first thing, one after a session at the gym and one some time around late morning. That seems to be the perfect intake - fires me up for the rest of the day.
Despite what I said above about weak swill, I made the mistake once in Seattle of ordering a triple-espresso after lunch, just for the hell of it - and I was still buzzing at 4am while everyone else slept soundly! A lesson learned. As a rule, no more coffee after noon.
This week's poem attests to the lingering effect of the recent Shakespeare season, in form if not in content. Take five...
Domestic Sonnet
Unbrick the morning coffee to the pot,
bright sunlight stripes unblinding of the day.
All dark presentiment is soon forgot,
dreamtime's unnerving memories ebb away.
Throw wide this window on the waking world,
the twinkling of a goldfinch thrills the air,
rejoice to see the roses all unfurled.
What, to such simple pleasures, can compare?
A brace of dimpled citrons yield sharp juice,
pale suns of eggs lie sizzling on the grill,
such domesticity needs no excuse
for happiness. Break fast and eat your fill.
Savour black coffee, strong and thick as mud,
it fuels the soul, invigorates the blood.
Thanks for reading, y'all. Have a stimulating week, S ;-)
6 comments:
So lovely. I can smell the aromas in this sonnet. Glad that you are continuing to write in this poetic form occasionally. I find the discipline challenging but it can be a great distraction technique and an easy way to spur you into writing if you are blocked.
Thank you. I'm pleased you liked the poem. I'm only moderately happy with the result. Some lines work well to my mind, but overall it doesn't flow as well as I'd intended, which may indicate I haven't bent the content to the form (or the form to the content) as successfully as I'd hoped.
yo Mr Rowland !
Stop being so technical this is a delightful piece!
I could smell it, taste it , and savour it ! oh and the coffee too !
We enjoyed a delicious cup of Rinaldo's coffee at the Holker Hall Garden Festival on Sunday morning...... what a lovely chap he was too.
You were the cream in my coffee
I now take it black
No milk
No sugar
No need
Tata for now
Annie x
What a cracking ode to a good ole cuppa Joe. Loved it...
As Harper Lee once noted:
Well, they're Southern people, and if they know you are "working at home they think nothing of walking right in for coffee. But they wouldn't dream of interrupting you at golf."
Fuel for the soul - excellent. Liked the idea of a 'domestic' sonnet. A good read, Steve Thanks for sharing.
Delightful.
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