Poetry is not something that simply spills from the mind unbidden.
No, Poetry is an essence that travels from one being to the next; it is shared by ingestion of life.
A life absent from the poetic expressions found in the trees, the fall colors, the simple poetry of life will never give birth to anything more than a crusty paper of a lie.
One who lives on a steady diet of hard truth, dipped deep in the stone well of natural poetry will become suffused with the stuff until it weeps from the very pores, and spills dark ink upon the page already stained with tears.
There is something deeply poetic about coffee. The grinder pulverizing the beans, the ritual tamping of the fresh grounds, and that beautiful smell when the first coal-black drops of liquid cascade into the cup.
When the steamer sings its song; and the union of sound, sight, and savor meet in that moment -such is the stuff of perfection.
I remember when my romance with Coffee started; it was on my first visit to Starbucks, in Portland Oregon in 2002. Before this; coffee was something that only came in luke-warm pots, and had to be dosed heavily with sugar, and then mixed with milk.
It was a part of the day, but never the hightlight.
Upon that first visit; I entered a new world. I remember how the entire building was drowning in the heavy scent of the sacred bean, and the sounds of the drinks being prepaired was an alien music.
Throughout the rest of that 2 week visit, I took the chance to return there many times, and it started what has become a lifelong love.
When I returned home, there were no local coffee shops nearby, at the time the nearest Starbucks was over 100 miles away.
So, over the next few years; the only time I would get to visit Portland would be heavily filled with visits to coffee shops. I would wander the city always with a cup in my hand.
Eventually, a small shop opened up in Warren, (20 miles from where I then lived) and I could then expirence good coffe regularly, and would sometimes make the trip into town just for a sip of that heavenly liquid.
I even took my future wife Ami, on our fist date to that small local coffee shop; and not long after that, she started to work as a Barista there. Many of my memories of our dating life are laced with the scent of coffee, and the whirr of the machines.
Last year Ami bought me a Breville Espresso machine for my birthday, and from her expirence as a Barista; she taught me to prepare all of my favorite drinks. The world has come full-circle, now I can re-live those memories, and moments whenever I take the time to start the ritual process, and turn those dark roasted beans into sacred powder.