steve a. manolis poet

Eating Scones

 

I dream of mornings that would find us eating scones with cream and preserves

Large deep cups of coffee, newspapers scattered in bohemian cafes

A regular crowd of hipsters and wannabees, Sunday morning derelicts

No churches for us, or this group, we found tranquility in strange corners

And the world went about the day leaving the wordsmiths searching

 

One of us, no matter who, anyone, some word, some thought, some feeling

Another transition in time and space and poetry, fluttered on paper

Or a long ago love, the mist of an angel from some drunken night, today this

We can have magic for all those times, we are the heroes, and we are the poets

We seek some perfection and never attaining it we try always over again

 

I find ‘I love you’ deep in my thoughts and can’t escape the wonderment of you

And then you call just because, and I think of the magic of it, or destiny

And you have a deeper explanation and it just kills me, your wonderful surprises

So you tell me a story about how you thought of me, you fall and I am that thought

Have I ever told you how many times I have fallen for you…over and over.

 

I ate my scone this morning, in a café, pretentiously watching the non-bohemians

My thoughts drifted to you, I must be calling loudly, and then the phone rings

Another transition in time and space and poetry, fluttering on this paper

I ask you for a word or thought or idea, and all I want is you nearer ever nearer

Sunday morning papers helter-skelter, deep cups coffee and the coming of day.