Coffee House

I used to write a lot. Short stories. Love letters. Poems. Songs. It's been awhile since I've indulged in that facet of my persona.

Well, tonight while cleaning our new house, I was going through some stacks of books and papers that were in a box I have yet to unload. Lo and behold, (that's just so fun to utter, isn't it?) I discovered this little gem of a poem/lyrics that I wrote a long time ago... apparently at a coffee house, and apparently during some sort of music set.

It surprises me that I used to write like this. I think it has qualities that are quite good, and that I don't have in my writing any longer. So, I decided to share it with you. It could use some refinement, but then again, it was written on what appears to be a torn piece of table cloth (the paper kind that you can draw on), and it seems to be a first draft... so I'll leave it as-is, knowing it could actually be much better.



Anyway, Here's a little piece of my past:

Coffee House

Sitting by the lights
They're artificial stars
Listening to the tunes
He's playing his guitar

The rhythms tap dance on my brain
The beat vibrates round my soul

The laughter fills the room with noise
The talking makes it's whirlwind song
This jazz-talk is an excellent choice
and we all dive in headlong

To this precious gift God did create
the fabric sensation of musical debate
My only though is "This is great!"

With music, there's no right or wrong

The rhythms tap dance on my brain
The beat vibrates round my soul

This coffee is liquid of bitter taste
but the aroma creates sweet melody
The musician's wrath explodes on the drums
but we trust their peaceful harmony

Then Matt
begins to scat
I like it like that

Musician and poet create ecstasy

The rhythms tap dance on my brain
The beat vibrates round my soul

The shaker shakes
The drummer drums
The guitarist plays
a nylon string hums

The poet speaks with wild grace
as shadows play across his face
His words so powerful draw fragile taste

make toes tap with fingers and thumbs

The rhythms tap dance on my brain
The beat vibrates round my soul

Thickening my senses
while thinning my brain
as rational though
is rinsed by instrumental rain

While musically scaled precision
obscure, but clear with mindful vision
crash splendidly with reckless indecision

And the beauty of the music memory will echo its remains

The rhythms tap dance on my brain
The beat vibrates round my soul

The guitar plays a different tune
than the violin
The drums still bang and boom
The notes awkwardly blend

and musical colors spin in the night
like the pictures hanging on the right
Wear imagination's 3-D glasses, and you'll see this awesome sight

It brightens this musical trend...

... which brings my poem to and end.