True Love of Coffee

The Looking Glass

Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Blog, Inquisitive

I realize that for the longest time the notes I made around my poetic writing gave insight to my thinking and the frame of mind I had when words described idea. Some of my older writing was focused on this, revolving around my perspective (instead of the end result.)

Within this framework I shared a great number of pieces with a great number of people. Whether through books or publishing online, I always felt as though the special nature of introspection did my writing more justice.

Some of my friends know that I am fond of the concept of “the looking glass” or “sliding doors.” I am often very cognoscent of actions leading to other actions, of the notion that my decisions today are based upon the decision of yesterday. With that said, I never wanted to lead anyone down the proverbial “rabbit hole” – or to take away the personal realization a reader could have if they had not been encouraged by my own thoughts.

As my years progress and I see more history behind me, I am more aware of the fact that my life has been somewhat different than the typical rabbit.

This is a piece that defined some of that for me. A brief moment of my thought where I asked of myself “what side of the mirror am I on?”

Lost within

ponderous enigma

Trying to find answers

of pervasive illusion.

Yet I reach

struggling to redefine

to trace an outline

of belief and faith.

I do not ask of myself,

nor of others.

I ask of my future,

and of my past.

Searching,

seeking,

sifting,

hoping.

To find truth,

the moment when everything

becomes tangible,

realized by my soul.

To find my answer,

to the question I do not know,

to discover if this reflection,

will place me in fantasy or reality.

When will you see my wonderland?

Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive

When I look at the sky, gray clouds become white,
the rain, warm tears from an angel.

I do not think of now and here, but everywhere,
the places I have been, and dream of believing.

When I hold myself, I am warm,
steadfast in knowing how life connects itself,
touching the people I care for,
and reaching those who dare defy.

When my eyes close, the world becomes open.

The place I see changes me,
Gifting me with a sign of illicit illusion,
that is tangible, rich, and decadent.

When I look,
My dreams hold me,
my eyes closed,
my life is open.

When will you see?

The other side of the road

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Defiant, Featured, Inquisitive, Mystery

Some choose, to be different
glancing across the street,
watching people walk on by.
Others find themselves sedated,
failing to realize where they are,
or even where they are going.
I find myself moving along,
sometimes fast, sometimes slow,
often waiting for a signal that never comes.
I find myself waiting with hope,
failing to protect my caution,
as I step into traffic I cannot see.

The Road I Travel

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive

Beyond the realm,
of fallen thoughts
and peaceful hope,
between my life
and my dreams,

Is where my spirit
lays quietly,
rustling in tall grass,
encumbered by thoughts,
that defy nature,
as if it was figment.

Serendipity,
random chance,
revolving doors
finding themselves,
at the crossroads
without any sign.

I am, simply
forgotten amongst the leaves,
a path of lost memories
and unheard laughter,
held closely, without recall
of the very things I forgot.

A Bitter Year

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive, Loss

LoL, It really isn’t a bitter year! This is just poetry for the day. I’m laughing I wrote this when I’m having such a good morning!

************************************
A Bitter Year   *************************

Crimson wine I ask, as my hands tremble,
Trying to feverishly hold to delicate thoughts,
As my body grows cold and my heart numb
I hear whispers against the chime of the church bell.
I simply realize that my faith transcends the flavour.

The spirit of the effort I think, a pale offering of such struggle.
I wonder if the taste is that of oak, or weak like flawed timber.
The kind of misunderstood growth one finds when struck with despair,
the entropy we all find when our lives begin to dissolve,
yet the reflection of my eyes is lost as my hope spills on the floor.

I try to hold onto my failing, rather than accept that I have changed.
Somewhere within life, my heart has turned black, something went wrong.
The poisoned grape that tarnished such a wonderful vintage.
Yet the bitter aroma of which I breathe seems desecrated,
a reminder that perfect things can often turn sour if uncared for

I reach for another bottle, slowly pulling it from amongst its brethren.
Fumbling my words, if not my thoughts, again and again,
as I harshly lecture myself and every action I have ever taken.
Such a fool, such an idiot you are, how naive can one person be…
Why would I ever believe that I could share such a taste with anyone?

Dying of Thirst

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive, Loss

I tried forgetting myself
deep within the well of desire
mostly lost in discarded passion
and fruitless isolation

Yet I knew, more than I care to admit
that my lips would never again thirst,
nor accept the tender compassion that I once dreamt,
and only yearn for sweet memory as I succumb

Lost Beauty

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive

Sometimes, we hold ourselves
not knowing forgiveness or compassion
We find the truth of our thoughts broken
as the darkness we feel becomes sacrilage

As children, we learn to believe
in things that we cannot see, or feel
we find our imagination becoming real
and we listen to an invisible world as our friend

Yet as we grow, we discover the fallen apple
We find a lush green tree, surrounded by beauty
the fragrant aroma of desire wavering in the air
and the reminder that no one is watching

We fall pray to our sin, the desire of our mortal appetite
Our laughter turns to quiet doubt, subtle and of whispering quality
as we tip toe across the field and wander closer
knowing that we are doing something that is not so good

We realize that doubt drowns our spirit
and quiets the childlike innocence we never questioned
Yet we force ourselves further, one step at a time
trying to explain one action, by purposely taking another

As we reach the tree, we hunger more and more
as our greatest effort fails to let us reach the limb, dangling our wish
We shake it feverishly, in a most demanding way
and it falls down, breaking our heart upon its own

Years pass by, as the sun flies across the horizon
the birds come in the afternoon, yet contiue across the sky
The grass becomes dead and brown as the light burns into the ground
Realizing the sin of greed, of gluttony and desire… made something die

Life comes to an end, in a moment of childlike want.
The warm nurturing hand of unknowing death, the hope of something more.
Yet we do not stop, we move on, we scour our life for something else of value
and when the next visit comes, no one will witness the beauty we knew

A moment at the movies

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive

It was, Serendipity
The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind
my Brave Heart fueling
a life in the City of Angels
as I am Sleepless in Seattle
I wonder, if I could Say Anything
Would it be heard, or leave me a Ghost
Trying to nurture this Garden State
Trapping myself in Wonderland
perhaps making me a Patriot
or a poet, like Shakespeare in Love
maybe one day, you’ll Meet Joe Black

Being Average

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive, Survival

There I was, just trying to be me.
Who I needed to be, the person I tried to believe
I wasn’t remarkable, nor very special
Just a person, on a fateful day of significance
Where I could choose, to be more

I did not know much, and I often didn’t care to
My stature was tall, but average enough to often go unnoticed
Some said I was creative, but then usually found me bland
While others thought I was interesting, even when they ignored me

My life was not complex, but it was far from simple
On some days I could be so busy, that all I wanted was rest
In the morning I would drag myself awake, yet never conscious
The afternoon would be typically normal, but never boring
During the evening I would find myself quiet, but inside I was screaming

I was not a person that one would remember, or forget
My actions would define many moments, yet never earn me honorable mention
The things I did well, were balanced by the poor things that no one else took credit for
Yet I, the average person, was without true satisfaction or knowing desire
Simply because I believed how amazing being mediocre could be

The Neverending Poet

Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive, Spiritual

This was without reason or rhyme
A sudden outburst of emotional rheatoric
Fueled by desire, and hidden urges
My thoughts were dark, far more insidious than creative
Yet I wrote each harsh letter, and none of them I could read
They left me wondering if my soul was making me bleed

Oh yes, my addiction to the phrases of my mind
The passionate lust my heart needed to express
and the worry, despair, envy, inspiration, hope, love, and utter lack of self regard
Fueled my hands to fly across the paper trying to capture each thought
Leaving behind letters of red that seemed all too black
The darkest thoughts of myself being burned into reality by desperation and obsession

I tried to stop, to keep myself from cutting my own body against the edges of the world
My mind screamed out of control as my body became sore and numb
and yet my will was shattered by the chaotic barrage of unlabelled feeling
Life became a canvas, spinning in a whirling of color and embelishment
A dream of oblivion that could define itself over and over again,
finding a description for each random idea without any pause

And yet I would be left alone
A simple artist to some
A poet to others
I would be everything they could define me to be
with a reputation, perhaps with even status or false title
and I would think of myself as barely having started