Coffee house home

Again, at home

Away, in a coffee house

Not my own

The sounds

Background noise 

Coffee grinder

Someone's phone

Playing a video

Interrupting the noise

With a foreign sound

Tinny, alien

But in my language

Not understandable

As if in another 

Tongue.

The cup, hot steaming

Sits waiting for my touch

Black, really deep brown

A little bitter

Biting the back of my mouth

And realizing the promise 

That comes with its smell

now and again

The movement of 

My fellow patrons

Ordering, carrying their 

Prizes to their tables

Two men talk of their plans

Two women talk about their work

Refilling their mugs 

And continuing

Caffeine fueled ambition

Coffee scented hope

In this chaos, ordered, 

I am myself. 

Athiest

God existing where?
In the minds of believers
I do not live there

fried egg

Teflon pan butter
Egg sits and fries lazily
Egg over easy

He asked me
Do you believe in God
I said No
And he said why not
So I
Told him this
That while I had seen many things
To convince me God exists
My daughters face
Seconds after she was born
My son's laugh
When he is watching some
Ridiculous show
My dog's sleeping form
The dogwood in the back yard in full bloom
Pink blossoms glowing in
The Afternoon sun
I had also seen things
To show me his Absence
The wars that continually rage
All over the planet
The hatred people have for
Others who are different
The child dying from a disease
He did nothing to receive
I see people search for
God, mostly to have someone to blame
For their failures and someone to
Credit with their successes
I see people use God to
Condemn others for simply
Loving someone
For trying to live a life
Deserved, a life loved
I see families split
Over nothing
But a misguided belief
In an absent God
No, faith doesn't satisfy me
I cannot simply accept
Because in simply accepting
People found themselves led to
Gas chambers
Or clearings in the South American Jungle
And disappearing
Or simply stopping living
Waiting for the next life
No, I told him.
I don't believe in God.
He said OK
I kinda Get it
And lifted his beer
And drank.

Her Eyes

Jason Murray

So dark

Her eyes

Iris bleeds 

Into the pupil

The first time 

I saw them

Fell deep into 

Those pools

So deep 

I couldn't climb out

Hair floating 

In a halo 

Around her 

Perfect face

How it snares me

Traps me

Takes me in 

And comforts me

In its hold

Her hands

Small, blunted nails

Touching my face

And I drifted off

Asleep on the floor

Late for work

She simply had

To kiss me

And I thrilled

Lifted deep 

In my soul

Captured, trapped

And Oh!

What a wonderful

Trap

May I stay in it 

Forever. 

February 1st, 2016

The night is rainy
wet streets and dark
the street lamps strain
to light their small world
and provide the small
sense of security
as people splash in and
out of the puddle of light
left like a stain on the sidewalk
this light
like a moon
suspended above us
sees everything directly below it
it does not see the cat
skulking beneath the car
the dog in the house
silently barking
through the window at the cat
it does not see the lovers argue
while sitting in the car
neither getting out
it is blind
to the pigeon that sleeps
securely on its top
while into its sight
walk friends laughing
at an unheard jokes
lovers who holding hands walk slowly
reveling at their brief
privacies
as they move from light to light
protected in their darkness
revealed by the street lamp
left there by city planners
to help everyone feel better, safer, seen, unseen.