Poem By Val Morehouse

Bare feet carry that first cup of
morning to you full of night’s
disagreement black and
bitter without sweet apology.

That is the way it should be.
Truth that you drink in and return to
me empty of sleep’s confusion,
but filled with possibility,

it’s steam evaporated by the sweat
of forgiveness worked smooth
as new bread that bubbles and rises,
cupping the darkness inside its white gift.

Comments about Coffee

Wonderful use of metaphor in the second stanza, particularly. I like what you see through the poetry panes of your soul. Love, Sandra

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Other poems of MOREHOUSE


You touch me and taste pain,
a salt lake
beached and betrayed
by its beginning.

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I have been ambushed, startled of late by
days once lost, the unimportant rising
with a sudden star-burst of insight;
gone nova when I heard my own voice reading

Poem For The Inside Of Your Wallet

It is my address on the blank
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No sorrow. No regret.

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My husband and I
entwining near together
bud, leaf, and flower.

Hunter (Haiku)

Dawn's red cap early
over silver spoor tracking
dewprints of the moon.