Coffee Dreams

And they're all singing songs that mean nothing to me
And a man leaps about in my head.
His blazer's b'dazzled with braided gold rope
And his hair tosses 'bout gingerly.
For the music he hears, loud as bumble bee tears
I mean bees, I mean beers,
I mean BEARS!
And now big bouncing balls, roll into the hall
That was painted by hand in the year
That the godfather, grandfather, great father, (god)
Birthed culture and all things supreme,
But the gold paint and carved wood look suddenly dull
With bears rolling big bouncy balls
And shouting out
"Cheers! To long happy years"
As they drink from their frothy brown mugs.

Things I Love That Are Not Mine

One Art - Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.