Black and White Sunrise

So, a couple of things.

I wrote this the other day and really like it, but it in no way reflects my current disposition. These last couple of months have been some of the best ever, so why such a hopeless, sad poem came sneaking out the other day, I cannot tell-

Secondly, the first two sections were natural, the third was forced enough to make me not even want to put it in. But I am anyway. Eh.


I sit in this bistro,
looking at the microwave,
looking at my dark, bitter coffee that has lost its warmth.
I swirl the grounds that gave the filter the slip
and are now settling at the bottom of my cup.
They awake, dance in a circle, and return
as a blanket to the bottom.

I look at the microwave--

Refusing artificial deliverance,
I cringe and swallow what the cup has to offer.
I continue to sit;

thinking of life and
large cups of coffee:

Unable to finish before growing cold.


Somewhere in the universe
a star cools and buckles
in gravitational collapse.
Many years
Black hole
And no light can escape--


The sun rises with
no color to tell. In
the same way, I feel
in these same shades
of grey. The world
illuminates in this
colorless spectrum
and I reflect: Even
on days where the
sun doesn’t rise in
black and white, it
always sets to the


Laura said...

hmm I think you write good stuff

luke said...

yeah i really like this--it has an interesting spirit that seems to speak to me. you're right about the first two stanzas too.

also have you ever thought about being given a poem as a prophetic sort of thing? like you wrote less of what was in you but something more of or for someone else? just a thought.