Last Poems from the Coffee Cafe [three poems]

1

Live on T.V. [The Rating War]

"Ratings went up last week," the fat, rich T.V. station manager said.

"Due to what coverage…?" asked my wife.

"It was a battle in Iraq (or was it Afghanistan?)

"I'm not sure but the enemy just killed one-hundred U.S. Marines: Blacks Jews Spanish Poor Whites!

"The analysis will now repeat the scenes (verbally) on the radio— cash in, while they can!...

#1264 3/7/06

2

Pale-Faced

It took a while, but the while was willing to wait; pale-faced one that never saw lightness—, lightness being something you give-off, radiate, and receive; but it never comes from a pale face,

either way. This maybe hard to believe, but for some it takes a lifetime to conceive.

#1265 3/7/06

3

Bitter Patience [At the Bookstore Café]

When the budget came to mind and her friend discussed it out loud with her—she delivered the verdict (after two-hours of hot clashes) a cool decision prevailed…

there are points to this high silence prier to her verdict (her friend tripping over her tongue, a cracking of her voice,

somewhat; the clock ticking) her friend now says (clears her throat, holds herself ready) says: "Guilty!

that is life."

"Not much leftover…;" says the bewildered. She forgets a bill of $34.00. (Woops, less now.)

Speaking in a soft voice, mingled with raw reality, she is spending more than she is acquiring (easy to do I say in my mind); she sees the circumstance, says,: "I got enough for some white rice…." They both get up from their chairs, leave the table, books here and there, "Bye," they say with a smile (each); leave with bitter patience.

#1266 3/7/06

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Coffee House Poet (a poem)

(Written at the Coffee House)

Here is where I meet my friends, have long conversations; glances, can't remember all their names— (all the time) my coffee cup often jumps, when they come by, breaking up the moment of my concentration….

Women want to borrow chairs—often around my table; I'm a regular here—; everyday until-night, from three to almost midnight… writing, reading, drawing, it's what I do, I'm a poet.

Three's the professor, from the U of M; and Johannes, a poet and friend; and then, there is Papa Bear, he works at the Airlines, worried, ‘Northwest,' is going out of business

And then there is Gene, he likes erotica; and Kathy, she's a Faulkner fan; and Royce, a lawyer, he has no real choice; and Mathew, he's a writer of songs, and music

And then there is Janet, she's loves the word of God; and Michelle, she likes the law also; and there's Cindy W., a poet who loves ‘Plath,' and Gary and Sue, book lovers too, and me, a plain poet.

I have learned much from all my friends, at the Coffee House, at the B & N, in Roseville—and that we all love to inhale the odor of Coffee, books and conversation; I think fate has brought us here; Amen!

Dedicated to my friends at the Coffee House; #1257 3/2/06 revised 2/5/06