Diary, Must Know, Books, Poetry
I gave the chatgpt3 AI toll these three words “morning coffee poem,” and it came back with this poem:
Morning coffee, black and strong
A aroma that wakes me up
The warmth of the cup in my hand
A ritual that never gets old.
A sip, a taste, a moment of peace
As the world outside starts to stir
The chaos of the day ahead
Is calmed by this simple pleasure.
The rich flavor, the bitter bite
A symphony on my tongue
A reminder that this day is mine
And I am ready to conquer it all.
With each sip, my mind comes alive
Ideas flow, my creativity flows
I am ready to face the day
Morning coffee, my daily dose.
First Poem: “Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses”
by Elliot Fried
Daily I fall in love with waitresses
with their white bouncing name tags
and white rubber shoes.
I love how they bend over tables
pouring coffee.
Their perky breasts hover above potatoes
like jets coming in to LAX
hang above the suburbs—
shards of broken stars.
I feel their fingers
roughened by cube steaks softened with grease
slide over me.
Their hands and lean long bodies
keep moving so…
fumbling and clattering so harmoniously
that I am left overwhelmed, quivering.
Daily I fall in love with waitresses
with their cream-cheese cool.
They tell secrets in the kitchen
and I want them.
I know them.
They press buttons creases burgers buns—
their legs are menu smooth.
Diary, Politics, Books, Poetry
Click on picture to watch “The Hill we Climb”.
Transcript below
WHO learns my lesson complete? Boss and journeyman and apprentice? . . . . churchman and atheist? The stupid and the wise thinker . . . . parents and offspring . . . . merchant and clerk and porter and customer . . . . editor, author, artist and schoolboy? Draw nigh and commence, It is no lesson . . . . it lets down the bars to a good lesson, And that to another . . . . and every one to another still.
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