he stands
under a clear blue sky
sun
directly over head
he holds his offering
high
into the air
a little smoke
rising
then a drifting of blue
away
he offers
to each direction
one to four
singing a little offering song
quietly
beneath his breath
shaman
to the spirits
of north and east
west and south
an offering
in the smoke
now
this is me
I pour my beans
from bowl
into the strainer
chasing
a flukey breeze
that turns me
all the way around
to husk the beans
as I pour them
through the air
a little blue smoke
rises
a coffee smell
I offer these
to each direction
as I pursue the breeze
a worship
into the smokey air
I sing
a grateful song
underneath my breath
this is my coffee day
I roast the beans
© Frank Prem, 2017
September 2017 Poem #30: tba
Frank Prem Poetry 
Another coffee lover! Remember when Coca Cola was all the rage? I think coffee passed it.
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And not nearly so bad on the teeth, I think!
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: )
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Nice one. And I ma a tea drinker but I like this image.
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There is a sacrament to the making of tea, as well, I think =, Anne. The japanese honour it quite well, I believe.
For us, coffee from green to roast to grind and to stove-top has become one of our household rituals.
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We all have our rituals. Nicely captured!
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We do, don’t we/ Always worth a little contemplation, I’ve found. Thank you.
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