Aug 18 2009
Another poem from Pablo’s
Mum & Dad
You were very here today
as I sat couched
writing @ Pablo’s
a snowy November outside
spilling my soul
the coffee cup translations
the meanderings of a son
prodical worker
paper scrawled rants
in a far off land.
I look
to the highest rock
like everlasting arms
stretching skyward
the blessing of the waiting father
a blimp on the horizon
waving in the air
sending words for the day
and mighty prayers
not lost across oceans
as far as east is from west
home is where you are loved
BlindPoet © Nov 2008
I began writing this last November 20th in Pablo’s in Denver.
Really, looking back it was a prolific day. Such a neat cafe. I had ensconced myself on the couch, surrounded by other Pablo dwellers and over 4 hours or more consumed 9 shots of expresso. So the best coffee, Danger Monkey, but very strong. I didn’t know what to order, so being one uncool and decafed as it were in the truest sense, I stood at the counter, the guy looking at me and I didn’t know what to call what I wanted. I ended up with triple shots, expresso in a small cup. You could get the refill free, and I think they gave me a free refill on the refill. I think I talked Susan to death that week.
This is an affectionate reference to my Mum and Dad who knew they may not see there son again when I dismantled my life and set off for America, but gave him their blessing and support in following his heart to a strange land. And strange it was. I think, and the thought only just occurred to me, as they do, that I thought America was going to be like the older shows I watched as kid on TV, like Lassie or the Beverly Hillbillies, or Disneyland’s tall tales and true. How wrong I was, and I struggled with how different and askew it was.
So here I sat this snowy day in the warmth of Pablo’s on the corner of 6th and Washington. This little kiwi guy, a sail on this huge adventure, missing home and the familiar, but very aware that he was loved. Not just by his family, but also his American girl, and that story is still unfolding and happening. It is a love story. The love story of my life.
