Morning Pulse


Once befriended by the bitter guile of my morning coffee,

A fresh morning at brew, beans of a Caribbean land.

At my desk, a window open,

Opportunity, it does beckon.

As the ideas they flow at the whistle of the wind,

New born thoughts, a tender nature of which the birds do sing.

An unearthly realization,

A pen and a mind,

A symphony of meaningful participation.

A new sense of self belief,

To a writer, a gift.

To himself, a talent distinct.