Poets and cafes are inseparable. We need the coffee, the table, a little occupied space amid the hustle and bustle to nurture the inspiration. Most of the time we are respectful, minding that the seat we sit on is temporary, and no matter how often we frequent the cafe and buy their coffee and call it our home, it is not. Sometimes, though, we forget. As with any family, poets bicker and quarrel and throw things at each other. When we forget that the cafe is not our living room we run into trouble.
Poets are passionate people with a mysterious mind. It is more of a surprise that we come together as often as we do and only a handful of explosive situations have occurred. This speaks well to the fact that we have basic understanding of our relationship with our environment. When things get out of hand, it is the larger community that suffers. Sometimes individual gets 86’d. Sometimes readings get shut down. But the saddest thing is losing friendship, the lifeline that we all need from each other. The fine prints on the poetic license do not include violence and abuse toward our fellow citizens. Let us use it wisely.
“If you ever doubt my love, hurt me. If there is no reaction, then my love for you is dead.” Passion comes and goes. To sustain loving feelings is a mammoth task. In time we change and grow and become different people then when we first fall in love. There is a lot of stuff to work out if we want to stay together. Most of us fail. Some receive another chance, but most of us are lonely.