I wrote this poem after visiting the Olympic UU Fellowship this summer. It was fun to read it again and I thought I would pass it on to you all:
On an A-framed display they hang,
mugs of every shape and texture—
full spectrum of colors,
some bold, thick and heavy,
one of light china, the handle so small
even two fingers have to cuddle tight to hold it.
The old fashion coffee machine
moans while it heats up,
a language augmented with scent,
prepping the audience
before the sermon.
Of course, the people gathering
will each hear a different message today,
screened through experience and chemistry
and the occasional faulty hearing aid.
But these cups,
they will open their wide throats and
drink the liquid adrenalin
same fragrant stream.
There is a truth here,