The paper rustles in my hands,
Coffee, thick, strong, sweet sips warm,
Comforting as the steady purr of the cat in my lap.
Nothing on television, no excuse to have it on.
Heavy perfume of bacon after noon.
Another section of news pondered upon.
Time to reflect on life's blessings,
Thanks for the kids in slippers at your feet with comics.
Such a gift, time well spent.
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Venerable Sunday afternoons ebb and flow,
Through the labyrinth of thanksgiving service,
A garland of praises charmed
I feel a thousand years old
sitting here
smoking the ages away
my heart and my head
filled with regret
filled with promise
some
This place is paradise,
I'm sure,
but sometimes I need more than warmth.
It's with beach towels over shoulders
and flip flops
by Scott Kinney
Sunday afternoon
after the morning church is through
I'm usually sitting around
wondering just what to do
there's not much
going
You came into my room unannounced after years
and we played our old parts just like stars
"what do you want?""." you asked
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Poetry: Sunday afternoons
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