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Motorcycle Journey to Coffee Collective collab by John and Dan

Motorcycle Journey to Coffee Collective    
     
Going There by John:
 
The windblown scent of agave    
reminds me of the half-drunk tequila bottle.  
As the stars gather in the New Mexican sky, I say,  
“Dan, Pegasus is high in the bowl of night.  
This bodes well for a fortunate venture.    
What do you say we skip town  
and head south of the border?”  
Our Harleys have gathered dust    
for many a moon  
but with some tuning are ready  
for our bat out of hell ride  
under the black hat night.  
Mexico turns into a golden cloud  
from desert to jungle  
where pyramid power emanates  
from Palenque ruins in the epicenters  
of a dream within a dream.  
But Dan points south    
where Costa Rican cloud forests  
are mystic mists.  
There, monkeys howl in boughs born of legend.  
And our wheels roll under the Panamanian moon  
to cross the Puente Centenario.  
We are bound for the Incan holy land  
where a Puma Punku ley line    
deepens harmonic convergence    
to my cry, “This is it!”  
 
Coffee Harvest Dance:  
 
We gather native wisdom like lucky beans.  
We put our hands to the harvest  
just like our workers  
whose pay is equal to ours.  
And the aroma of the bean sacks  
marks the end of the day  
when we collect ourselves  
to find romance with earthen maidens.  
With a new footstep stomp  
we honor the women    
of the Peruvian revolution  
while giving our old hearts a workout.  
The senorita magic is as black    
as the ace of spades    
but as inviting as love in the Andes.  
When time stands as still as midnight  
we partake of the crop  
whose organic fusion    
is sun-ripened Arabica  
brewed into a love potion  
for ladies and gents.  
We float in the spirit of the Urubamba River    
that lies in the sacred valley,    
in the Andean highlands    
whose celestial counterpart  
is known in Quechua as the Willka Mayu    
or heavenly river    
that gives life in the lean season.  
 
The Ride Home by Dan:
 
We are always riding with the stars,
The scent of coffee fills our nostrils by morning,
The sounds of senoritas dancing by night,
Even as trail dust covers our bandanas by day.

The rumble of the engines has carried us on,
Past the Coffee Triangle and white arabica flowers of Clumbia,
Around the pyramids of the ancients,
High into the Andes and on to Puma Punkhu,
Ruins older than the fall of Atlantis greet us,
And there are so many stars out that I believe we can see old poets,
Dancing in the sky and whispering lost verses,
I could not have made this ride alone.

Now is the time for a campfire,
Because in the cold light of dawn,
We must both begin the long journey home.

The Amazon makes the Rubicon look tiny,
And we must treasure each friend found along the way,
To places we once knew,
Yet never remain the same.

I have old episodes of Art Bell replaying in my mind,
For out here we could find any mystery in the universe,
This place is wild and untamed.

If anything strange were to cross this night sky so dark,
We would never miss it,
I've seen at least three falling stars and four floating satellites,
Up where the Milky Way is bright.

Tomorrow we'll rattle the old percolator,
Right before the engines rumble,
Coffee made from the waters of the highest lake of the South.
goldenmyst
Written by goldenmyst
Published | Edited 6th Oct 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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