the beat

this paper and pen
laying on my bed
looking through
drift glass and grey moss
into the forest
the birds say good morning
as I blow this poem
with the rythmn of the universe
and sip my cup of me
thinking of the poets
over morning coffee
black ink blots
on the tables
"Venice West"
the launching pad
for a million songs
on the beach
the heart pounding drums
give birth
to the Beat
a new generation
of hope
for our future

shanna