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Ron Fredman

Ron Fredman

Former journalist and fundraising exec writing daily about the small absurdities that make us smile.

Poetry Without Motion

1 min readOct 11, 2025

A foggy brain, an empty pot, and a rhyme‑stumbling ode to the world’s most necessary bean

Hi all.

I woke up too early
My head in a fog
I slipped out of bed
And stepped on the dog

Coffee I cried
Coffee I need
I walked to the kitchen
To do the good deed

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Fill it with water
Fill it with grounds
Turn on the pot
And watch it go round

Except nothing happened
I sat there confused
Not a drip nor a drop
I was hardly amused

What is this, I cried?
Until I did spy
The pot it was empty
The filter was dry

No water, no grounds
No think, no drink
It’s a terrible thing
And boy, does it stink

You figure this prose
Is easy as pie?
But coffeeless brains
Just sit there and cry

So, if this ditty
Ain’t very pretty
Blame it on coffee
And please give me pity.

Stay well all…and pour me a cup. Quickly. Before I start poeting again.

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Ron Fredman
Ron Fredman

Written by Ron Fredman

Former journalist and fundraising exec writing daily about the small absurdities that make us smile.