empty cup that fills my mind – down to earth man
sips the ground; a scent that erodes all other scents
swirling steam, a bittersweet dream – fruitful energy
given by the swirl of it’s heat; as my tongue ripens
to this flavour in my cup

the days are always a rush; a cup of coffee sort of helps
me slow it all down – thrown seeds to grow in my heart,
rejoicing in the love I have for my morning drink. reaping
for more, coffee seeds planted in the coffee machine.

cos some days I work myself like a machine – I need to
oil the machine, with the fuel from that coffee bean
the goosebumps rise on my skin, I’m in love with this
              coffee bean

Escape
a roundel by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count it not a bean.

He may question me and counter this and that;
I care not: I will answer just as I mean.
   Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
   I never plan to be in his prison lean.

Love strikes me from his roster, short and flat,
And he is struck from my books, just as clean,
Forevermore; there is no other mean.
   Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
   I never plan to be in his prison lean;
   Since I am free, I count it not a bean.

**

Original text:

Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am fre, I counte him not a bene.

He may answere, and seye this or that;
I do no fors, I speke right as I mene.
    Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
    I never thenk to ben in his prison lene.

Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene
For ever-mo; [ther] is non other mene.
    Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
    I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
    Sin I am fre, I counte him not a bene.
              Explicit.

my heart belongs to tofu
soy milk runs through my veins
silken or firm; dressed up or naked
straight from the fridge and straight to my heart
dine with a passion, this curd is an art

juicy and delicious, chewy gooey soft
bless me with your bean, bless me with your froth
on the top of my latte, you glisten in the sun
oh soy, my boy, my joy; you are my life blood

look at you
with your ocean colored eyes,
sun kissed cheeks,
and coffee bean colored hair

you look as if
you were painted by

Norman ******* Rockwell himself

He is the sunrise over the black hills
He is the feeling from which my soul spills

He is the beating of my heart
He is the pain of being apart

He is my song
He is where I belong

He is amica mea

Let me flick your bean
              Till you grow peas
                             Of ecstacy.
And I swallow everyone
                                 Moistly.

The green beans let out a sigh. Their
Fear simmering in their salt. At
That moment, that sigh gave in to
A similar fear, the fear of one very
Unfortunate group of coffee beans,
Next to be ground up and drank, right
In front of their brethren, who will
Also sigh in fear because there is
Nothing else that they can do
But sigh in fear. At that point,
The man, the monster that causes
Beans to sigh in fear, drinks the
Blood of those beans that sigh,
Those beans that fear, and he
Himself will sigh in contentment,
In a lack of fear, because he has
No idea that he himself is nothing
More than a bean, not actually
Any greater than a green bean,
A coffee bean, or just about any
Other kind of bean; the only
Real difference is that man is
The only bean that affords the
Luxury of exercising presence of
Mind to choose how and when
They sigh; in the face of fear, or
Reveling in their complete and total
Lack of general acknowledgment.

Broke, sitting with half plate
Pasta, butter, spice
Shuffle through my old clothes
I used to look nice

What is nice, but smaller?
Smaller, smaller, still
String bean and potatoes
Go fine together

The grocer tries to tell me,
"Divide, conquer, divide."
"What is nice, but smaller?"

I guess the grocer's right