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I am a boulder.

I used to go to the beach to look for rocks
There was a million rocks along the seaside
Sometimes I’d pick a sea rock up from the sand

one in a million

the rock didn't care.
but I am different for I am a boulder.
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It was nine
The weather was cold
I went to the classic café
And ordered my favorite coffee

Afterwards, I saw you in the corner
Who would have thought
We will meet again
After years

In same place
Where we met once
And decided to part ways
Daivik Nov 2020
Drops of rain
On the window pane
Fall down in sweet misery

Sipping tea
Transports me
To a place where I've never been

The waiter calls
I don't seem to care
Neither does he

The clock has stopped
and the world has paused
So what ,if only momentarily

At café de tranquillité‌‌
Andrus Nov 2020
Maybe one day
We’d run into each other
Outside a cafe like this
In the heart of Paris

Two strangers who have
been in love for years

Norman Crane Sep 2020
A billiard table imprints its damp shadow
on a yellow wooden floor. The game still
unbegun, mere fragment of the sorrow
felt by the patrons whose wilted heads will
still be here tomorrow, if tomorrow comes.
Red walls distended by burning lamps
and burned out hearts beating blood through ear drums:
Reverie to the night god /   Dreaming tramps
drowning in their heads in lakes of absinthe
color of the ceiling better than being
awake but indefinitely absent.
The lamps blink, eyes floating, speak all-seeing:
Vincent, let us meet before you entreat
the crows out of your head into the wheat.
Inspired by Vincent van Gogh's painting The Night Café.
Sherlene Sep 2020
The clock strikes at 2 pm,
While you stare blankly at the coffee half empty,
You watched the water vapour formed into thin cloud,
Vanished into thin air as time slipped away.

The conversations in a cozy cafe became louder,
Everyone's conversations became part of unnecessary music in your ears.
They sang about life's trouble,  
Questioned the whereabouts of their food,
Pounded if they should get a dessert.
And then, it went to silence again.
Your gaze drifted off,
Back to your troubled mind,
And suddenly you heard them again.
Tryniti Aug 2020
I drive myself to the cafe
Cracking a smile as I let my fear fade
Let the music in my ears take me away
It may have been cold, but I was living in the shade

Working up the courage to drink alone
Never allowing myself to enjoy what I love
Freezing in fear, I turn to stone
But today I drive myself to rise above

To a place with voices, fresh pastries, warm coffee, smiling faces
Swirling, twirling, I'm surrounded by choices
Wood and marble, rough wool and soft laces

Pouring a cup into the depth of my soul
I breath out and finally remember how to let go
Can't I find my own way to be whole?
Filled with coffee and music, I can finally flow ~
Diljeev Jul 2020
This once I dreamed about
a rainy day in Paris,
when I saw you out of the blue
nailing the business grey,
I subtly walked across the bridge
hoping to run into you which is
exactly what I did,
sorry for the coffee spill
one can't possibly be allowed to
look that good in business grey.
With all the catching up to do,
towards a café near the tower
we made our way.
Amidst the anecodets
and the laughs,
time passed and the café
now turned into a bar,
not wanting the day to end
deep down I'd slowly pray.
Now it was midnight
silence echoing in the streets
and then came the two,
completely wasted,
wandering around and giggling away,
stopped by a bridge when you asked me
"who knew we'd meet again like this."
I replied "I knew... I knew
all along the way.",
everything that followed after this was
consequential to the beauty in this day,
That's when I woke up,
adding another one to the list of
dreams I hope turn into reality someday.
b e mccomb Jun 2020
there’s an open
wound on main street
and i wish people would
stop asking about it
because every question pulls
the hole a little wider

something was always
just a little bit

a constant drip
in the fridge

a fruit fly trapped
in the bake case

missing corners
of floor tiles

pictures hanging
slightly crooked

one foot of a table
unscrewed to a wobble

the rattle
of the heater

smiles from those
i couldn’t trust

a tiny pinprick of
stress behind my eyes

every year was
the year that would
make it or break it

so nobody was
except those who
couldn’t see the scuffs

last year
things were supposed
to be so good
everyone talking
mad **** about their
incredible ideas

i had a few
ideas of my own
nobody ever had to
teach me how to
dream big
overexert myself
and fall hard

the quiche crusts stuck
to the bottoms of pans

and there was no way to
get the slice out
without the whole entire
thing falling apart

i might have been
the first slice to go

but at least i got
out of there

before the hand that
pulled me out
was the hand that
dropped the pan

a glass pie plate
shattered and
the way things were
supposed to be suddenly


and i’m still
on the sidewalk
staring at the
empty shell of
something i once loved

big hopes
big dreams
big plans
small town
too small to
hold them all

every piece of my
future points
arms of a clock
working their way
into the past

it’s not in how
the damage was done
but in how you
heal from it

there’s an
open wound on
main street
maybe if we gave
south street stitches
we could pull it closed

but still i question
my existence as if
scones and coffee
and thursday mornings
before sunup were
the only things that
gave me

they were

maybe people
pull themselves into
an orbit around that
which keeps them grounded

an orbit of
routine and the
dissonance needed
to stir ice cubes
in a plastic cup
to create peace
in the moment
of chaos

or maybe
the one place
that always felt
like home to me
was just a cafe
on the four corners
and now there’s
an open wound
not so much
on main street
but the pocket of my
heart where hope lives
copyright 2/17/20 by b. e. mccomb
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
If You Come to San Miguel
by Michael R. Burch

If you come to San Miguel
before the orchids fall,
we might stroll through lengthening shadows
those deserted streets
where love first bloomed ...

You might buy the same cheap musk
from that mud-spattered stall
where with furtive eyes the vendor
watched his fragrant wares
perfume your ******* ...

Where lean men mend tattered nets,
disgruntled sea gulls chide;
we might find that cafetucho
where through grimy panes
sunset implodes ...

Where tall cranes spin canvassed loads,
the strange anhingas glide.
Green brine laps splintered moorings,
rusted iron chains grind,
weighed and anchored in the past,

held fast by luminescent tides ...
Should you come to San Miguel?
Let love decide.

Published by Romantics Quarterly, Poetry Life & Times and Muddy River Poetry Review. Keywords/Tags: San Miguel, vacation, summer, love, affair, cafe, cafetucho, anhingas, cranes, sea, tides, bay, moorings, green, brine
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