Jun Lit 1h

nagsasayaw nang hubad
ang aromang umaaso,
kumakabog ang dibdib,
nanginginig ang mga braso,
daluyong kang raragasa
sa lalamunan kong tuyo,
ang tambalang pait-tamis
pulot at dagtang pinaghalo.

[like a stripteaser dancing
the aromatic vapors rising
my heart fast beating
my arms shivering
you’re a storm surge rushing
through my throat drying
the bitter and the sweet teaming
like honey and sap mixing.]

Aurora 2d

a sip of yesterday morning's coffee reminds me of you
cold and bitter and "what else would you expect"; you'd say
i keep drinking, knowing i could and should drink something better
but i don't, i can't, and i won't
this is life how i choose to make it;
an endless cycle of coffee I'll never drink when I'm supposed to, but will always finish

Coffee on Monday morning
carries a richer aroma
and a sweeter flavor
than the same brew
in the same cup
any other day of the week.
If our minds, our experiences
define so many of our tastes,
consider the satisfying joy a handshake
brings to a lonely old hermit.
Imagine the luscious splendor
of a long walk during a summer drizzle
after the endless confinements
of hospitals, doctors, and the funeral home
when she departed this realm.

All things are connected.
Vexren4000 Jul 17

Java scripts,
And cups of coffee,
Caffeine flowing like scripts on pages,
Making the man in the cubical,
Capable of dragging through another day,
At the office.  
Just another day,
In the life of an American man.

Ron Gavalik Jul 17

Out for a walk one saturday morning
I passed an antique store..
In the window sat a cat
with an all white fluffy coat.
The cat appeared hardened,
probably from a life of confinement,
and from the daily onslaught of customers
that insist on petting its furry back.

I stopped at the window
and that cat gave me a good once over.
He and I were compatriots in a mad world,
both of us shamed for our truths,
both of us loved in convenient moments.
After a minute, I moved on
to grab a coffee and a cigar,
secure in the knowlege
I'd made a new friend.

Reminiscing.
Veracity Jul 17

Everybody loves coffee
It became Miguel's song
But everyone needs a whole lotta milk in it
They can't handle it strong

When I say strong I mean black
Black has a very wide range
Everyone loves the light end of the spectrum
And I find that quite strange

Tanned and caramel are popular
They are exotic and sexy
But chocolate is not attractive
Apparently dark is ugly

Being dark-skinned is looked down upon
As if it is a deadly sin
Many many beautiful women
Feel the need to bleach their skin

Many men have a light preference
Some women reject melanin in chocolate genes
And it is these same people
That do not know how to treat kings and queens  

Dark people hate how they look
Because no one gives them a reason not to
They should be taught to love themselves
There is undeniable beauty in African roots

They have hair like fluffy cotton candy
Those with the skin of midnight
They do not need makeup
For they have a natural highlight

Their wide noses are cuter than buttons
And they glisten just when they sweat
If you are lucky enough to kiss their thick lips
You will surely never forget

No one is shaming other skin tones
The point is that dark skin is gorgeous too
Every single person is beautiful
So don't make coffee turn blue

There should not have been a need
For this poem to be written
Because at the end of the day
Beauty shouldn't correlate with the color of your skin

There are coffee stains on my notebook.
soft brown plots colonize the corners,
Smearing the ink into almost unreadable scratches.
I love my daily coffee so much that I let it ruin my note book.
And like my morning coffee you have become a staple in my life.
A part of my routine,
Coffee, class, and then you.

And I do not write love poems.
The words never fit into my mouth right,
talking about love always felt like tossing marbles in my mouth,
blurry and unbalanced.
They never came out how I wanted.
But for you I'm willing to try,
I will fight my own tongue until I can tell you what I mean.
Until I can say that I haven't gone a day without coffee since the sixth grade,
and that the idea of going a day without you makes me sick.
Until you know that I will hold your hand like the handle of my favorite mug,
that I'll love any chip or crack you have.
And if you ever feel bitter,
Please know that I will be right here,
because I take my coffee black
And I'm not scared of being burned
But like my morning coffee you’ve started to leave stains on my sleeves,
my hands are tinted from all the times I’ve held yours,
and when I look down and see the small blotches,
I smile,
Because I think of you.

Rose Jul 15

This fear comes from knowing you won't be with me tomorrow
When the sun shines through my morning pane
I so envy her capacity
To warm your skin with her touch
A warm mug of early coffee
A holy trinity
My dear it's enough to tie my shoes up in knots.
I'll shuffle for miles
Dragging my feet in knotted chains behind your horse
A hostage crossing the desert on foot
Then crawling on cobblestone
Heels over head to your door step
I'm head over heels but you're fine

Joe

The reward for twelve long years:
A black graduate’s cap
And a red ceramic cup?
Little did I know,
A welcome to real life
Where I would sit and sip
Rare carefree moments
With bittersweet Joe,
Now, my oldest and truest friend.

©Ladyofravenhill
A poem From a long time ago.
Terry Collett Jul 13

She was a red head
wearing a red dress
smoking a cigarette
sipping her coffee.

You were
sitting beside her
black suit
blue shirt
black tie
holding a cigarette
between fingers.

I think he suspects
she said.

Suspects what?
You said.

That I'm seeing
someone else.

You took a drag
on the smoke
does he suspect who?
You said.

Not yet
but he will fish
and get to find out.

She inhaled smoke
and looked at the guy
behind the counter
serving another man
along the bar.

Let him fish
I don't give a damn
you said.

Maybe we should
go off together
she said.

Go where?
You said.

Anywhere
as long as it's
away from him
she said
turning
to look at you.

I ain't going
no where
you said
if you want
to leave the jerk
come to my place
he won't find you there
and if he does
he'll have me
to see him off.

She looked away
and inhaled smoke again.

He has a temper
and a gun
she said
exhaling smoke
as she spoke.

Up to you Honey
take it or leave it
I don't run no place
you said.

The jukebox
started up
some Elvis guy singing.

She sat silent
moodily gazing
at her mug of coffee.

I'll see how he goes
she said
can't leave just yet
see you tomorrow
afternoon?

Sure
you said
you bet.

A MANA ND WOMAN IN A COFFEE BAR IN 1958
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