Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
annh Nov 2019
Paper cups,
Hot chips and sauce;
Sticky fingers dip in for just one more...


I’m thinking ‘grease wagon’ may need some explanation. Not sure whether it’s Ocker, Kiwi, Mainland, or scarfie (i.e. student) lingo but it’s what we’ve always called mobile tuck shops that sell...well, ‘greasies’.

‘I despise formal restaurants. I would much rather eat potato chips on the sidewalk.’
- Werner Herzog
Victoria Feb 2019
although i left, i think my cup is still half full and not half empty
half full because you complete me
full because i’ll see you again
not empty because i’m glad i got to experience you
although i miss your full naked body on mine and the empty plastic cups on your bedside rack
i visited my gf of 3 years for the first time january 3rd to the 17th. coming back to reality was really hard but it inspired me to write a few poems might share the rest
aj Dec 2018
the two of cups
spoke for the two of us
what more is there to say?
what more is there to do than trust?
that the two of cups
is the two of us
Inspired by a tarot reading or two
julianna Jul 2018
my words are measured:
two cups of cold with a hint of
to make it convincing.
I’m genuine(ly measuring out each word that I seem to be spitting out so effortlessly)
spiral-whirl May 2018
i remember your coffee scented hair,
your hot coca smile,
yet i'll never forget that cup of ice in your eyes.
lyle May 2018
mornings brew a coffee-colored universe:
milky way of latte mixes,
spiral galaxies whirl on the caffeine-intoxicated mug
ground beans fell like the Geminid showers,
the aroma danced with rising planets,
and swirling reverse black hole of sweet bitterness lets you taste warmth and satisfaction.

like a shot of caffé espresso,
i would never think twice drinking:
though it scorches the mouth
i'll take the stellar influx,
just give you the taste of heaven
that the cosmic dreams only had.
— to that mug in universe's album art, thank you for inspiring me at three a.m.
Bibek Nov 2017
Revenge itches, where love never reaches,
It itches in the shared cups,                          
                in the shared beds
                in the shared bodies,
But never, in the shared hearts,
For these days, they are not shared

All love is today,
Is a folkdance in a folkworld,
With folks one will never truly love,
But pretend to be loving, Living
How lively!

The roads, the parks, the brothels,
All flood with bodies, not souls
For the vessels are empty,
staring at each other's empty faces,
Prizing empty words to one another,
And mocking anybody different,
How lively!

And in such fragrance too,
Some bear to protest,
The lively call them dead,
In which case, dying is more beautiful
To every human existence that points out the vague fullness and life in it
Poetic T Nov 2017
I never drank out of my
                        empty vessels..

They were expendable

Instead I put Ketchup in them,
            my chips diving deeply.

Every so often a chip would sink
       into this cup sinking slowly...

Only to be found once the potato morsels
                had clung to every tomato..
Äŧül Jul 2016
Her charm became undone
Exact moment as her cups
Came off for some other

Her hot passion with me
Sadly became an addiction
Videoconferencing with lots

And she proclaimed proudly of it
Unaware that it is not a good habit
She surely used to be cute until then
Now her imperfections come to the fore

My HP Poem #1097
©Atul Kaushal
Next page