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Ori Valentine Aug 2018
I drank an espresso
And met with god
We talked of good days past
His son doesn’t call
My mom ****** me up
In his eyes we’re all just dust
Sally A Bayan Apr 2018
<3 <3 <3

She enjoys her morning espresso
while he savors his mug of cappuccino

she shapes his dimpled face
in her newly wakened mind
he imagines her big brown eyes
gazing like a buck...inquiring, yet dreamy

she hums a lover's lullaby, for him,
each morning, before leaving,
he lets his charcoal pencil play
on his ever ready sketch pads
draws her face with pixie haircut

they think of each other day and night the very same time

yet...not a word is said when their eyes
meet...not an effort done, to break the ice
they'd rather keep things within,
their coffee mugs...witnesses,
to their similar daily practices

what a shame...what a waste!

their elbows, their arms touch in haste
as they hurry....towards the quay,
the ferryboat takes long, they both wait
leaving their untold love go by
along with their unsung lullaby...

it happens daily...without fail
their feelings, bubbling as they sail
but...neither has the guts to bare

how could they let life go on this way?
content with just a secret love affair...
<3 <3 <3


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 5, 2018
...a work of fiction...
macayla Apr 2018
taste of espresso in between my teeth
my caffeinated mind, buzzing with rainbow zig zags
boom. a shock wave wracks my intellect
and a three-dimensional bass is lodged behind my ears.

i can hear everything and nothing
silence is fuzz, with cracks of awkward
hope is brought by tiny silver fish
they swim all over my arms, leaving water tracks on my skin

so i slip,
and stumble over my own feet.
my tongue is tied
i feel myself falling behind.

coffee hits me hard
All rights reserved to Macayla :-) please don't copy/steal, each poem I post is usually something I am proud of.
Infinity Nov 2017
This espresso tastes like poison,
In spite of all I've added to cover the sweet bitterness

I want to release rather than increase
Release rather than increase

My mind is full, from my ears to my neck to my head,

A consistent pressure throbs
It robs me of peace
Of Mind

We all go through it
We are slaves
We are victims
Of long forgotten systems

We live to work, and work to live
Work to eat, and eat to work
An endless cycle of compromise

Open your eyes
Your senses
Smell the prosperity, the disparity
The paradox
Watch the rise of Pandora's Box

Feed, greed, need
I've planted the seeds of doubt
And watched them grow
Into luminous, prosperous trees

They are silhouettes against the sun
And against the backdrop of the moon

You live in a cocoon
Awaiting a metamorphosis that may or may never be
I live in a cocoon
Awaiting a metamorphosis that may
Or may never
Jenny Gordon Aug 2017
Um, um, don't let me parse that out yet.

(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLII)  

What of the two espressos long gone hence?
Perfection, as lunch' fine spread was t'avail.
Eclipsed in ya, one phone call, aught detail
Was likewise, 'cept our dinner, or the sense
Of fleeting time I grapple for now, whence
Oh me!  Now Texas winks at me like's bail,
Ten-gallon hats with crueler heat to scale
Than Lincoln's Land, and lo, a man fr'intents.
It's wonderful to be encouraged fer
All that to fear the LORD. I've missed it too
Long now.  To talk together like's not poor--
Of Scriptures--ah, and with a man.  I do
But fear now losing what's sae precious, were
It mine to have.  Ne coffee's like this brew.

Breakneck speed, and funny, like I mentioned to you earlier, that's exactly what I asked for months ago--you're too perfect, there are not words enough for you.
Jared Hallenbeck Dec 2016
Room temperature murmurs pour out over steaming cups and dark wood.
Groggy eyes and half cocked smiles flock here for a socially acceptable chemical dependence. Staring out a window, I watch the restless streets buzz by.
Many in their way to work. Some to enjoy an ever so needed day off. Others in a hurry to promise company beside a hospital bed. None of which I will ever be positive of.  Cars driving by. Whirring, feet scuffling on the pavement.  Individual existences pass in front of me.

I take a sip. It's always hotter than I'd expect it to be. I never mind it but I never learn my lesson.
Slightly bitter but today I poured too much creamer and that's fine.Different day, different coffee.

Although I'm not alone.  Sitting across from me, a ghost of memories I'll always hold dear to me.

You look beautiful today. You always look just the way I remember.

You didn't wear makeup. You hardly ever did.

Just sit and stare out the window together. Trading obsessive stares on occasion. I could drown in you. But please do drink your coffee. We've got a long day ahead of us.

I wonder how cold the seat is across where you used to sit. I can actually see the etchings of adolescent behavior carved into the wooden seat where your body made itself comfortable. Tracing the perimiter line where your shoulders descend down onto your arms resting so lazily on the table while you enjoy the warmth of your cup.

I try to not live in the past. It's a place that's often falsified, Romanticized. But today is different.
Different day different coffee.

I refuse to live in the present tense today. Let me take your hand and let's guess what each passer by is going to do. Just as the table across from us might question our motives.

Isn't this wonderful? The touch of your skin in my hands. I can feel your heartbeat in me. It's always been there. You've made a place for love to sit and it's nestled comfortably in my heart.  The light catching your eyes in the slightest way. Illuminating the room. Nobody will notice.

But I do.

I always do.

Turning UV rays into a kaleidoscope of warming images. Turning the old, droll walls into magnificent pieces of art.

Oh, my. This cup is getting cold. It must be time to go. I cannot take you with me, my dear. But I will meet you here tomorrow. I hope to find you here and I hope you'll enjoy your coffee.

Kiss me on the cheek and wave me goodbye. I'm considering a warm refill but I think I'll just take with me this Luke warm drink for once.

Different day. Different coffee.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
Espresso Yourself

Word hit like espresso shots,
got that stress of regret you’re best to let it go,
best to express it outta your self tun it into espresso,
or else that regret will fester into gunpowder until it totally explodes,

unload reload,
you’re the gun,
memories are the ammo,
noting is verboten even when forgotten,

this twisted linguistic addict attitude is not an act or a show,

but the derangement of this is entertainment regardless,

and this artist is in demand all around the world,

they want to take my time,
and everything else that I thought was mine,
but I don’t have the time to spare because I’m in a race to nowhere,
trying to find the finish line before I completely lose my mind,

gaining ground in quicksand sick and no one seems to care,
grinding grounds no chitchat i just grab my espresso and get outta there,

there as in here no beer just these coffee beans this is a caffeine affair,

I’ll take a double on the double,
actually if it’s more simple I’ll take a triple,
no milk no sugar no trouble,
just this espresso and these expressions that ripple,

with words hit like espresso shots,
got that stress of regret you’re best to let it go,
best to express it outta your self tun it into espresso,
or else that regret will fester into gunpowder until it totally explodes…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Check yo self
Aaron LaLux Sep 2016
In Sintra,
feeling like a New Age ninja,
can barely type I’m so high,
today I climbed three mountains,

we were a trio,
a girl and another guy,
now I’m alone at my castle,
with nothing but these words I write,

see I’m alone tonight,
and alone has never felt so good,
I’ve made a conscious decision to dedicate my life to these writings,
so that hopefully eventually the unexplainable can be understood,


I write the collective pieces of this puzzle,
that we experience as we exist,
each poem is a piece that falls into place,
until the big picture is what we get,

is not a poem,
is a message in a bottle,
carried across the seas of time,
or actually an ocean in motion,
this is the not so secret ingredient of love potion number 9,

I’m doing fine,
trying to stay on subject,
to appease the public,
without getting to deep into symbolic numerology,

trying to keep it simple,
so we can all understand,
I don’t want to write words that confuse people,
I want to write words that enlighten them,

and in them I mean you,
yes you,
I want to feel you see you hold you be you,
I want to want you without wanting to want you,

and I’m wondering if you’re wanting to want me,
without wanting me too,

it’s starting to get complicated,
I didn’t mean to make it personal,
honestly it could have been anyone,
that received my message in a bottle,

I just wrote it,
I didn’t think anyone would really read it,
I didn’t think I’d sell 100,000 copies of my books,
I didn’t think that you’d look at me and believe I’ve succeeded,

see this,
is all becoming a little much,
so I’ve escaped to Sintra,
where it’s the simple things I love,

and you can find me here,
amongst towering trees and fuzzy ferns,
writing words faithfully,
because I’ve learned you get what you earn,

you get what you earn,
as in you reap what you sow,
and the peace from the tree tastes so sweet,
when you take the time to let it grow,

the Tree of Life,
bears the fruits of our labors,
and all I’m really trying to say,
is you are you’re own best savior,

so see you later,
or not either way it doesn’t matter,
we’ll all be gone in a hundred years no matter what,
but that doesn’t matter because there is no later,

there’s only this moment,
right here right now,
and the question is not if we die,
it’s if we live and if we live then how,

how do we live,
and what do we leave for our children’s kids,
well personally I leave these puzzle pieces,
in the form of poems such as this…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Just a question, okay, well, maybe more than just a question...
Austin Bauer Aug 2016
On Friday mornings
You can find me 
At my local coffee shop
Reading, writing, understanding
It is how I unpack
All the baggage from
This week's long journey
Along the Camino of life. 

It is the dusty old bunk bed 
I rest my body upon. 
It is where I am free 
To dream and dream again.
Here I understand my limits
And regain my strength.
Although I love the scenic overlooks
And the one I travel with,
I need this time.

I don't quite understand why,
But without this 
Momentary solitude,
Everything I've ever wanted
Does not feel
Quite like
Everything I've ever wanted.
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