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mothwasher Jul 2020
my reincarnation is that of a treasured cup

i’m almost entirely certain that my death will play a role in the cup’s creation

whether it be the clay I molded my alien hitch hiking signs into

or its maker lays back and reads in a hammock the same hours I do

just half way around the world

once my soul has leaked and drained through hell’s piping system

and what’s left escapes through condensation

the clouds will carry me to a bazaar

where the ceramic painting class is struggling to use oils

with rainy weather

in ******* up the work of most attendees

several of them will hide me in backs of cupboards

until they move or my soul dies of dust

one, if god allow two

painted mugs

are repeatedly stacked with layers of sediment

coffee, *****

tea, *****


tea with *****

a cigarette accidentally

my father should feel proud to know

his son’s vices followed him through the afterlife

that i got a nice home

that i accepted leaving parts of my soul in old cupboards

(Dad), i didn’t mean to contact the aliens so recklessly,

and i feel like I have to get off my *** if i read too much

i’m sorry i thought smoking was non-conformist

you’re right, i lied a couple of times

it cost just as much integrity as you said it would

i know i will do much better as a treasured cup
JGuberman Apr 2020
Will anyone remember how I placed the empty mug
On our bannister
At the top of the stairs.
Like everything now,
It was waiting
Like all of us,
To be cleansed
To be filled
To be emptied
And start again.
MicMag Sep 2019
C8H10N4O2  so  softly  calling
Feel  my  energy  level  falling
I­t  faintly  whispers  my name (psss)
But now I'm just stuck stalling     (uh)
I  try but just can't break  free        (so)
"How about some herbal tea?"     (no)
Your  suggestion  is  appalling  (ugh)
But  coffee?  I'm  al­ways  keen
Need that daily hit of caffeine
Reworked previous poem into the shape of my beloved coffee mug
farhan May 2019
I have few mugs
Porcelain mugs
All alike, same in color
I pick one and prepare coffee
Cannot distinguish the one used before
All were alike, same in color
I wish to make one my favorite
But any mark I make would be artificial
How I wish? A natural mark would separate one
Today I observed one with a slight difference
A minor crack at the brim
The mugs are washed
A mishandle would have caused
It is not ugly
It is no less useful
Naturally made, just a slight crack
Now both useful and notable
It is now my favorite mug
True for humans isn't it? We are all usually alike. A slight inconsistency separates us from the crowd. So long as we are useful and and not ugly from within.
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
knocked off the nightstand,
tonight it rains
cold coffee.
Fourteen of us wrote life and each a singular way of looking at a mug. I was number three. I don't want to risk speaking for all and posting the whole poem without consent
Nikos Kyriazis Oct 2018
What are you drinking sir?
Oh, inside this wooden mug
several things exist

Stalks from the flowers of rainbow
and some molten clouds of autumn

Petals from the maize shrubbery yonder
and some drops from youth's lunacy of course

All you need
for the upcoming winter
Aashutosh Shahi Oct 2018
I wish I could fly,
like an eagle in a sky;
I wish I could use a hug,
like a warm coffee in a mug;
I wish I could swim like a fish,
and could also delete one of my bish;
I wish to see everybody clearly,
all those who treated me severely;
I wish to have Newton's mind,
So that I could do something good for mankind;
I wish to have a friend,
Who wont hesitate to share things till the end;
I wish to tell that girl how much I love her,
because I think we are just opposite of concur;
I wish to have a magic door,
So that I could run away whenever I'm abhor ;
I wish to live a peaceful life,
But it is not possible because everyday I have this new strife.
Otis Apr 2018
A dull doll faced mug
Glinted by unknown light
Dried a drip of ancient drink
Dripped down quite

Hands clasped tight around
A mug of occult confession
Eyes teared as such
A sorrowful expression

Dappled light through glass
Chair scrapped along floor
Spotted plastic tablecloth
Shut tight wooden door

Homemade woollen tea cosy
Lumps of bricked sugar
Kettle whistling dolefully
Clicking stained cooker

Futile arms waving
Closed taught eyes
Sigh of calming thoughts
"Please, no more lies"
taia Aug 2016
a broken mug.
a shattered piece of pottery lying in a puddle of three hour old coffee
(black with two sugars, just the way you like it).

that was the last straw for you.
the end of us.

i didn't mean to knock it over.
i was just trying to move my easel,
but in the process the handle got caught and your cup went flying.

against the door frame it hit,
the thundering smash amplified in my horror.
it was like watching a trainwreck in slow motion.

i quickly tried to clean it up,
but as i heard your footsteps going down the stairs i could feel my heart sink.

when you entered the look on your face made me freeze in my tracks.
the twisted rage in your eyes was enough to send me cowering.

apologizing was my only strategy,
wails of "i'm sorry!" rang through the house.
you raised your hand to strike me,
and i waited...

but nothing came.
you stood above me, as powerful as a hurricane, but you did not move.
instead you opened your mouth.

every hurtful thing you could think of came spewing out,
digging up incidents from months ago,
you knew exactly what would tear me to pieces.

i sat there taking it all in,
hoping that you'd let it all out.
but every word that seeped through your teeth was a slash to my heart;
i think i would have rather had the fist.

and then the worst thing you could've said-
"we're over."
just like that you were storming out of the house, grabbing your things.

i was crying and pleading, begging you to stay,
but you were gone.
i watched you get in your car and drive away.

another broken relationship.
you left me crumbled on the ground sobbing, only one thought running through my mind.

"it was just a mug."
inspired by the museum of broken relationships, this is how my last relationship ended.
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