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Zack Ripley Jun 2019
I walk up to the counter ready to place an order to go.
With coffee and cookie in tow,
i head to my favorite spot and get ready for the show.
3..2..1 let's go!
What's the show you ask?
I don't know! It's different every day
and plays whether the sky is blue or gray.
It could be a traffic jam,
a man trying to wash people's cars,
someone getting arrested,
or even a guy in a costume saying he's an alien from mars. Whatever plays that day, it never gets old.
I get to learn about the people of my city
while staying out of the cold
My 50th poem! This poem was inspired by someone suggesting writing a poem about something you would see in a coffee shop.
Matterhorn Feb 2019
I wonder,
Do you hold others
To the same exacting standard
As your razor-sharp bangs?
Is that why I've never
Heard your voice?
Why I've never seen your mouth
Form any other expression than that
Pretty, perfect grimace?
"You have beautiful eyes,"
I want to say;
But they remain downcast,
Accentuating your general
Aura of discomfort.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
Brandon Chutuk Jan 2019
Fortuitous are my glances
Through coffee shop windows
As the strangers pass by
In cars and by heavy step

What fleeting glimpses
Of lives I'll never know
Exist beyond this glass portal
Founded with warm drink in hand

And I think of their lives
What drives them to pass
To venture the places they're off to
And experience that which I've never dreamt

And fortuitous as am I
To browse the wonder
That exists in the heat of other's glow
Through coffee shop windows
Matterhorn Jan 2019
From the back of the line—
Well, second to the back—
I see her there;
She is beautiful:
Piercing blue eyes,
Wavy brunette,
Sharp, cute nose,
Striking chin;
She is beautiful
Like the other two she is with—
Yet with the melancholy in her jewel-eyes,
More so.

She is much prettier
Than your average third-wheel;
And yet there she stands,
Waving a dismissive hand
At the offer of her two friends—
A couple, hands all over each other;
It is difficult to tell
Whose hands are whose—
To pay for her coffee;
She pays for her own.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
Kaylee Lemire Nov 2018
A fifth-wear flannel, reek and all, drifted past me today,
came and went as I sat cross-legged, marinating in the patina-ed
post-meridian.
He took one last apathetic drag from a half-burnt
cigarette.

Let it fall through his fingers and onto
the cobblestones below. Callous:
an afterthought, he ball-changed and crushed
the smoke-spitting litter
underfoot.

Left me to stare at it there,
still twisting plumes
of itself up and out, streaking, snatched away
in the wind.

Left me to watch this
wisp of him sputter its
death-throes in the street.
Daniel J Weller Jul 2018
Rastafarian perches on a BT wiring cab
Slapping dark green metal and screaming
Obscenities in Patois and nonsense
Alone.

          Passersby stare; shrieking oldies;
                                       laughing kids;
                                       bewildered Neil;
                                       and I

Sit drinking, taking it all in
Alone.
The Marquis of Granby, New Cross, July 2018

As part of 'View from...', a collection of observational poetic experiments, whereby I allow myself five minutes to finish a poem regarding my surroundings at that time.
Mica Kluge May 2018
See her? With the impeccable taste in fashion?
She's top of her class in calculus. You probably didn't know that.
See him? With the fearless glint in his eye?
He's studying science, but he has the soul of a poet. Tests lie.
See her? Buried behind a stack of books nine tall and three deep?
She's terrified that she'll get a B, because, to her, that's failing.
See him? Museum-quality doodles and red ink decorate his papers.
He'll be president one day, if he can find something that he loves.
See me? No, actually you probably don't see me. Why would you?
I've managed to dangle from the rim of the outskirts of life so far.
Someone once told me that seeing gifts is a gift itself. Maybe it's true.
But, didn't they ever tell you that geniuses doubt themselves, too?
That we doubt ourselves most of all?
Your story is just as important as the ones all around you.
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