#coffeepoem
⭐ THE UNPOLISHED SEASON — Poem I
(A small morning rebellion, starring a mug that refuses to help.)
The coffee didn’t even try.
It sat in the mug, dark and stubborn,
informing me through a thin veil of steam
that it was done with the rescue business.
Apparently, I am on my own.
The steam rose in a slow,
disappointed shrug –
the kind you give a friend
who never learns.
Light leaned into the kitchen sideways,
squinting,
looking like it had slept fitfully
and wasn’t ready for a conversation.
The fridge hummed with the heavy,
oxygen‑starved solidarity
of a night‑shift worker
who just wants to clock out.
The spoon was useless.
It lay on the counter,
feigning a deep, silver sleep
to avoid being involved.
There was no grand epiphany.
No metaphor waiting in the shadows
to make this meaningful.
Just a room,
a cold caffeine resignation,
and the quiet realization
that the day isn’t a performance –
it’s simply a space
where I have to learn
how to stand
without being held up.
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 7:26 AM UTC
I feel so warm and coddled like melted chocolate,
dribbling against the mug, split over a counter.
Finger tips freezing as it touches the air.
No reason to cry over spilt milk.
I boil the kettle again, clean the mess I've made and start again.
Throw in the grounded droplets, a dash of powered chocolate,
'click'
The kettle coughs bubbles. I pour, enveloped by the steam against my skin, a dash of milk.
The perfect coffee.
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 11:40 PM UTC
There is a sweetness much more
than that of honey,
in the caress of your arms,
there is value,
so much more,
than money,
in the kiss of your lips,
upon my cheek,
when you wake me
for coffee,
and afternoon singing.
We both know the secret.
That this place without you
is just a place.
But knowing you are near.
Is enough to keep me here,
darling won’t
you tread the stars with me?
Darling won’t you thread the
stars for me on your loom,
and wake me with your gentle
kiss,
darling how you bloom for me!
I could never leave this place,
as I open my eyes and see your face,
when you wake me
for coffee,
and afternoon singing.
(c) Dm 2015
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC