"arabica" poems
African woman
Mother of civilization.
Oh beautiful woman,
Thou are beyond description.
African woman
Queen of the people of Mamba.
Jambo to all those in heaven
Bless you too my dear mama.
African woman
Royal Nubian Queen.
The backbone of her man
You'll do anything to help him win.
Single Black woman
Made of broken pieces
You're the breadwinner,Superwoman.
You're the symbol of strength in all places.
African woman
Daughter of Eve's.
Thou are God's true specimen,
And the apple of his eyes.
Black woman
Daughter of Africa.
Blueprint of a **** woman,
Dark hue of coffee arabica.
African woman
Mother of humanity
Chieftess of ancient Nyngoman,
Mama Africa's bounty.
African woman
My Mandingo bride.
First woman of Africa's Eden
Center of God's black tribe.
Nigerian woman
My Yoruba Queen.
Envied by the women of Oman,
Cafe ou lair, cream of Africa's cream!
Warrior woman,
Queen of Wakanda.
Come and flip your wand,
Find the soul of Sarafina.
Curvy woman
In your womb lies Africa's future.
My Lormah woman
Oyobuays marvels at your structure.
Beautiful woman,
Perpetual envy of the silicon woman.
Pride of the Black man,
The essence of a real woman.
Indigo Woman
Lillies of the African plains.
Thou are Eve of the African Eden,
Best of the portraits that nature paints.
Voluptous woman,
Full, thick natural lips.
Real assert of the Black woman,
Nature gets aroused by your hips.
Ellen Sirleaf, today's woman,
Africa's first female president.
A Liberian woman,
Loved and revered wherever she went.
Smile ,Gambian woman,
You're daughter of Sarakunda.
Roots of the Black American woman,
Captives of the kanda Bolinga.
South African woman
Mariam Makeba
Sang for freedom and fought like a man
You were truly Soweto's finest Deva.
Dark ebony woman,
You are red, yellow and green.
Hanmatan wind stops at your command,
Born to slay and be seen.
African woman
Thou are the only reason
God put Adam in a coma.
Your perpetual beauty transcends time and Season.
African woman,
Under your cleavage, the Nile flows
And between your fingers, golden threads are woven,
You are the reason Beyonce glows.
Harriet Tubman, brave woman
Smuggled slaves underground.
She was a freed Black slave woman,
Who avowed to leave no soul behind.
Creative woman
Maya Angelou, gifted poetess.
Famous writer and a Black woman
Will be remembered for her poetic prowess.
Native African woman,
Africa's limestone and cement.
A mother, a wife, virtuous woman,
Lioness and the spine of the continent.
Liberian woman
Roots of my poetry, you gave me life
You are every woman.
Your edges are sharper than the Sumarais knife.
#IvanBrookspoetry©
13/8/2018
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
He stood fifty times his height,
his palms pressed against the glass
separating him from the road in their glamour;
blurred images of car in their splendor –
and there isn’t the
familiar scent of coffee –
I call this pandemonium.
Nothing beats a day in a café
redolent of the finest Arabica,
he’d inhale deeply and recall :
unroasted gives the sweetest scents
of blueberries –
roasted’s entirely different:
fruit, sugar, perfume –
They call this addiction.
Mnemonic – a wind chime
lost in the array of winds.
“You used to be my cup of tea –
I drink coffee now.”
These words slip out of his dry lips,
and a lone tear trickles down a milky cheek;
They all say if they’ve got love,
they don’t need money –
And he’d say if he’s got coffee,
he doesn’t need love –
He calls this heaven.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
In that moment, your skin was perfect
Just like the rest of you.
Soft, gentle, pure...
How could I resist?
Here, now, I can see
Our time had a taste like Arabica.
Short, bittersweet, with notes of hazelnut.
But in that instant,
That eternal moment,
There was not one drop of coffee
On your lips.
Because you were the first girl
I almost kissed.
And you were the first girl
I wrote poems about.
I know they didn't rhyme, but
It was the best I could do.
Y'know, poetry was kinda new
To me. But I wrote it for you.
Better?
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
(haikus)
eggs aren't done yet,
deep frying oil sizzles loud,
my eyes meet pale red,
i anxiously taste
Korean strawberries......but,
..........eagerly, i sniff,
home smells of....fried rice,
garlic...coffee...petrichor,
sweet scents...wafting 'round.
(10w)
youTube plays
Moondance by Van Morrison
shoulders sway...fingers tap.
i glow...while singing
with Don Mclean's
Starry Starry Night.
strangers knock, looking for never-heards,
at six AM?
very extraordinary!
then guards
warn us of strangers,
a bit too late!
clatter of china says,
table's ready...
wait...
rain is pouring!
where're you,
Creedence Clearwater?
have you ever seen the rain?
gosh....the dogs again!
...chased away
both cat and kittens :-(
(14 lines)
the table...now speaks loudly
of perfect sunny-side-ups
mushroom omelet with sliced sausages
there's toasted bread......fried rice,
and fried plantain bananas, too,
all steaming hot......the aroma
......of arabica........brewing...
the many unexpected moments
that keep popping out of the blue
create a palette of bright colors
and moods for this new day...
i await more of these "unexpecteds,"
this flow of eclectic poetry
really knocks me off my feet :))
Sally
Copyright April 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
caramel macchiato flavored coffee with mint cigarette flavored kisses with your dreamboat lover is the quintessence of what i call "perfection". if there was a way to describe the way your lips feel against mine, i could only describe it as "cigarettes and coffee". cigarettes and coffee isn't simply consuming caffeine or inhaling tobacco in your lungs, it's sitting on the roof at 1 am looking at the stars with a blanket around the both of you. it's laying in the grass with a slight breeze blowing making smoke rings between the arduous kisses. it's simply sipping a vanilla latte on the corner of a new york city street with a cigarette in your hand, making swirls of smoke as more ash forms above the filter, looking like some sort of bohemian gods. it's walking along a deserted sidewalk in your black jeans and doc martens with a big t-shirt and coke bottle sunglasses on with your lover on your hip and your menthol in one hand and philter in another. "cigarettes and coffee" is whatever you can interpret as pure bliss; it's simply whatever makes you happy and whatever makes you want to sit in the grass all night and talk about anything and everything. there's a lot of people that would argue there's no beauty to the feel of tobacco in your lungs and arabica in your mouth, but evidently, they've never tried cigarettes and coffee.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
My Laura
how tomorrow
was your
time lace
with bona
fide séance
in these
highlands of
Arabica here
in America
always vernacular
with a
sound heard
round world
to triumph
love with
our beliefs.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
What pretty words flow,
From carpel tunnel hands!
Fingers click clock on keyboards,
Time sifting like sugar.
Creativity ebbs and flows--
Like the gentle rock
Of cerulean tide,
Lulling soul after soul to sleep.
The smell of arabica,
And chicory soup
Stifles surreptitiously--
(Twentyfourseven)
With admiring eyes
I glance down at the stark white background--
My bones ache for the lush black ink
To be my own words!
But until then I'll sit at the bottom
Of this empty poetry well,
Chain smoking and longing
To be on that **** front page.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:07 AM UTC
Precious chance for a lonely thought,
Loose, slip-fades sinuously free
A melodious stream of nostalgic mist
From a mug of Arabica sea.
Curiously exhaled from dissonance
In an amber lit café.
He imagines himself a sojourner,
A wayfarer without a way.
Long shore drift en echelon
Long minutes march by metronome
Long is the spellbound beachcomber
For an island all his own.
Long is the dream of an inland man
Lost to his seaside girl.
Diver down where the standard waves
Swimming dizzy for a polished pearl.
Light from her eyes plays on sea glass chips
Tumbled in the curling waves
That crest and break on a beach that waits
for a wish he once had made.
The surf is heard like a lingering kiss
breathing ripples on the smoothening sand
And just as the whisper and simmering fades,
Another promise swells, tumbles, and lands.
The ocean is love running breathless,
In a race between the moon and the sun,
Causing tides to surge across the poignant curve
Of an incandescent blue horizon.
A tranquil star contracts and bursts
In pulsing neon spires.
There’s forever a star expiring
While life glows from embers in a dying fire.
If this writer could paint, it would be a portrait
of the empty space beside him.
Awaiting the image of a seagoing girl,
He turns his canvas into a thirsting ocean.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
Yesterday I spilt the beans,
100% Colombia Arabica.
Daisy, the Border Collie
from Westport in Mayo,
Was on to the # Browny's
in a flash, just as Kaldi's
Goats were, in Ethiopia
circa 850 A.D.
The 250 grams of beans
were no different to a herd
Of sheep scattered on the
hill of Croagh Patrick.
I was the poor shepherd
while Daisy, true to her
Evolutionary inheritance
went after the fleeing flock,
Though not to help put them back
in the bag, she began to eat them!
A night from hell ensued, wooden
floors, long nails, pacing, pacing.
Daisy had her first high, but
today, she is in a sheep dip.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 3:50 AM UTC
It was one summer morning
that I found myself
half-awake, hung-over
on the floor.
My lover have left me
half-naked, half-baked.
He took my black *****
and brewed himself a
fresh batch of Arabica;
a teaspoon of sugar,
two for cream.
He left my mug
with coffee stains
from his lips.
I licked it off.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
I vowed to say nothing
but know this: I love you. I love you more than waking up at 5 AM after a night of camping, the smell of dewey cold conquistadoring my blunt and modern senses. I love you more than the girl who haunted my every waking moment for months after the solvent collapse. I love you more than when someone says, ‘you’re the most beautiful person I know.’ I love you more than the taste of freshly ground arabica bean on a cold winter morning, watching the snow flit past the window like little paratrooper angels here to spread the word of pristine silence. I love you more than nights spent watching the stars with a morning empty of obligation. I love you more than my crack addiction to knowledge. And you know who you are.
And when I write vaguely of someone I love
I hope you remember
It’s you, you beautiful freak of my life.
It’s you, it’s you, it will always
be you.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
The strong smell of coffee hit the breeze or the fan
Driving it to my smell, to my nose with a plan
What a blessing, what a gem
To be in a Coffee Shop at 9:30 Am
The sound of the chimes ringing, the glass doors swing in
The coffee lashing tin, the sound of the songs come so thin
How happy the sounds to them
In the Coffee Shop at 9:30 Am
Friends, business men, students, and fancy women
Anyone could be here from hero to villain
Where there's peace and mayhem
In a Coffee Shop at 9:30 Am
The ceramic mugs heat to the touch
With the temperature of the air conditioning and such
The dangiling of my skirt from waist to hem
The feelings I have in the Coffee Shop at 9:30 Am
The final taste of cake with coffee, mixture of frosting and bean
Last gulp of strong Arabica until the mug is clean
Still my favorite place from now and then
Me in a Coffee shop at 9:30 Am
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
(
)
In the silence of cold, quiet,
after midnight hours...wind
audibly pushes branches and
leaves...sends them swaying
and rustling....i hear the rain
falling...like small nails hitting
the neighbor's acrylic eave.
the peace of these unholy hours
empowers me...i feel, i rule the world,
my senses and my mind are sharpest..
while others are asleep and dreaming.
everyone's eyes are closed...mine, too,
yet, i am so awake, i see this cauldron,
where my life's goings-on are stirred by
an unknown force, spinning clockwise,
simmering, nothing burns, or breaks,
for, underneath, its fire burns slow...
good and bad issues mix and join
the stew of old stubborn ones;
daily rigors, wee triumphs blend in,
like a goulash of meat and veggies,
slowly cooking, as fire burns slow,
giving time...............taking time
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
the strong aroma of arabica jolts me
from my reverie...it matters not if i
haven't slept......6 am, i'm back to
reality.....lots of work await me
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
five-pm past, arabica again stands by
me as i watch the orange fires of sunset,
hear the crickets sing, or a frog's croak,
while my rocking thoughts are cradled,
while i enjoy some peace and quiet,
exuded by a fragrant twilight.....it's
that feel-good part of each day...saying
gratitude for every sunrise and sunset,
while my candle's fire burns slow....
........
......
...
Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 6, 2021
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
it’s the strangest thing
everyday I suffer from
amnesia
some sort of blackout
I can’t remember….
can’t quite grasp…
something I’ve forgotten
a faint shadow haunting the
outer limits of consciousness
I open my eyes and the
world rushes in
deliciously, sensuously
like the hypnotic aroma
of arabica coffee beans
and other seductive
voluptuous, delectable
tantalizing novelties
So, I chant Your name
light candles, meditate and
pray I’ll remember
who I am
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
I don’t drink coffee but you do
Still, I know a bit or two about coffee
And that dash of inspiration is what I need to
Remind you that I don’t need caffeine
To stay awake
When waking up to you is the best thing
French presses can create
Maybe because you make me feel Robusta
Liberica me from the confines of tired mornings
You Excelsa at making me feel loved
And Arabica need ya foreva and eva
I’m a bit coffeenery today
Never mind the palpitations that won’t go away
I’ll be the barista to your coffee everyday
Espresso-ing our love day by day
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 8:24 AM UTC
or as they say in china -
english and the staggering geographic region
it occupies, you’d expect it to implode,
or at least living in such a region the implosion
would leave many many loopholes
to break as many laws as there are laws to break,
the really imaginary laws about how
ol’ McDonald had a farm - a list of the usual onomatopoeias:
puck puck cluck cluck pig’s ******* snort and the crafty moo mime
ending with dictator orwell talking into the pig’s ****
‘yeah... let’s copyright the words einstein, red and coffee arabica
and sue the ******* should they use them without our permission!’
then the problem arose...
there are no proper onomatopoeias for
the majority of sounds contained in this fish bowl
of stars and vacuum cleaners...
or as they say in japan -
yes... just keep en route of appreciating alice in wonderland
and think nothing of it, keep en route on this “serious”
literature... also have it in cutiepie (q t π / forget the sense)
and ***** ***** ***** then watch the fireworks display
on the thames with charles 2nd and händel...
we’ll just brutalise the world in cartoon and keep the gore there
heavily coloured... while you keep this bright colour usage
squidgy squid clean.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
I think what will give me away,
(now that I am back in Cork) after
almost 50 years, is not my accent,
but Barry's Tea, I rebelled, now I
am a 100% Illy Arabica supporter,
the red colour is all right though!
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
Oh vile distasteful counterfeit
A generic imitation, abomination
How dare you mar the original one
Through mass marketing and sales pitching
And imitation born not of inspiration
but of cultivation by a selfish nation
A faked attempt you are
Plagiarism in its purest form
Chicory you deceitful liar
weaving your way into our homes
Replacing the proud Coffea Arabica
Rendering it nothing but a luxury to most
Away with you you mutant substance!
Be not a part of my house and home
For in this house is sanctioned pure
And only the best will endure.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Tu meurs d'envie de moi
Et tu me dis tout de go
J'ai envie de toi
Là
Maintenant
Bande
Bande
Bande
Et tu chronomètres le temps
Qu'il me faudra pour atteindre
La taille exacte que tu désires
Et quand le petit soldat s'exécute
Au quart de tour comme tu l'exiges
Quand il pointe l'arme vers tes neiges éternelles
Tu dis : Garde à vous, fixe
Tu condamnes mes fesses au peloton d'exécution
Au clic de ton appareil photo
Tu tires à vue
Tu mitrailles à bout portant
Et quand tu es enfin satisfaite de la pose
Tu dis :
Déposez arme
Et je me dégonfle
Instantanément
Et tu exaltes, tu jubiles
De ta toute puissance
Je suis ta chose, ton pantin
Ton esclave
Tu es ma maîtresse
Et tu me flagelles à distance de ton flash.
Et tu exiges des photos explicites
Des gros plans, des détails intimes
De mes parties honteuses
Tu veux la vulve qui dort paisiblement sous mon aisselle
Tu veux la raie du cul qui se dessine dans le creux de mon coude
Tu veux la trique qui ronfle
Au coeur de la mangrove du mont de Venus
Tu veux le trou de mon cul dans le nombril béant
Que je forme de mes plantes de pied jointes
Tu veux que mon sein gauche secrète
A gogo des tasse de café chaud arabica
Tu veux tout
Tout de suite
Le tout et les parties
Sans filtre
Sans retouches
Tu dis que mains et mes doigts t'excitent
Et tu suces mes ongles pour en soutirer
Les envies et les cuticules
Et tu mordilles mes orteils
Lentement l'un après l'autre
Tu croques
Histoire de voir si je suis chatouilleux
Ou si je ne suis pas déjà mort
Et tu veux que je me batte en douce
Comme on bat la campagne
Comme on bat un cil et les cartes
Comme on bat le fer quand il est chaud
Comme on bat le grain pour le moudre
Comme on bat sa coulpe
Comme on bat la mesure
Et comme on bat son coeur
Je me bats en douce
Je te baptises de mon foutre
Je te fais des messes basses
Et je fais main basse sur tes envies
A voix basse
Je m'exécute
Je t'exécute
Car tu reignes vierge souveraine,
En sourdine, Osmose et Extase,
Dans mon royaume tantrique.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:54 AM UTC
Nightfall. A sliver of moon in the sky. The rumbling and tumbling of shouting free spirits toss around the meandering darkness. All that segments this organic manifestation, is an occasional, thump.
At least to the narrator. One ‘blessed’ step at a time. The eternal and everlasting thump of one foot in front of the other. Wonder if my longing and hammered foot travels as Telemachus?
The birds chirp in harmonious rhythm. Odd. Should either chirp with a sway, or be passed out, by now. All us tethered beings should swing with the immortal swing, or so I’m thinking.
Tick, tock. Arabica, slam. Jam with the jittery, immortal jam. Or whatever garb I had been throwing my way. Passed through the ‘wisdom’ of my culture, and greedily accepted by my reward circuity.
One big, machine ‘learner’.
Putting that all behind us, it always leaves a longing soul with gritting teeth.
So there I was. 4 p.m. Caffeine crash can’t even begin to describe it. A ‘crash’ designates a single day. A single face to face relationship with ones decision to kiss and tango with a sacred substance.
I was knee, I say knee, deep, in an affair.
At that point it’s not just some shallow reaction to your mind grasping at some crutch it has designated for a moment.
Not to be dramatic. But habit flows to river real quick.
So there I was. 4 p.m. Tryin to swim.
All I had for a life raft. *****
Get drunk with my friends. That giddy, pushin others on my level on a weekday, giddy.
Push that bravais lattice, PDE numerical simulation, concentration boundary layer, **** to the side.
I was tryin’ to push MY boundary layer.
Yet here I am. 2 a.m.
Everyone is sleepin’.
All I have for company is my, thump, thump, thump.
On my way to the ocean.
Because God will listen to me Cry, and Scream.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
The howling maelstrom of wireless
Haunts the air unseen
Blue toothed demonic
It whips up white caps of restlessness
And drives sleep onto the rocks
Blowing through keyboard tickers
And screen flickers
There’s a digital mosquito hum in the rigging
And the sheets fill with an endless cacophony
Of Arabica bean buzz
Your physiognomy is a book
Rolled up like a chart in a tube
The cabin cricket in its cage
Twittering nonsense
And lusts of cute and food
And anti anti anti
Both bullies and victims at the masthead
Squeal and rage and defecate
Raw sewage dribbling down the bow
In a million billion ones and zeros
Sailors lost in foreign climes
With no purpose on land
The motley crew self-gratify
Thinking
Come the dawn we’ll all be back at sea
Not realising
That with the globe at your fingertips
Both night and day are constants
Lash yourself to the mast
Else be washed overboard
All the stars you used to sail by
Have become little more
Than dead pixels on a screen
© 2018 Steve Kelly aka kellyocs
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
If y'all just did
Your mother f*cking jobs
Then I wouldn't
Have to do it for you
This daily grind
Like arabica beans
It wears me down
To only the bitter
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
Sweet aroma of arabica
Gentle growlings of a brew
Warm comfort in the morning
Well, at night too.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC