"caffeinated" poems
You cause
a break inside my organs
Pointing out my flaws
our differences.
You are at peace.
I sit jittering, worrying
what everyone will think
of when I didn’t care
you made me laugh at
everything
Changes. You’re not right for me
Nor I for you, but I can’t help
Thinking
What if? Then I remember
you’re not what nor
Everything I want.
You are an intellectual snob you
have a depth about you
I would love to delve in,
a psychological study
that even the best critics would praise,
but I don’t want anyone else to have been there
or ever go there.
I cannot hold on to you
tear me away while
You’re haphazardly gluing us together
We’re a kindergarten art project
messy, trying to see
Beauty within the confusion,
unfinished
You asked me
Where am I most at peace
4 years old.
I could be anything
No fears
I hadn’t been ripped apart.
I was the girl that said everything,
until I felt the need to screen my thoughts,
like the filter you use to make your coffee
each morning. I wish that’s where I was,
having you tell me
that you like your women like your coffee
Dark and bitter.
I can look past your chauvinistic ways,
not giving a **** about anyone.
You’re not really closed minded
You just act like it,
which annoys the hell out of me
Sometimes. I wish life was simple.
But then
I would never know your complexities nor
Feel the things you help me feel,
like hate for train whistles
or the burn of gin hitting my throat.
Music
you introduce me to
offstage trumpets, bad movies. Your politics,
your brown eyes
and how you can hear frequencies
that most everyone else can’t. I worry
that you hear
the fear in my voice and heartbreak
With every word I speak.
When were you going to tell me?
Or was that your plan all along?
To throw me out
like yesterday’s coffee grounds
or cut up scraps
Used and unwanted.
I wish I could tell you
to tell her you don’t want her
but me instead,
you don’t, I don’t want you to.
I want holding hands, laughter
comfort, personality, humor, intellect.
You want that plus things
I can’t give
But you always take.
You are your coffee
disgusting, caffeinated,
addicting
the only patch that helps is
comforting words you never spoke.
We had many conversations
of your desires, lusts, mistakes,
but I was burned,
by lies, distrust.
You left, like always,
a harsh, acidic aftertaste
on my tongue.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
over-caffeinated like a maj-gician (the electricians of existence), Matilda sang her morning brew a lullaby as she convinced breakfast not to panic from the pain of the frying pan- "sit quietly, take the pain, feel the burn- SIZzle! soon you'll be a human being and begin your life as a synthetic deity free within the skin of metastasized consciousness."
soon the egg seized in pleasure; a masochistic joy overtook it as yoke splurged from within like ****** ***** during ******* when the gimp has forgotten the safety word, screaming
BANANA
NEW YORK
CODE ORANGE
! ! !
while the perpetrator continues to scream verses from the Bible and Leviticus 1:3; an audiotape of On Being and Nothingness sends chills down the dark-sides spine in a hyperreal realization of the role choice plays in evils mortality.
must we listen while we speak? does reciprocity die in egoic colonization of the African subcontinent of the mind? is this the beginning of an age of autism born within the confines of illuminated rectangles of permissible distance and social hell-frozen-over?
man, you weren't even paying attention.
**** you.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
Dinner is done
everyone's settled
the evening.....like the moon.....is full...
the weight of the night has itself eased into mine,
my expected moment of slumber...now distraught...
the Heavens are purpled
twilight drapes have fallen,
winds of March...bellow
.........my pillows
..............are hollowed
.......................by my elbows
......as a distant rooster crows........
i lie on my abdomen...legs swing back and forth,
catching inspiration, a word, a daydream...a thought,
i grab a pen falling, i grasp a journal, a book,
...............everything is within reach
but, not...the....long..................stretch
of hours....of a sleepless night...whence
....spiced...spiked...and sugared memories...
..........accompany me...and sail with me
.......as i cruise along this lethargic sea
'neath a silent dark, where aches are loudest
.........domed, by an unworded loneliness,
i am wearied by a flow, that is endless,
.....this minute...imagination is ceaseless
........i reach for my mug....but, it's empty
.........................i hear no liquid seething
this moment, a dark sea, should be brewing....
this hour, verses must be a river, overflowing,
...enfolding, this cool and starry, starry evening...
.......i am caffeinated....even without coffee....
Sally
Copyright March 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC
You are my morning cup of coffee,
My hot, steamy, caffeinated beverage made to wake me up,
I sip you,
Bitter,
Some sugar to cheer you up?
I dowse you in vanilla cream…
Any better my darling?
How come you are so nasty?
Not a morning person either?
Well I can't blame you,
Why do I think I drink so much of you?
Because I like you?
Well I do,sorta, the effects you bring to me are quite uplifting,
I shake,
Nervously,
Oh you startle me and delight me,
I feel comforted as you break open into my bloodstream,
My body on fire and ready to start my long and trying day,
Maybe we can get through this together,
Another cup is what I think I need of you,
Whether bitter or not we can make it through,
So my little cappuccino, so frothy and frilly,
I want you to know that I need you,
Like to start my morning, my every morning
Whether you are just black, or a venti latte with skim and carmel syrup stirred inside,
Or else I be stuck in bed all the time
There be no you to keep me awake or alive,
No reason to go outside and try,
No motivator, no mover, just me living my days on my own,
How terribly depressing I must add,
So I'll keep you company if you keep on stirring my brain with your caffeinated ways
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
I think I love too easily.
I find it so simple to pick out the best traits in somebody.
I like to know what makes people tick and what makes their pupils dilate. I can fall in love with the way they talk about
their favorite shades of color
and the way they pick out groceries.
I am interested in the way people take their coffee
and if they prefer tea better.
and why
herbal
caffeinated
I find myself loving people for their laughter
and the crinkles beneath their eyes when they smile.
And I think it’s so cute whenever they suppress their grins
when they think of something funny or memorable.
I love the way people talk about life
and what’s on their mind;
it’s nice to know that there is more
more to discuss than the sounds on mattresses
and the type of plant they inhale.
You are beautiful.
I love the way people spill their hearts out when they’re happy
or when they’re sad.
Sometimes, when they don’t let me love them,
it makes me want to love them even more.
And even when they don’t love me back, I still continue to love.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
the fluorescent haze of midnight in the city
observent, patient, longing
hands cradling nectar
caffeinated teeth pulling at the flesh of your lips
intergalactic mind
smattered with careless constellations
I think my gravity has been stolen
my symbiotic smile
stems from the curl of your lips
I think my autonomy is buried with my rationality
The husk of Persephone’s fruit
Stale on my tongue
I bathe in the honeyed promises that ooze
until liquid fills my lungs
and I am consumed
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
voices blend, a buzzing murmur
steam swirls, mocha wafts
caffeinated atmosphere
java fog looms above
steam swirls, mocha wafts
music caresses lightly the ambience
caffeinated atmosphere
lively line of addicts
music caresses lightly the ambience
softly, I fall into clouded thought
lively line of addicts
contrast my peaceful bliss
softly, I fall into clouded thought
pen the pensive rumination
contrast my peaceful bliss
busy baristas hollering orders
pen the pensive rumination
inspiration in café population
busy baristas hollering orders
while I ponder life's purpose
inspiration in café population
doodle, draw, and dream
while I ponder life's purpose
I sigh, my mind screams
doodle, draw, and dream
let it out, let me be
I sigh, my mind screams
voices blend, a buzzing murmur
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
This one time, my mom
and I said goodbye
to Juan's mom and we
walked from her apartment
to wait for the elevator.
Mom didn't like it
when I wouldn't stand still-
sometimes she'd smack me
upside my head just to
make sure I was there
(accompanied by her
motherly calls of malcriado)-
so I'd look in any direction
for a distraction or two.
Through the window a few feet
from my left, I could see two
older ladies in curler hairdresses
bochinchando like caffeinated hens
about the awfully friendly suelta
living next door to gallina #1
(they hung their hand-me-down
nightgowns and their husband's
boxers with such professional care;
if any article escaped the grasp
of family clotheslines, it was
roadkill forever).
I turned to the right
of the elevator doors,
counted the tar-black patches
of decade-old gum on the floor,
finished the half-written
sentences sprayed in *****
rainbows on the sweaty walls
by the zig-zag flight of stairs.
A boom and a click,
and the door creaked open
with the sideways grace
of a crab.
My toddler's impatience
boiled past the brim, I
exclaimed "FINALLY"
and began to walk forward.
Not a second later, I heard a
"NO" behind me, my mother
grabbing the back of my
cartoon mouse t-shirt,
letting out an ay cono, pendejo
that echoed eight stories down,
past the empty space substituting
for an absent elevator shaft,
soaring down that rusty freefall
at ten thousand times the
speed of a human boy's body.
Letting out a long exhale,
my mother did not allow
her emotions to brim over
the barrier-she recomposed
herself, all the while silently
chanting hymns of gratitude
in dedication to fate
and her reflexes.
We decided to take the stairs.
In my youthful oblivion,
I noticed a toy store
right outside the building
from the corner of my eye-
I plan to start begging when
we're at the bottom,
if we ever get there.
My mother took her sweet time
walking down those many steps,
reveled in the scratchy bristle
of the concrete against her sandals,
cultivated a newfound admiration
for my atonal imitation of a
Washington Heights car alarm-
it was a sign I was still there.
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC
Your body jerks as you heave yourself out of bed.
The clock reads 5am.
Your phone vibrates,
It’s here.
The countdown is over.
A few long hours,
And caffeinated up,
You arrive,
The sun dances on your skin.
Unpack, freshen up,
Then hit the streets.
You wander aimlessly,
And endlessly.
Eating, sleeping, drinking and waking,
Whenever your body clock requires.
The schedule has been stripped,
Your busy days gone.
You set the rules,
You make the decisions.
Want to people watch with a glass of wine,
Why not?
Want to wander and look at the buildings,
Why not?
Want to sleep in,
Why not?
It’s your trip,
Your story,
Your travels.
The only person you have to depend on is you.
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC
I think if I should be more aware
Of the peeling of a banana,
And all its slightly muffled, sticky sounds
I could call it music, and
Become, myself, a profound cataloger of all things noise.
For words are only structured noises,
We mold like clay. Well, why don’t we simply reign in
The noises that are already out there?
We’ll learn the nuances of a peeling banana,
Call them words: it is a banana saying, I’m peeling.
We’ll call them poems, call them song.
The sound of a cardboard coffee cup, for instance,
Gently returned to a desk after sipping
Multiplied by a classroom of
Caffeinated percussionists would be
Aptly called an avant-guard symphony! And I perhaps,
A modern-day maestro, conductor at the front of the room
Flapping my arms to the beat, up, down! Up-down! –Only pausing
To write down the tum-tum-tum, furiously capturing this rhythm
On paper for future readers to come.
But I fear, it is in this act of writing it down, that
The banana forgets how it sounds,
Or I forget to sound the banana, and
It all starts to become a sort of cacophonous din of
Slurping children, left by the wayside by the
Education system and adopted by Starbucks,
Who doesn’t serve this sort of poem.
So we must market this to the young folks;
It will be a movement of ultimate vintage-chic,
(Recalling the days of our wordless hairy brethren,
Who could only rely on grunts and noise)
To imagine Man without clothing is possible,
But Man without poetry is simply absurd.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 4:59 AM UTC
Breathe in the freshness
of the arduously picked commodity,
That you hold between your lacquered fingers.
Don’t let synthetic ingredients
dissolve your thoughts
and obscure your vision.
The liquid remedy we sip is drenched,
With pain and protracted nurturing
Carefully fostered
through inclement weather
drink in the story that comes with it
That fuels caffeinated conversations.
Refined and defined leaving us blind
to the painted secrets of lives that were once lead
different lives intersect,
different thoughts and opinions interject.
Leaving lipstick kisses on the porcelain skin
Sipping away worries and pain.
Inhaling the smell of impelling advice,
fragments of sugar coated anecdotes melt,
integrating within, interfering
with the raw, strong, sharp taste
that can pierce through.
the rare intense, earthy aftertaste
is tainted with artificial garnishing,
suffocating the fresh natural essence
neatly contained in the teacup
ready to serve and ready to present
taking shape of the porcelain guise
Don’t sprinkle it with processed collaborations
of sugared doubt,
Contaminating your imagination
Manipulated by dainty voices
Resonating in your head
Like the delicate teacup
You anchor with your soft hands
Weighed down by the overly sweetened tea.
No longer holding significance
of the vast fresh fields it sprouted from
Forgotten and drowned
in the voices of someone else’s drum beat.
cloudy vision reflected in the saturated tonic
you sip elegantly, pasting a smile
suppressing your own desires,
under someone else's acceptance.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
The love bite to his neck
reeks of the betrayal
woven into his blood
like a caffeinated web.
He contorts in the aftermath
of cannibalistic copulation,
the last of his eight legs twitch
in a silky spasm before he stills,
dead and defeated
by the mother of his
newly conceived children
cradled in my warm womb.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
I am alive & just barely;
my throat is closing off
with hard, precious cancer eggs
tucked safely where my tonsils
are supposed to sit.
my fingernails this lovely
shade of purple, a deeply
blueish tint influencing them
almost indigo. They tattle,
silently proclaim my complacent
malnutrition. the moons of my manicure
have sunk backwards, eve
returns to dusk, my favorite
time of day, where the quiet
begins, the candle may be lit,
& the eyes I always feel on me
are at least shadowed from my vision.
the coffee is so black
pulsing through my shrunken veins
that my tears are caffeinated.
even when I don't hold a cigarette,
I see the smoke under my breath.
my hands & feet are always cold,
my muscles tremble & I swoon
when we try to stand strong together.
there is turmoil
constant static
in the fissures of the grey matter.
well? tell me! does it really matter?
my bones ache
my face breaks
oh, this Exist Contemplate.
my government has always
been corrupt; the city walls
are finally wearing, having
borne the onslaught for decade
& decade. oh, the Burn & Blister.
I crawl to my coffin without your permission;
Where are you, my Handsome Benediction?
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Coffee salvation
Caffeinated ambrosia
Beloved Barista
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
meaningless thoughts and empty words.
bright cutting light that hurts.
who's a goldfish gasping for air?
me with the bees knotted in her hair.
a zombie with a caffeinated twitch
skin a battlefield, a nervous itch.
I am a frustrated squiggle.
with a rusty heart forcing mad giggles.
who's pushing their opinions on me?
because, i can barely see.
why does anyone even care?
When i'm just a bag of dead air?
i just really need some rest.
maybe then, i can be my best.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
there is fire in a woman
in the words she utters, spilling like a river from lips that know pain and hurting and still curl into a smile that reaches further than her cheeks
there is fire in a woman
in her art
and ‘art washes away from the soul the dust of life’
and often i wonder what it would feel like
to make her body my canvas
let my lips write words on her skin that they could never speak
into the small spaces that lie in-between what i envision our twisted limbs would look like
there is fire in a woman
in her touch, at least i’ve dreamed it so
spent nights, half asleep envisioning what her fingertips would feel like against my skin
or twisted amongst my hair.
i dream of cups of coffee in the morning
that she’ll make me
only to go cold and sit half drank upon the table beside us
because they will never be as caffeinated as her
i’ve spent countless nights alone
with my palm placed heavy upon my chest
checking that the dull thud of my heart still exists
and i wonder what it would feel like
to have the fire that is a woman next to me
and i wonder if i wouldn’t need my palm to check i existed
i wonder if it would feel like dreaming
or if i’d finally feel alive.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
Mother threw me away
****** me in and spit me out
The pavement still tastes like your thighs
Like bubble gum underneath the chemistry table
Where I first held hands with
Some other girl I loved
Not knowing her reaction but
We burned flowers cut with kitchen knives.
I woke up to ashes lining my breakfast
Tongue thick with Amaryllis
Thinking if God asks you my name
Say serpent,
Say hello —
A disaster of two elements
You and me
If we combined
Our neon wrists.
Does Ares care about
How I touch you, with the lights off
You tell me the walls
Already know
What I do with my wolf teeth
And your caffeinated bellybutton,
They find you in three nights.
Rebirth is not as kind
To my combusting spine, replace
Ghost sin with your birth right
Jacob’s carnage
I paid for with eyelashes,
Long glances — my dignity
Wrapped in ****** white, and impotent boy skin
Becomes a coffin.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
the worm burps crasanthyums
like hypnic ****
matter becomes metaphor
thats how the beast works with in us
we are a book of masks
and i'm up to my neck in
mirrors of the marvelous
midnight music beguiles like a blizzard of whispers
flaming candles heat like ovens
burning finger by finger
i melt flabbergasted in dark linoleum clouds
blood gluttonous
tender bites
lips like red rain and trussed thighs
she grins
a face of needles and mice
i think she wants me
this old man, soggy eyed mop
linen wrapped
before aortic aneurysms
i'm a living tarot card
the falling tower and the lovers
break downs and break throughs
my groin a slobbering clot
dreaming ******* drenched
straight jacketed on her knees
***** willow shadows
drooling exacerbations
a caffeinated candy
licked thickly
twitching blinks; rem ejaculations
her face; a tattooed ****
**** mouth smiles
brown one eyed gnome
**** the stinking cyclops
*** talk lubricates
a raspberry crumble
looking for god
omniscient
even in *****
the white swans utterance
incoherence's
dressed in a ****** negligee
her belly a thousand ******* mouths
and i press into her thunder
shattering dawns gravity
a pinhole of empty cups
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
I’m trapped; caged in, hard to get out
words flies, as truth denies
Shame!
Crows flocks in hunger
eating little by little of what you served
Overworked!
Shying away, evasive in many means
caffeinated poison
keeps me
Awake!
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
He liked it black
No sugar or cream
16 ounces of pure caffeine
I've never tasted something so bitter
The way it touched my lips
Made my body shake and quiver
This caffeinated high
Drives me to do such things
Like going on endless adventures
Reaching for the extreme
Building staircases in familiar places
But never reaching for the stars
Leaving only a slip of paper
Handwritten with a smile
Silly little light house
Sitting on the rocks
Laying there for hours
Singing and such
I could waste away here forever
There in your arms
But I rather have those
Black coffee kisses
So bitter, so strong
He liked it black
No sugar or cream
These black coffee kisses
Made me forever weak in the knees
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
they call me cat-liter, I'm their slave.
I'm embarrassed at sharp edges,
you've caught me all confused.
he said sleep, but translated space.
at least that's the way these feelings memorize.
depression, rage, stress,
broken threads, spandex,
cold sandwiches, free muffins that you missed:
I want to scream in your face
so that when I hold you I know
you're really crumbling.
I missed you like I missed myself.
my cleaning quickened so that I could see you.
maybe you needed some time spent,
in caffeinated tendencies,
to just blow off some steam.
Forget a few things,
for as long as you could until they
slam you back down again.
I'm not here to weigh you down,
I've got myself covered.
two of the same,
one in the same.
it's sometimes harder to communicate.
the release brings peace, my love.
I wish trust wasn't so hard to come by
in this shy blockage I've got all clogged up,
paranoid by my own actions,
thinking your freedom might repeat itself
in ways that will rip me free.
you're stuck to me like honey,
you're my islebee, make me freeze and see
what lies between and find that all love needs
is a breath
to catch amongst such harsh winds.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
Caffeinated air drowns out care for
surrounding discussion
where time is a diamond ring
on this restless city
Wind whips my hair like a weapon
around a weary mind,
blind for a moment before a banister
catches keys and returns hearts in a fluster
Robotic beings waver between ferry floors
ignoring neighboring humans who appear too
busy to say
excuse me
The statue's a bore constructed from
the calloused hands of aged excitement
therefore
no window-seat desires
except that of
a whimsical child's
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
I'll never know her like I do tonight.
Hazy hazel eyes alive with the low-battery alert on her phone.
She floats in the thoughts I throw her;
Spinal cord melts under the electric current of her brain.
She looks for dreams.
Body stretched like mountains,
foothills and ranges cradle the sky and trace seas like her signature.
She made the mountaintop in her image.
She cups my head,
with the numb of the low-buzz of her caffeinated thoughts
telling me the secrets of the world.
Knowing her place teaches me mine.
I belong with her: heart, blood, and sky.
She sits with me and feels human.
I sink back into the gentle waves of her voice.
The only thing she speaks is body,
so write a story on my skin.
She asks me to translate into words
the exact shift of her kisses,
and I take a deep breathe and dive into her
again
and
again.
Words follow strict rules in her room,
but tonight we leave caution on her floor,
in favor of the cause and effect of her spheres of influence
pulling insecurity apart,
one filthy, dark thought at a time.
Maybe, she'll fill me with a vocabulary God can't forgive.
Like invisible ink,
she stains the individual cells of my being
with her.
'Till all I can read are the words
she left all over me.
My hands, my thighs, my head.
Surrender, give it all to me: mind, thoughts, and sea.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 9:56 PM UTC