"espressos" poems
The music plays and the espresso machines steam and hiss
Feet tap. Fingers type. Phone screens ******
Skinny lattes and peppermint teas. Soy chai teas extra hot.
Peppermint soy latte. New names for familiar poisons.
Flat whites. Cortados. Espressos and macchiatos.
When I grew up, it was just a cup of coffee…
Hipster coffee shops serving to the hip, the wannabes and the lonely
The woman in the leopard skin coat and the man with acne.
Credit cards are swiped and cash machines ring
The business of poisons is thriving in the city.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
Oh to hear our pens together
scratching out dreams
on Italian linen paper,
while espressos cool
in the noonday breeze.
Wiping creme from your wind burned lips, my toes find your cycling socks
and our eyes meet as if to ask.....
let's stay another day in Toscan....
Rome can wait.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
light fixtures hanging down by a single wire,
a single lightbulb adorning the end.
large, gray and brown tiles checkered beneath my feet.
inviting leather arm chairs
caressing inviting cellular people
glued to their books or cellular phones.
warm, minty walls and a cool breeze through the door-
the chill of autumn-
so comforting.
older, disgruntled, bearded men- most likely freelance writers?
and soccer moms in yoga pants coming in for their six dollar lattes.
not to mention the elderly ladies here for coffee and book club...
the college student in a sweatshirt and jeans, fixated on typing-
two espressos in hand.
the baristas- in plaid shirts or floral dresses or striped blouses-
busily taking orders, pressing buttons, pulling levers, calling out coffees.
and me.
sitting in my black cafe chair at my caramel cafe table
with my large, smooth coffee, drowned in cream, and
with my .5 pilot pen in hand, and
with my old notebook before me.
writing the autumn morning away.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
See Found Poems but these are my favourite.
1. without some for you
and your music
and also had pasta
2. 7 mm,
one of the major cities,
you
3. search process
which look, it recognizes us
and what is the function ?
4. bread, espressos
:any
isolated
5. of all conferences
and finish eyes gazing
into Cancun East
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
Haha,
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXIII)
Of leprechauns and clover, yes...t'avail
I've neither, am in green to match fr'intents
Mine hazel eyes, and how blue heavns wear thence
Such fresh-washed golden light in sweet all hail
O me! I'd feign go down which wooded trail
To hunt the early violets? Mushrooms dense
Wi' import are sought out and sold for sense
Or lurid dreams, but I want that detail.
Wee white-striped, purple faces none bestir
'Cept wildest breezes, whitest virgins too,
With purple stripes across their miens in tour--
I'd love to bend and finger them anew!
Sip twa espressos, joking of, in poor
'Scuse, "faux" things we oft cherish, as all woo.
17Mar19a
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
I just came from the cafeteria. In a shocking twist,
I have to actually meet people, I mean, can you imagine?
And we have group projects, my least favorite thing,
except perhaps, having a gym class.
The cafeteria was so crowded—didn’t I see you there?
Everyone there seemed to be wearing vintage Urban Outfitters.
I felt left out, but no one openly pointed at me.
Next, I expect to see bubblegum patch vests, skate-fit jeans and leopard-appliqué flats.
Between us, I’ve gotten old, and lost what little fashion game I had.
Now I’m modulated, that is, I’m over over-indulgence.
When I pictured myself in college, *** what, a half a decade ago?
I imagined myself in a Lime Fizz Dress from Modcloth.
THAT never happened—which is all for the good.
School and by extension - school work - is definitely happening.
It’s not all studying while drinking back-to-back espressos at sunrise.
This week’s assignments due are: a ‘reflective assignment’ on qualitative research methods, a policy memo, a case analysis, and a group presentation. Argh.
So if you don’t hear from me—I haven’t been deported—I’m just oppressed.
.
.
Songs for this:
This is Why by Paramore
Lauren by Men I Trust
Margaret by Pomegranate tea [E]
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 3:51 PM UTC
Um, um, don't let me parse that out yet.
(sonnet #MMMMMMDXLII)
What of the two espressos long gone hence?
Perfection, as lunch' fine spread was t'avail.
Eclipsed in ya, one phone call, aught detail
Was likewise, 'cept our dinner, or the sense
Of fleeting time I grapple for now, whence
Oh me! Now Texas winks at me like's bail,
Ten-gallon hats with crueler heat to scale
Than Lincoln's Land, and lo, a man fr'intents.
It's wonderful to be encouraged fer
All that to fear the LORD. I've missed it too
Long now. To talk together like's not poor--
Of Scriptures--ah, and with a man. I do
But fear now losing what's sae precious, were
It mine to have. Ne coffee's like this brew.
06Aug17b
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
...I lose.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXX)
Lo: men. Do NOT tell him, "I don't care hence
About you--" for whatever cause. In pale
Excuse it's back on track and we're to scale
What, eh? Forget the little things fr'intents:
Th'espressos Dad enjoyed with me; that sense
Of ah, delicious rain! The sweet detail
Of coffee with a dear friend--you prevail.
It does not matter what I try. Now whence?
I messaged YOU on Instagram. What fer?!
I'd comment on YOUR YouTube vids, and too,
Left one on Twitter. YOU ignore all, poor
As trying to uh, communicate with YOU.
It's face to face: that's all. YOU win. Ya, stir
Me to those "nutty smiles" oer...YOU. What's...new?
02May19b
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 12:26 AM UTC
Funny...less that two weeks later how foreign this is.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXII)
Lo, ****** white tinged purple, for a sense
Of sorrows' keenest wailing, and so frail
To boot, lies now in state, as drying t'avail
The first petunia Joe gave me, what hence?
I wonder what the weekend shall from thence
Be, eh? He's sposed to call. Nor in betrayl
Does he know I'm a virgin? That detail
Waits chance to take its bow in sheer defense.
This white tank, pink-bowed floral skirt as twere
Ah, party clothes last summer when we'd brew
Espressos over beef, with wine to do
Our seance good in mid-July, was't poor
For groc'ry shopping? I forgot. His pure
Choice in a flowr--I can't help loving too.
30Jun17a
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
I could write poetry about your body;
how it moves so fluently,
so adept in navigating this physical world,
in exploring my own body.
I could write poetry about your love.
I had the chance to feel its depth
and watched you share it readily,
in the ways that you know how.
I could write poetry about us
dancing in your living room, about us
walking through neighborhood streets
with espressos in hand, about us
wrestling on the couch until we’re both
on the floor in a heap of laughter.
But if I did
I’d have to write poetry about your frustration
when you feel as if you’ve been
giving and giving and giving
only to have me pull away.
If I did, I’d have to write poetry about
my disappointment when I try to
go deeper into your pain, to burrow myself
in your trauma and infuse it with love,
with acceptance - only to be shut out.
I’d have to write poetry about our wounds
that stand between us like the Berlin Wall.
Too often they become ammunition;
your unconscious comments
infused with judgement and
my anxious retreat into myself
inflict more wounds, more grief.
I’d have to write about how you make me feel
beautiful
invalidated
comfortable
shameful
supported
misunderstood
difficult
wrong
selfish
hard to love
You make me feel hard to love
and I can’t live that way.
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 3:19 AM UTC
How many days ago was it blizzard conditions?!
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXLV)
If warmth and rain conspired t'undo the hale
White blanket flung across these wastes, til hence
The silver puddles shine with ghastly thence
And wan miens like the moon, how in betrayl
Lawns late unmasked lie with an air of frail
Hopes violets soon shall wink, snow islands' sense
Of being alone upon that sea from whence
There's no return, forlorn like March'd prevail.
Blue skies for sweetest minutes peer in tour
Twixt greyer cloud racks like the waking view
Might have a softer breath in tow as twere,
While Daddy pulls espressos foamed milk to
Effect crowns with an April note. Tis poor
Tae think December's gentle, but how'd woo.
02Dec18a
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
i see in pictures
no really, real pictures.
i still remember what the piazza looks like in my family's home town
its been 7 years.
i remember the old church next to it where they got married
i remember the stained glass windows along the walls
i remember the coffee shop across from the street that served espressos in tiny ornamental cups
i see it all.
7 years on and now i see you
i see you in that first red dress.
that first night with locks of hair that made me melt into the floor.
i see you in a dark cinema where i took the best risk of my life
where everything changed and now months later i see you
in a dress walking down the staircase
like an angel walking down from heaven.
i see you in my bed surrounded by the darkness of the night
your breath on me heavy with mine.
lost without a care.
i see you. by my side.
and i cant help but think how lucky i am.
as i write i view each moment like a photograph in my mind, some are fuzzy and unfocused but some are as clear as sunshine.
bright like the sunshine you are to me.
but i know, things are hard.
someone is going around stealing photos.
stealing images.
but we're going to take them back.
because i havent only seen and see now.
i can see what the future holds.
i can see the dew on the winter window and our faces pierced with sunlight.
i can see the nervousness of our first days into a new uni or work
and see the moment we reconvene at the end of the day to tell each other all about it
on the grassed steps of a sunken garden staircase holding hands
to birds chirping. sun shining or clouds pouring.
i can see us holding cups of tea watching ****** netflix shows
talking about anything everything
ill tell you the secrets of the universe as ill discover them
and later in the night,
we'll discover the secrets of our own hearts and souls.
between sheets. where we fall asleep to the sound of our own heartbeats
steady
steady.
i can see all of it.
clear as day even on a rainy night that this time may be to us.
to you.
you.
you did this to me.
you changed everything.
i can see all of it.
the future we could have with some time and hard work
with some love.
without letting anyone stand in our way.
because baby I'm ready to fall in love with you again and again
every single day because
i can see the future sometimes.
because i see in pictures.
no really, real pictures.
real pictures with real people like me
and you.
and us.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 6:38 AM UTC
"...Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily/Life is but a dream!" (Row, Row, Row Your Boat)
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCL)
Wash dinner dishes after dark for sense,
To rise and wash the dishes 'gain, t'avail,
In such wee hours tis night still in betrayl,
The hellish nightmare I was jolted thence
From for this lukewarm taste of what fr'intents
I like to think is sweetest minutes' pale
Chance, hark to rain cuz traffic'd shush in frail
Notes by, to trundle off to work, ah whence?
It's like our sleep was but a nap in tour.
And I half cherish that vague sense we knew
Ere dawn, as blueish twilight warms, astir,
Not lost in slumber, freighted chances to--
What, eh? I do not know. Espressos fer
Time to just savour coffee are good too.
04Apr19c
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 10:23 PM UTC
Well?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXLIV)
Blue skies lo, nary cloud blots for intents
Warm on these frozen wastes as trash' detail
Flirts 'cross the puddles like a bird in pale
Excuse who, washing up as wont, shakes thence
His wings, light flashing off them with a sense
Of summer's carefree minutes, whiles to scale
Ice glares more coldly from the corners frail
Ghosts of thin warmth ne'er touch but tis pretense.
Dad pulls espressos, foaming milk in tour
As all baristas, yet sans flourish, to
Leave that to sheer caprice I find as twere,
Whiles I feign then to ascertain a view
Of this or that, which he half tol'rates fer
The mystry is't? of all we sorta knew.
03Mar19b
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:54 PM UTC
Don't worry, darling
the ocean will be only a
memory, one day,
the wild waves a footnote
in the story of your
meandering life
we will meet occasionally,
drinking espressos in
the heart of London
imagining we are somewhere
(anywhere) else
but eventually, you will
forget me, and I will
not shake my limbs
into yours, worrying
about breaking the
skin. We are not
endless and forever
is now
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC