"expresso" poems
word of your alleged affiliations reached me weeks after it was all said and done; she was now queen of your world and I became a mild sore in your side like I feared I would
I don't know why I'm surprised. I never amounted to much anyway. I often let my feet burn in the running bath water just to feel something besides a building wall of anxiety in my chest.
I often dreamt about you. also about her - that walking prayer with a Devil's torch. I could've handled my tears if it weren't for the coffee shop you two were admiring in my dreams. do you remember my favorite place?
a nightmare is a dream until it becomes your reality. sometimes when I wake in a cold sweat complete with tremors, the breeze still smells of expresso and pastry
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
You were nobody's regular Starbucks.
Not ridiculously expensive for some ****** fancy named coffee.
You were more like a vintage Italian expresso.
And I would search every corner of the world for you.
If it meant I could have one last sip.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
Ingredients for 6-8 people
• 4 egg whites
• 2 egg yolks
• 100 g (1/2 cup) of sugar or 5 tablespoons of fruit sugar (alter to your own preference)
• 500 g (2 1/2 cups) of mascarpone cheese
• 4 small coffee cups of espresso coffee
• marsala wine (or brandy or cognac)
• 400 g of savoiardi or lady fingers (sponge cake fingers)
• dark chocolate powder
Preparation
1. Make espresso coffee, sweeten, and add the marsala wine (or cognac) to it. Let it cool a bit.
2. Separate the egg yolks and the whites of two eggs in two bowls.
3. Beat sugar into the egg yolks.
4. Beat the mascarpone into the sweetened yolks.
5. Add two more egg whites to the other two and whisk until they form stiff peaks.
6. Fold gently egg whites into mascarpone mixture.
7. Quickly dip both sides of the ladyfingers in the espresso mixture.
8. Layer soaked ladyfingers and mascarpone in a large bowl or pan (start with fingers, finish with mascarpone).
9. Sprinkle dark chocolate powder on top.
10. Refrigerate for one hour.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
A cigarette in the morning
To get me over the night time
I forgot to sleep again
My eyelids live on high time.
It's fine I'll just play the guitar
Drink a cup of coffee or two
Walk along to my sanctuary
In my mind I'll write songs to you
A cigarette after midnight
To overcome all this silence
I don't want to sleep again
My eyelids wait for sunrise.
Another double expresso
Until my heart starts to echo
And then I'll stop and start breathing
How d'you get rid of this feeling ?
I'm thinking again of the morning
In the red of the wine time
This bed has become me
I'll get out of here sometime.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
TABLE D'HôTE
Appetizer
Wrong Tons With Me Soup
cooked worry
seared in a teary onion broth
Hors D'oeuvres
Slow Roasted Fear
fresh over-analyzing
crushed with loneliness
Main Course
Stress Salad
tossed with insomnia
marinated in a vertigo dressing
General Trouble Chicken
battered uncertainty
gloomed to perfection
sitting on steamed danger
stir fried in an overwhelm sour sauce
Dessert
Choked Volcanic Eruption
mountain of OCD
topped with whipped depression
glazed with self-loathing
Expresso
prepared with frothy guilt
(C) Jl 2016
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Tell me your secrets tell me a tale of centuries passed where you recall meeting at what we called the wrong time what if maybe years from now I lift my head tilted towards the sound of a barista clearing the table where you then sit where you are only focused on a poodle called Gaillard who is chocolate brown groomed to perfection with a winter coat matching the faux fur wrapped around your neck as winter has fallen no bleakness just crystal skies iced cobbled pavements too cold for the puppy with big brown eyes whimpering for a seat on a warm lap of an owner feeding treats comfort provided by the attentive barista returning from the inside of a busy café serving hot fresh expresso drifting smells across untouched air toward me who orders another chocolat chaud arriving with a macaroon an unmarked napkin to which I write "Tu me manque" standing I walk to her table Gaillard remembering my scent lifts himself to my chest as I lay the note down where the one who'd be gone so long whispered back sweeping her hair to the side, "Tu me manque plus"
simultaneously they say; "I knew I'd meet you again someday..." a smile from both, "in Paris," with a giggle a caress a simple holding of the hand.
© Sia Jane
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
It's been a year
Since you broke me
The first time.
Yet, your expresso eyes
Are still the only ones I
Want
To see past the fog of
mine.
I wish I could hate you
Oh how simple that would be
But I can't
When the only thing you didn't do
Right
Was love me the way
I love you.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 12:55 AM UTC
my world has many colors like the prism;
the blue hues of glistening waters of greece
against the white stucco adobes.
dancing tap shoes of flamencos
while visiting in spain.
autumn hues of russian reds, gold, cobalt, greens, oranges and black co-mingling.
asian tastes of polynesian spices in the philippines.
safaris in africa witnessing the awesomeness
of massive mammals.
sophistication from the streets of champ elysees, sipping cappuccino
and i will have some creme brulee please.
or perhaps go to italy and sit on the spanish steps
with a cup of expresso. i will take along a cannoli
and count the steps.
while back at home reminiscing over a cup of joe
with a friend in tucson arizona.
after exchanging our love for art
i will read my mail from friends afar;
the outback to talk about the love
pocketed in the kangaroo’s pouch and discover
new zealand, the unfamiliar territory.
we share our secrets who have been there.
reading beautiful poetry like never before.
all the while being reminded
i have been blessed by the HOLY ONE.
you see my friends, my world has forever changed
since i have met all of you.
getting up each day having my coffee
welcoming me to another day with my friends
from the east, west, north and south.
upon dusk we say so long, see you soon.~~by lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
maybe love
is a shot of expresso
i should not have taken
hours before bedtime
Jul 4, 2022
Jul 4, 2022 at 12:52 PM UTC
Spend my nights counting sheep
Might as well change my name to Little Bo Beep
I have flocks of hundreds, leaping over fences
Counting them all, as the bleating overwhelms my senses
But they don’t lead me to the land of sleep
All these baa-ing, stinking woolly sheep
I’m sure they are sniggering, as they prance in my head
And I lay fighting with the covers in my bed
Eyes red turn to a window, lit with early dawn
Another night passed and the sheep have withdrawn
I head out, another day, clothes dressed inside out
Too late to change, too busy dealing with the fallout
Of arriving late to work, and to the boss’s rant and rave
God I can’t remember his name, is it Brian or Dave?
But slowly his voice fades to the sound of a bleating lamb
And his head takes on the form of an angry woolly ram
Baa, Baa, Blacksheep, the nursery rhyme sings
In my head. I feel sudden expresso cravings
I battle through the rest of the day, coffee on tap
And at lunchtime I manage a ten-minute power nap.
Then home and an early night put into place
Hot milk, no TV, a book to create a relaxing base
I am primed for the perfect night’s sleep.
But two hours later, I am wide awake. Counting sheep.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 9:47 AM UTC
We are in the middle of a recession. It's hit us all in some way or another.
It's happened in the past - history repeating itself.
The elderly have seen it all before. They remember the queues for food,
where everyone got their fair share, when it was gone, they had to make do.
My friend has been laid off from work, and the cottage she rents is to be sold
by the landlord. He's feeling the pinch too, so has no choice.
It's a small place with two rooms, but, she tells me, at least she has a roof over her head –
for now.
As we sit together under the bare trees, she pours it all out. Her future looks gloomy,
like the sky – cumulus building. That's when the rain starts.
My friend's mascara begins to run in inky streaks. She wipes her cheeks with a kleenex
as best she can, before we hurry to shelter in a nearby cafe.
We are the only people in there. As we wait, the owner tells us he's closing down
at the end of the week, that customer numbers have dwindled and those who do come,
sit with an expresso for hours on end, watching the T.V. -
that way, they're saving on fuel.
We take our coffees over to the window. The rain has eased off a little,
so we sit watching the puddles reflect an oppressive sky.
My friend explains how she may have to leave the area to look for work,
like so many have already done.
I tell her she can stay with me until she finds another place, that this is where she belongs,
where we can all help one another however difficult things might get.
Our voices chime around the empty cafe echoing the sentiments of so many people.
Stepping into the street, we are met by the dazzle of wet cobbles.
Grass verges sparkle with fresh rain, and a tangerine tree, dripping with fruit
droops over a solid iron gate, its bobbing lanterns shining with the colour of sun.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2014
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
At the Coffee Shop I saw a man
I saw a man and guessed his story
He had dark circles beneath his eyes
And he looked like a dead man in his faded black suit
He rubbed his forehead as he sat down
And his eyes seemed far away when he ordered his coffee
He ordered a double shot expresso
That says a lot about a man
As I was leaving I stopped to say goodbye
I figured he could use some friendliness today
Instead of saying goodbye I said hello
And he told me his story
So I told him mine
And to this day I spend everyday thinking about him
About his story
About mine
About his story of a divorce, a child sent to jail, being fired
Then going to the Coffee Shop and seeing a woman
A woman who looked like she could use a break
From work, from stress, from broken love affairs
He geussed her story
And she geussed his
She suprised him though
By stopping to say hello
And then he went on to marry her
And together they were happy
She got a break from stress and broken love affairs
And he got a break from his empty heart and loneliness
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 4:52 PM UTC
As any of my friends can tell you
I'm a very strange and quirky person
and so is my family
I hate hate hate coffee
But I'm also addicted to coffee ice cream
And chocolate covered expresso beans
I detest the taste of alchohol
So I'm allowed to try it whenever I want
I used to hate green tea but
My best friend mentioned he loved it
I gave it another chance, and now love it too
At my high school I'm not at all 'popular'
But everyone seems to know me
I am one of the shortest kids in my high school
But have some of the tallest friends
And they all love coffee
So if you like coffee say rawr
And if you like tea say miaou
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
You should rather stay inside,
Than being out tonight,
Just sipping coffee,
And nothing to look forward to her,
Savoring your healing attitude,
Even you are still dreaming of her.
Sometimes you are losing your cool,
With your everything,
You would give anything to be with her,
And you will try your best to let it subside.
You are letting go for April fool,
Without taking any part of her,
Something what your heart truly wants,
And no one will ever see but her.
The way you now use to do,
Being so so, as your Expresso !
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
*When travelling, a book
On breaking a journey
“Expresso please”...
thence to wander wondering
window shopping away.
Yesterday, a door opened
and in I went
There, wide of brim
with it’s egg yellow middle
I see, painted upon sky blue
two simple childlike
yellow beaked
pink and pretty birds
ever chasing, just
one white cloud.
Valley destined
bought, lovingly packed and mine
Sitting, cup held full
whence came my thought
to make this a gift
I ponder why
then keep it sound
to sip from, mine
hand painted
and washed
this once
in bright
thought*.
...
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 1:49 AM UTC
My hands are numb and so is my heart.
Every breath of air I take into my chest hurts.
In and out its like running a 5k marathon.
My stomach twists and turns.
My head fluttered with racing thoughts.
Tears filling up in my eyes like a bathtub.
Body aches.
Laying in the bed straight staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Quiet and numb. I can't feel anything.
Nothing at all.
I want to scream
I want to cry out
But nobody will listen
Nobody understands this deep dark twisted pain.
On replay everyday for my enjoyment.
Maybe one day I'll wake up,
And I won't be depressed.
Probably not.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
If I could take every note of the harmony that is the universe, I would have an abundance of stars and with those stars, I would paint the night sky on your ceiling so you'd never have to live in the dark again and if you ever feel the darkness gripping your wrists, I will send every firefly to your window to kiss your scars as you sleep. so that every morning you could wake up feeling loved and if ever you do not feel loved I will send every lightening bolt to excite your heart and every ocean wave to embrace you with salty sweetness to warm you on those exceptionally chilly winter nights.
And if you ever feel alone, just know I will be there with every puff of cigarette smoke and with every bitter sip of expresso because I care for you more than my body and mind can show and if I cannot demonstrate to you the happiness you create in me, may the elements of this earth remind you how it feels to truly feel anything at all.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
Double shot of expresso
and I'm screaming inside
You're tearing yourself open right before my eyes
and I am nodding my head
as if to say it is all alright
And I know that you love her
and that I am the
confidant
you spill secrets to me in dimly lit rooms
and with the children screaming
we run away
with the one I should keep you from
and he flirts from the front seat
Batting eyelashes like the pretty girls do
We are catastrophes
but we just can't let go
and maybe that's the reason
my heart is so ******* full
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
first things, first
before i burst,
well,thats a blessed relief !!
coulda come to grief....
so easily.
it used to be,
put the kettle on
now it's slide
the plastic pod,
of coffee magic
in the slot.
lost the romance,
but i forgive,
as the coffee smell,
heaven scent
tickles, teases,
swirls and curls
in the predawn air
my nose hairs steam
and crema....crema
oh my giddy aunt!!!
i love the grind
of the bein' bean
my especial, expresso
blend
my bestest, favouritist, morning friend.
come to mamma's lips.
today....
is it gulps,
or dainty sips.
nectar in, either way
pulse begins, pupils dilate
lookin like another
beautiful day
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Signor Bialetti Brews the Coffee now
Grazie, grazie, Signor Bialetti
Natty with your moustache and pork-pie hat
Charming man, your aluminum design
And Italian elegance grace my stove
If Don Camillo were to visit now
And bring along his ****** pal Peppone
They would still argue faith and politics
Just as they do in Emelia-Romagna
But here, over biscotti and expresso -
Grazie, grazie, Signor Bialetti!
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
Dawn comes too early, I am not in the mood for morning. Like a grumpy cat I sneer at daybreak. Noonish is a better to start my day. That is why coffee is my first thing to do everyday. Home made Java, that old cup of Joe. Steaming hot aromatic and black. I mixture to stir the senses, just what the doctor ordered. A shot to perk me up and revive me to the world. From no whip latte to the espresso double shot. From Colombian dark roast to French Vanilla, what ever it takes to jump start my heart is what I desire. So if you hear weird noises at 5 am, don't be alarmed. The world is not ending, nor is there an earth quake. It is most likely me and my coffee *** whirring in an attempt to make espresso for myself.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 3:02 AM UTC
sitting- staring being here right now
caring- loud enough to myself-in my head
grinding and chewing at my inner cheek- waiting for those pancakes
sipping- at my cafe the dry dark roast expresso from a can- it was frozen by my doing
I am a liar and I am a swooner- to myself I list these articles
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
Every morning, I robotically walk to the local coffee shop
The same old man sitting at table three,
Who wears his intelligence on his brow,
Searches through mountains of texts
On how to give his life sustenance
All the while, a somber young man scribbles
An intimate poetry session in his moleskin
His face always sadden by the prose
Heavy writing hand suggesting frustration
I only wish they both can break away
From their pages and notice today
that their commonalities could heal their sorrows
Heal one another through their humanity
But for now my latte awaits
I'll see you tomorrow gentlemen
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC