"mug" poems
I’ve seen eyes that capture all that I am and pull it to the front so I see it all, good and bad.
Eyes that looked so deep I imagine I could fall into them and get lost.
Eyes that have seen until the end of the world and so much more.
Eyes that hold captive the beasts that dwell where we dare not go and put them to a deep sleep.
Eyes that have power and strength and ideas good enough to topple the world,
The same eyes that need nothing more than a warm mug of tea
And another pair of eyes to share the world with.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
Hahay...
anaa lagi koy dakong balay
apan wala gayud tawoy
bisan jutay'ng kalipay,
walay oras nga dili
maglantugi
hiniktan ang kalinaw
ug dili gayud makaipsot
sa adto nga pisi
dako lagi ug balay
apan wala gayud gugma
dako nga balay
apan ang kagubot
dili gayud
mahilona,
daghan lagi nga k'warta
nga natagamtaman
ning mga kamot
apan pubri ra gihapon
magasige lang sa mug-ot
daghan lagi ug suga
nga makit-an
apan kung tarungon
ug lantaw
ngit-ngit pa sa alkitran
maypag wala nalay
dakong balay
kung ing-ani man galing
maypag wala nalang
kung mao ra kini ang
makasamad sa akong
kasing-kasing.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 7:51 AM UTC
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard
I wasn’t supposed to call out for your arms in the night
And my lips weren’t supposed to search for yours
As if they would actually be there.
I wasn’t supposed to nuzzle into my pillow at night
pretending that your hands were nestled in my hair
I wasn’t supposed to make small talk
just so I could hypnotize myself with that something in your eyes
I wasn’t supposed to wake up cold in the gray morning
with the strong urge to be bruised and bitten
In fits of slow, languid passion.
Unreal how our bodies match and move together,
Uncanny how our minds meld and play in synch.
My youthful love for life,
Your chuckling maturity, still unsure what life is.
Now I play soft ballads full of aching, yearning,
I can wrap myself in a blanket on the floor
With a mug of tea, and think silently on you
And the shadows I wish I could conjure into existence…
They live inside, dancing to burst free from our guilty bodies
Too ethereal, too beautiful, to be abandoned
When we (artists) know we live for such wonders.
I wish I had any other option but forgetting,
or descending into madness.
(I’m currently choosing madness..?)
And it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard.
I’m so sorry,
My summer love.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
at 4 in the
morning the sun
is never up
but i usually am
i worry
about things
that are out of
my control
even more about
things that are
get up early
when i work
and earlier
when i don’t
the older i get the
more i learn
sometimes you
need to cry it out
alone
at night
into your pillow
the blankets
wrapped all
around you
sometimes you
need to cry
and cry
and cry
until the morning
sun falls across
the tears dried
under your lashes
and the lump
in your throat has
dissolved so you can
breathe with ease
you need to get up
let hot water
wash it away
let the steam rising
from your mug soften
any sorrow left around
your morning eyes
take a deep breath
don’t mention it
to anyone
and
just
keep
going
i will
just
keep
going
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
Nagbaga nga kalayo sa atong kabatan-onan.
'di mapalong kon agi-an man sa mug-ot nga panganod ug uwan,
sama sa usa ka punoan nga aduna'y gibarugan,
'di matarug ug matangtang bisag kapila mo pang tayhupan.
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 5:20 AM UTC
I catch you sitting at the diner counter again at 2am, the fourth day in a row. The waitress comes over and hands you a black coffee. I stare, but you don’t turn around and catch me looking. You’re glaring into the mug, like somehow you’ll drown in the warm murky mix. Like somehow if you keep looking your problems will dissipate into the rising steam. Like somehow it’s the answer you’ve been searching for since you were born. You wanted an answer. Something that would make everything come full circle. It’s been years of you driving down an endless highway, passing every exit because you don’t know how to stay in one place. Even ghost towns won’t harbor something so deeply damaged. A person who can only pull the emergency break when they’re afraid they might crash. Crash into what? Not everything walking by you is a catastrophe. Accidents only occur when you forget to pay attention. Just like how you forgot that your side door mirrors were broken. Those objects are not closer than they appear. You tried to slow down but they only seemed further away. Everything you’re trying to hold on to is slipping through your hands the way sand falls through the hourglass. Tick tock. Did you forget that people need affection if you want them to stay? They are not dolls you can glass-case until you feel like playing with them again. Not everybody enjoys being a toy. How long has it been since someone sat in the passenger seat? The car rides must be lonely when there’s no one around to fill the silence. You can blast the radio as loud as you want to but that won’t block out the hollow feeling in your chest. The one that sits where your heart is supposed to be. Something that music can’t fill. Your mother once told you that history repeats itself but did she mention that only happens when you refuse to change the scenery? If you always stay on the same road you’re never going to snap out of it. Break the curse. Realize that love is sitting at the base of every exit if you weren’t so scared of swerving into oncoming traffic. The only head-on collision that’s going to happen is when you grow too tired of driving alone that you forget to keep your eyes on the road. When you realize you placed yourself in your own hell and your breaks finally give out. When you fall asleep at the wheel and never wake up because you were terrified of letting somebody else steer.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
I used to think I couldn't go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.
Then, that day arrived and it was so **** hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and I wasn't going to be okay for a very long time.
Because losing someone isn't an occasion or an event. It doesn't just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug, whenever that one song plays on the radio, or when I discover your old t-shirt at the bottom of my laundry pile.
I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and lose you, when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, when I wake and reach for the empty space across the sheet, I begin to lose you all over again.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
midnight tea stay with me
let me dream away and flee
let me drown in your mug
your hot water is my hug
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
And just like coffee.
Let your aroma tingle and stimulate the smiles of those around.
The best source of touch
Without cream or sugar.
Stir the organic presentation that brings the next minute that much closer.
Whether the preference is a mug or a styrofoam cup.
Remember,
At the end of the day.
Coffee fits into any size container
And brings to life any size smile.
With one quick sip
The senses awake to a new day.
Swirled in unspoken travel sized rule.
It follows,
The beautiful ovation that rushes once poured.
Beautifully represented by your smile.
The tone of your skin.
Your hair naturally at ease.
Stirred by a finger.
Specialism by the majority nodding away,
Yet awaken by your essence.
Soon extracted and brought to life.
Swirling beyond content.
And just like coffee,
I look forward to a cup of you
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 10:32 AM UTC
Sometimes, looking at you in the light of the kitchen I want
to run a finger
Down the length of your nose but
I know you'd wrinkle it, and shake your head citing a tickle, but kiss behind my shoulder as soon
As I turn away
When my feet make ice pools in the bed
Toes accidentally brushing your ankle and you **** abruptly, but upon hearing
My sigh, trap them back with your ankles til, martyr that you are, I'm engulfed in
Warmth at your
Expense.
Sometimes the last trickle of milk is mine, for the coffee,
Silent with your eyes smiling fondly, you look on as I sip, resolutely stirring powdered
Dead baby souls into mug as substitute.
Even damp smelly socks
Greasy hair
Neurotic tears and
Intellectual rambling epiphanies
Even childish blunders, fudging the
Budget or burning the toast
You still call me fond Things.
And love Me.
The most.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
A lone drop of coffee
Running down the side
Of my cup
Escaping the terror
Of teeth and tongue
Black gold in the morning
A precious liquid
Awakes me from a slumber
And brightens my day
Sip by sip
Rejuvenates the body,
Mind and soul
Caffeine flows
Through my veins
Motivation in a mug
Brewing is an art
Coffee so dark
It can wake the dead
But instead
Wakes me
Every morning
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
sometimes i feel nothing
like im not even there
that's a lie
it's all the time
it's the feeling of being numb
the feeling of feeling nothing
it's like your life is a silent film
that you see play before you
but hearing nothing and
everything is black and white
there is no color in the world
no happy songs that lift your spirits
no mug of tea can seem to warm your soul
and no smile seems quite so real
i am a shell of who i once was
feeling no humanity and no life
longing for something real
something to be felt
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
The light is on, I can see her through the window.
Like clockwork,
A shadow passes, cup in hand and hair in a bun.
The routine continues as the days melt into each other.
That shadow has become a friend,
A companion I meet on the path I walk.
She has no name and the only story is the one I have created for her in my mind.
A story of sadness,
Of a lonely silhouette the world has forgotten.
Why is that her story? Why have I not given her happiness, love, companionship?
It is in the way she walks across the lighted window.
Her head hangs down as if she lacks the strength to hold it up against the world,
Shoulders hunched as if she hugs herself because there is no one else to do so.
It is in the way her hands seem to grasp the mug,
As if it is her only anchor in this life.
It is in the way she stands, dark, against the light around her,
As if she is trying to light a fire from ashes.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
Thought I'd have a cuppa
to assuage my carnal thirst
I didn't know what I should drink
who I should have first
I thought of my friend Jack
Daniels to his friends
Life of the drunken party...
But it's only 9am
Then I thought of Harvey
who'd come in from the coast
But i really do not like him
'coz he's a milquetoast
Ah! I know who's perfect!
Tho I could be wrong
But he's tall, dark n handsome!
So very hot and strong!
He's uplifting! RICH!
He makes my heartstrings tug
He is bold yet mellow...
... and that good lookin' MUG!
Yes. I think I'll try him
he's got get up and go
He's the deep and "brew"ding type
*he's my cuppa joe!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/23/2016
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
it ain't easy, when you relate, restrict and delegate,
when you draw a narrow lane on a highway that says
only left footed
poets need apply
<>
it does not say
**slow cars stay to the right,
only trucks,
or oddly even,
no trucks**
I love seasonality,
without thickly thinking
you take a break
from the poetry writing
one day I'll figure out a way
to monetize my love poems,
publish them as Shakespeare's couple(t)s,
"new edition plus
a couple of
newfound poems!"
maybe some fools will buy some thinking Shakespeare has been, resurrected!
*love grows goes hot all over and
grow slower older
and grow colder,
in between those fine
ticklish teasing moments*
when the miracle of resurrection repeats itself
something is said
a gesture is made
a finger strokes the cheek,
unexpected
and it all comes
rushing back again,
overfilling
that coffee cup mug she bought
just(ice)
for you
*ain't gonna check how long it's been
since last I declaimed, disclaimed,
inflamed,
these pages with an only love poem
but I do know this:
it is something I think about,
It is something I know about,
it is something I feel about
daily
even on the nothing days,
when routine takes over
I know you couldn't remember of its passage,
is the waking up and the lying down to sleep*
but the poets eyes are always open his emotive secret senses,
always alert,
what's that thing they always say,
his heart just wasn't in it!
(🥴if they only knew the truth😘)
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 6:04 PM UTC
At the end of night she bathes in light,
We tussle in the warmth of morning,
The blankets and she are of sea foam
And found shells, whispering lost ocean
Words. Our bed is a raft, drifting aloft,
The coffee is brewing with mellow sun,
Her smiles, filling my silly, giddy mug.
Soon, we walk to the pebbled beach,
Her hair is waving at the friendly seas,
Gulls are circling in the moving skies
Reeling with the slow, slipping tides
And I skip stones with her as our feet
Sink in the milk of morning sands—
Must we be off to Dublin town?
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 2:05 PM UTC
mismatched furniture
a few dishes in the cupboards
a couple random blankets and lamps
a pan and a mug or two in the sink
a broken clock above the fake fireplace
a fake jackalope head on the fireplace
a couple college kids' apartment
my brother and his roommate
it isn't much but it feels like home
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
Every self defeating metaphor anyone has ever birthed
A mug of orange juice in a giant’s hand
Three tablespoons of soil that you will misidentify as dirt
A motif specific to the reader
The sound of a tree falling alone in a forest
A manual titled Insects in the Garden of Today: Pests & Benefactors
Three redwood seeds in a row without pause
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
The warmth of the mug
pulses through my hands
as I lift it to let another sip
of that aromatic golden liquid
touch my dry lips.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Oh Coffee Machine! My Coffee Machine! You've finally finished my drink!
For every morning you brew me one -I place my mug in the kitchen sink,
Every drop of your goodness; topped with whip cream; finished just in time,
The things you make, lattes, coffee, are absolutely divine,
Just as I was about to fill and pour the once empty mug,
almost as empty as i'm feeling; there's still that leftover bit of hope,
But wait, Can it be? My old trustee machine?
It mustn't be the end of my coffee machine peering near,
It can't be the end of my morning routine,
For all I hear are crashes; unfamiliar to my ear.
My Coffee Machine! Dear Coffee Machine,
The hiss of steamed milk, cream and roasted coffee beans,
The wisps of steam lingering in the air as you make my coffee,
Dripping ever so slowly in my cup -Coffee that's dark, bitter and black as night,
Early in the morning before breakfast; before I take a bite,
This half-full cup of coffee won't do me good for the day,
Without you I think that the morning skies themselves will be grey,
But wait, My dear coffee machine!
I keep pressing the button clear
It can't be the end of my morning routine,
For all I hear are crashes; unfamiliar to my ear.
Waking up with no cup of coffee, ask not what the future may bring,
Without the energy, I don't know whether sorrow shall reign or happiness ring,
Everyday I now wake to breathe deeply the aroma of life's bel-fry,
For if I ever smell the subtle hint of coffee in the air, I let out a sigh.
Oh Coffee Machine! Dear Coffee Machine,
You've been here for so many years,
It can't be the end of my morning routine,
For all I hear are crashes; unfamiliar to my ear.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
This woman of blonde locks
slim body and perky *******
acne and ribcage and vertebrae
she gives me that look
drawn smile with teeth bared
heaving tummy and deep stare
into my eyes like, "Come on."
Like a run-on sentence I'll make
her come on my face all night
and all day the next day
Best *** we ever had,
we had on a naked mattress
after a Sunday doing nothing
This woman of five o'
clock shadow and travel size ****
loose skin from weight loss and a thick neck
she is me and look
at that lucky feel
smearing over my dark mug
like I just won the sweepstakes
Like a run-on sentence she'll run
She'll run, she'll run, run me till
we need an oasis
Best *** we ever had,
we had on a naked mattress
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs
Squeeze your legs,
Release them,
A baker's dozen
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
Perhaps your body is composed of thousands of stars.
Limitless constellations make up your fingertips
your eyelashes
and the curvatures in your ears.
Galaxies are interwoven under your skin and how you glow.
You glow like the moon in the sky when it is at its brightest.
When nothing compares to the sight of the moon and the tiny specks in the sky are just insignificant floating circles.
Your hair flows like the Nile River.
Boundless, pristine water overflowing at my fingertips.
You are more than the ocean; you are all the bodies of water in the earth combined.
You are the last drop of coffee in my old, vintage, mauve red mug.
The last caffeine induced sip that flows through my oesophagus with a relinquishing taste of sweetness.
You are the sweet nectar that hummingbirds look for in flowers and when they can't find flowers with a taste that will satisfy them, they settle on trees.
You are the trees that produce oxygen, and the branches of the trees that tower over me like a netted blanket.
You are the cotton blanket keeping me warm on windy or rainy days because it doesn't snow in the Philippines.
But if you were snow, I would gather you in a plastic container and keep you in my ice compartment so you wouldn't melt.
You make me feel like I'm melting.
Like every possible emotion i possess flows out of me like vapor.
And you are the smoke that forms after you've blown the flame of a candle; you gently float in the air surrounding the space where the flame used to be.
You are the compacted tissues in my chest; you fill the void I once had.
You comprise my veins, my arteries and vesicles; you are a vessel of euphoric elation.
You are my utopia.
You are.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 9:22 AM UTC
can you explain
what it means
to despise someone?
to frame hate
and hang it on your wall
to count the number of days
lost sleep in your coffee mug
with the aforementioned's
name expensively embroidered on it
an old feud, laid in skin
and memories
so long you no longer remember
what the original sin was
only the feeling endures
an anticlimax
that you could go on
and on for hours about
without rest
so much pathos
teeming under the surface
that you could erupt
in volcanic tantrums
at the sound of a name
the way you clench your fists
until your fingers bite blood
from your palms
over street signs that bring up
old memories
the way you dream
of burning chairs
you heard they sat in
you find solace in the fact
that you are conscious
of this pervasive madness
that you are not tired of
and never will be
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
With a steaming mug of coffee in hand I watched:
the sun fall, the wind shiver, the leaves stand and land roll,
the birds swing, yellow beams dance,
and people stride in woollen warmers.
She plucked a flower in fool bloom,
then ambled away with a bamboo basket.
The clink of steel whistled through the air,
rousing sleep in the grouchy ones
saddled with books and a play toy in hand
walking in step with a grown man.
I walked there once, trying to keep pace
clasping a finger as large as my fist.
His snores now fall softly, circling the room
while I stand by the window,
wearing his shoes.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC
A rainy day
A dead rose
That picture on the wall
My little sisters test
Hanging on the fridge
The project I used to stall
My Polaroid camera
A broken mug
My mom's excuse of fun
A walk outside
A kitty in my lap
The trophies I forgot I won
A forgotten poem
A silent scream
A whisper of the untold true
Little things
Little dreams
All ending with you
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 1:02 PM UTC