"venti" poems
Venti, I admire,
I wish I was like you who soars through the sky.
Free like the bird you are,
Unburdened by worries,
just like stars dancing at night.
venti sits.
Up in his statue,
He admires the city,
that he built.
Venti, my sweet,
How lovely is it for us to meet,
Your green hair, your glowing locks,
Please comfort my soul, so my heart will be unlocked.
Your voice, your longing stare,
I love that you're always waiting there.
Your dreams, your goals,
I love that you'd rather be free,
like the god of wind! You fly happily.
Venti, my sweet,
stop drinking wine,
you're higher than a grape vine.
Venti, my sweet,
You prevent me from getting enough sleep.
my thoughts wander,
to your fantasy world I wish to discover.
Your calming presence speaks,
volumes of comfort,
You never fail to bring me relief.
May you sleep well.
I'll be back for tomorrow before you say farewell.
I love your antics, I love your voice.
I love that you play with me, I love that you bring me joy.
Venti, my sweet,
Come have a picnic with me!
At Windrise, for an afternoon tea.
There's cake, there's biscuits,
a lovely day, for you and me.
A picnic, with me!
I'm sorry, I didn't get you alcohol,
I worry about your alcohol capacity.
It rains.
You once asked me to come out and play,
over puddles, in patches of green grass, mist and hay,
What a lovely way to spend the day.
venti,
your beauty is like no other,
as pretty as the stars under glistening skies, its no wonder.
I fell for your grace, I fell for your personality,
how your smile brightens up my day entirely.
slander your name, they do,
but I shall savor my time spent with you.
right or wrong, they dictate,
but I shall pay them no mind, as always, my playmate.
you live in my mind,
however you like.
as long as you're happy,
I feel peace, basking in the moonlight.
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 2:07 AM UTC
Slumming.
Slumming around downtown.
Slumming around downtown St. Paul.
A broke high school student.
A broke student with perpetual down time.
A broken down senior student letting go of time.
Slumming.
Slumming down to Raspberry.
Slumming down to Raspberry Island.
Walking across the Mississippi River.
The bridge had been raided.
Marching.
Marching down teal and raspberry stairs.
Icycle nose hairs.
Seeing my breath as my chest shivers.
I found my heart trapped under the solid river.
Teenagers ******** about freshmen that got the bridge raided,
Teenagers ******** about artists they've always hated
and artists ******** about things they've created.
Underagers slowly letting out smoke.
Underagers letting out what keeps their lungs beating.
Underagers slowly letting out steam, cheating.
Me.
letting out smoke that came from the ice.
Smoke of below zero temperature, freezing my insides.
Mindless.
Mindlessly walking.
Mindlessly walking through endless skyways.
Mindless.
Mindlessly talking.
Mindlessly talking about things I don't remember.
Until we've arrived at We-Be-Smokin'.
Huddling.
Huddling in a group.
Admiring the art that claimed the spot before we did.
Scuttling.
Feet scuttling.
Feet scuttling in place to outrun the cold.
Reminiscing of months before when I was sitting alone in Starbucks with my
venti white chocolate mocha listening to crazy George yell at his imaginary
wife. Not being bothered. Not being cold.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:06 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
This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?
This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?
This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
(after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.
This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?
This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?
This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.
This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
The US will drive like the rest of the world,
And declare peace on the Middle East for all times ahead;
Good films and books will be successful;
And punk’s not dead.
Justin Bieber will bottom all the charts; Pink Floyd'll be back together;
Bond will like his martinis stirred, not shaken;
Race, gender, class and orientation will be nonsense words;
And there’ll be no sequels to Taken.
Teenagers will fawn reading Tolstoy and not Meyer;
Old, black men will order the "extra whip, non-fat, caramel latte, venti;"
Art galleries will be closed to people over 21;
And poets will feature in the Top 20.
There will be equal jobs and opportunities for everyone;
Humans will give up on colonising mars and the moon;
We will bring down the imperialistic, capitalist, racist, misogynistic hetero-patriarchy;
And you will love me, tonight at noon.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC
I knew a man
that specialized in the phases of the moon
-- knew that, in a ventimous amount,
wolves grow with the
lunar waxing;
he fell in love with the beauty of it all,
found that
all this time
had passed
to turn him as well
into the version
venti himself.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
she sat next to me near the window
at starbucks on
41st and madison with a journal
covered in pastel lines and a black backdrop.
on the top center read “2011 was the year i screamed
**** life’ and **** me”
as a running header. she ran
through my head, tilting this little snippet
of her brain
towards me and i swear that she looked at me
but all i could do was make the sign of the cross
hoping god heard my muffled voice, drowned out by
the sounds of yellow taxis on the crosswalk and
whispers of angels on the corners asking for my pockets.
i’ve never tasted sixty miles
per hour but i can imagine it’s the same
as when she writes “your shirt looks like my thoughts”;
i’m falling in love too easily.
i want to read every inch of your body; your arms
have the bible etched in your veins and a fifth of my poems
are scribbled on your aortas; my mother’s wedding vows
are in my right eye and my father,
my father just takes care of himself. i don’t think my eyesight is
getting any better, you slid the note two spaces down
and i think i shed a tear but i can’t remember whether
you were smiling for joy or the fact you missed my hand.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
They bustle, hustle
like ants in a box,
going nowhere, nowhere,
pop up to my counter top
from their semi-ordered line
I take their orders, same as last time:
Venti-turtle-soy-sugarfree-latte-extrafoam-nowhippedcream
and I swipe their plastic cards through my machine.
What a dream, a dream.
Chatter, swipe, shout, sign-here-please
And scatter on out with marginal ease—
hands full of coffee cups, bagels, cream cheese
Calling a boss, late again (I laugh,
I’ve been here since six,
and they think they’ve got a tough schedule to keep?)
When it’s finally time, I take my break,
stare at the syrups, the powders, the cakes,
and pour my coffee black
with nothing that’s fake.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
Starbucks generation
Stand in line
Heads down
Don’t make a sound
Get your venti iced whatever
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 12:24 PM UTC
Step 1: Be as anxiety ridden as possible.
Get a bladder infection because you are too scared to ask the teacher to use the restroom.
Fail your Algebra class because you fear that if you tell her you are confused, she will laugh at you.
Everyone will laugh at you.
Wear dresses and frilly skirts because you are scared to come out as transgender.
Your mind will mock you with thoughts along the lines of,
“ You dont deserve to be a boy.”
Just go along with it.
Let the words bounce in your head like children in a bouncy house.
Do not reach for the ibuprofen bottle.
You see your mind will need to be as messy as your heart.
Therefor your heart will have to crumble into an avalanche.
DO NOT PICK UP THE PIECES.
You will need to be addicted to starbucks and body modifications.
Do not get anything less than a Venti because if you do not get your daily dose of caffeine you will go into withdrawls.
You need to modify your body because it is the only thing you can control.
Step 2: Make your hair as colorful and bright as possible because then maybe your mom will understand the fact that you are gay.
Maybe if you turn your head into a walking pride flag you will not have to see the look of disappointment coat her face when you step out of the closet.
I know what youre thinking because I have been told this before.
“But honey, the closet is made for clothes.”
Yeah youre **** right but the closet is also the only place you can hide your chest binder and boxers,
They will sit right next to your pushup bras.
Step 3: Feel everything.
Feel every single thing as deeply as you can because if you do not,
Then how will you get a messy heart?
And to have a messy mind your heart must match like the couple shirts he bought you on your one year anniversery.
Do not love him.
He will break your heart two years in and cram the words
“I simply dont want you” down your throat
And you may not cry.
You may not show him you are hurting because then he will know you care.
Then he will know you are wrapped around his finger as tightly as you can.
Step 4: Do not fall in love.
Even if it is simply with the brush strokes on a canvas.
Do not fall in love with anyone before you fall in love with yourself because for the past two years, toxic waste has filled your veins.
Do you know how much it hurt to bleach him out of your mind?
You have to scrub his fingerprints off of your body.
You will become raw.
It is okay to be raw,
You just have to learn to heal yourself.
No more coating the burn wounds with promises of forever.
No more temporary treatments.
For the sake of your sanity,
You must fall in love with yourself,
Before you can learn to not love him.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
I want to know if a venti
Will hold a tall can for my jog home
As I type the word “how” into my phone
Recent searches pop up
Only one starting with the word how
“How do I know if I am having a heart attack”
I skip the beer and run
Until my heart beats so much warm blood into my face
I feel the pump in my lips
If only someone had kissed me just then
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 5:54 AM UTC
She's the kind of girl who'd take a pregnancy test (after drinking two venti iced green teas) at a Starbucks restroom. She's the kind of girl who'd come close to overdosing on antioxidants and diet pills. She's the kind of girl who'd drink cheap velvet wine to the point of senselessness and obliviously karaoke to Radiohead's Jigsaw Falling Into Place at a distant city bar on an Autumn Tuesday night. She's the kind of girl who'd still be holding your wrong-doing hands underneath the sheets atop your bed at 4:03 AM.
She's the kind of girl I'd be if I had more of a heart and less of a mind.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Don’t date people who drink coffee.
But especially don’t date people who claim they love coffee
then drown it in sugar and cream.
Those are the ******* that will break your heart.
They claim they love coffee and then they manipulate it
until it’s something they can tolerate.
They don’t love coffee at all. They like sickening sweet sugar water.
They like pretending to love coffee.
The sort of person who goes to Starbucks every morning and demands a
Venti,
Non-Fat,
No Foam,
Sugar Free with extra ice and three pumps of hazelnut
is the sort of person who will slowly find every quirk that makes you who you are
and destroy it to fit their lifestyle.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
Perché i celesti danni
Ristori il sole, e perché l'aure inferme
Zefiro avvivi, onde fugata e sparta
Delle nubi la grave ombra s'avvalla;
Credano il petto inerme
Gli augelli al vento, e la diurna luce
Novo d'amor desio, nova speranza
Nè penetrati boschi e fra le sciolte
Pruine induca alle commosse belve;
Forse alle stanche e nel dolor sepolte
Umane menti riede
La bella età, cui la sciagura e l'atra
Face del ver consunse
Innanzi tempo? Ottenebrati e spenti
Di febo i raggi al misero non sono
In sempiterno? Ed anco,
Primavera odorata, inspiri e tenti
Questo gelido cor, questo ch'amara
Nel fior degli anni suoi vecchiezza impara?
Vivi tu, vivi, o santa
Natura? Vivi e il dissueto orecchio
Della materna voce il suono accoglie?
Già di candide ninfe i rivi albergo,
Placido albergo e specchio
Furo i liquidi fonti. Arcane danze
D'immortal piede i ruinosi gioghi
Scossero e l'ardue selve (oggi romito
Nido dè venti): e il pastorel ch'all'ombre
Meridiane incerte ed al fiorito
Margo adducea dè fiumi
Le sitibonde agnelle, arguto carme
Sonar d'agresti Pani
Udì lungo le ripe; e tremar l'onda
Vide, e stupì, che non palese al guardo
La faretrata Diva
Scendea nè caldi flutti, e dall'immonda
Polve tergea della sanguigna caccia
Il niveo lato e le verginee braccia.
Vissero i fiori e l'erbe,
Vissero i boschi un dì. Conscie le molli
Aure, le nubi e la titania lampa
Fur dell'umana gente, allor che ignuda
Te per le piagge e i colli,
Ciprigna luce, alla deserta notte
Con gli occhi intenti il viator seguendo,
Te compagna alla via, te dè mortali
Pensosa immaginò. Che se gl'impuri
Cittadini consorzi e le fatali
Ire fuggendo e l'onte,
Gl'ispidi tronchi al petto altri nell'ime
Selve remoto accolse,
Viva fiamma agitar l'esangui vene,
Spirar le foglie, e palpitar segreta
Nel doloroso amplesso.
1.4k
I do not have to meet you
so I can say that you're beautiful.
I know that you are,
and I know that you are gentle,
I know that you are kind,
welcoming, and forgiving.
I do not know but one day,
maybe I'll meet you on a busy day
as a patient or as a doctor,
or maybe on a warm Saturday,
as you call my name
written on a venti frappuccino.
All these uncertainties
will eventually lead me to that one moment
where I can say, "it makes sense now."
Why I had to hold the wrong hands,
why I had to lie in wrong rooms.
One day, I'll wake up and look,
there's the warmest smile in the world,
with the softest eyes and gentlest touch.
And he'll be angry at me sometimes,
but never disrespectful, never violent.
I will hold on to the many years
that I will spend not knowing you.
Until then, I will let everything
to not make sense yet,
and ready myself for the perfect moment.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 11:32 AM UTC
Now that the world is
As small as it has become
The more you travel
The more you realize
Everyone and everything
Is the same
There's a sweet
Universiality
We share
All of us huddled
Under the face
Of that green encircled
Goddess
That harbinger of
A caffeinated fix
Altars to drink from that
Holy ambrosia
Stationed at economically
Strategic locations
Throughout the world
And of course
The holiest of
Universal symbols
The one found
In the succulent
Attraction of a
Woman's curves
Out of reach
Nothing more natural
And intrinsically
Understood
And that's all we've
Come to
In this glorious 21st
Century
From Moscow to
Miami
It's all **** and venti
Mocha latte's these days
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
It’s taking too long to drink my coffee.
It greeted me with a piping hot smile
That relaxed me, now it’s lukewarm to me.
To bring back steam, I’ll nuke it for a while.
My eyes were too big for my morning roast.
It calmed so soon, I drank it too slow.
“A venti, please!” I told Starbucks to boast,
It grew cold as I got into my flow.
I’m certain this is what Starbucks intends,
A fine metaphor if ever there were.
All this caffeine on which life so depends,
An excess we all self-administer.
Tomorrow another twenty ounce cup,
Burnt mouth to more quickly go bottom’s up!
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:22 AM UTC
Io vorrei, superato ogni tremore
giungere alla bellezza che mi incalza,
dalla rovina del silenzio, fonda,
togliere la misura della voce
e cantare all'unisono coi suoni;
stamparmi nelle palme ogni vigore
in crescita perenne e modulare
un attento confine con le cose
ov'io possa con esse colloquiare
difesa sempre da incipienti caos.
Vorrei abitare nel segreto cuore
centro d'ogni più puro movimento,
animare di me gli spenti aspetti
dei fantasmi reali e riplasmare
le parabole ardenti ove ogni grazia
è tocca dal suo limite. Variata
stupendamente da codesti incontri
numererò la plurima mia essenza
entro un solo, perenne,
insistere di toni adolescenti.
Nell'aperta misura delle ali
del più libero uccello,
nel vigore degli alberi,
nella chiarezza-musica dei venti,
nel frastuono puerile dei colori,
nell'aroma del frutto,
sarò creatura in unico e diverso
principio, senza origine né segno
d'ancestrale condanna.
E so, per questa verità, che il tempo
non crollerà spargendo le rovine
dei violati contatti alla mitezza
del mio nuovo apparire, né la sacra
identità del canto verrà meno
ai suoi idoli vivi.
925
"Transference is a phenomenon characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another."
It's funny.
My addiction is coffee.
Or was coffee.
Now the person who makes my coffee
occupies my thoughts.
I need him.
I mean it.
Or him?
They say coffee is a powerful thing.
Or is that what they say about love?
I like love.
And coffee.
I'll have a Venti,
with an extra shot to the heart.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
i had taken the morning off from work
to get a botox injection
afterwards i went to starbucks
and bought a venti carmel something
to drink on my walk to work
somewhere inbetween starbucks
and work i noticed a man in a wheelchair
he was stuck
il·leg·i·bly
he was asking for help
illegibly
i had to put my coffee on the ground
to get his wheelchair up and moving again
the wheels ran over my foot
and the coffee got knocked over
and spilled on the ground
he didn't say thank you,
but he was in a wheelchair
and couldn't speak coherently
it hurt
and my toenails
were black for the entire summer
a few months later
i got a job at starbucks corporate
but quit with no notice after six months
because the manager
couldn't stop yelling about white privledge, me, and howard shultz
and i didn't want to turn into her.
her initials were kkk.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 6:11 AM UTC
i remember
sitting on the curb,
sipping a venti café latte,
and pulled
the last cigarette out
of my patched-up
leather jacket,
i waited on you,
but it rained
my hand upon
my head, i placed
and ran fast
to the side street
near the crossroads,
the rain pummeled
the concretes,
crackles of thunder
at the distance,
i was
on my way home,
i supposed,
but i missed
the taxicab,
i remember
sitting on the curb,
soaking wet
in the rain,
tried to light up
the last cigarette,
and the coffee
gone cold,
i waited on you,
but you never came
Jun 15, 2021
Jun 15, 2021 at 6:47 AM UTC
Sit in Starbucks in the rain
Venti Vanilla and hamstring pain
Biked all the way here
to sit and study road signs
Note down all the guidelines
to sit and sip and listen to the sky's tears
Behind the Bon Iver Holocene
and future fears
Too much coffee will make you old
Too much work will make you dull
Threadbare sweater, aren't you cold?
Threadbare dreams, weren't you bold?
Weren't you better than this?
I could have sworn you were interesting
Weren't you Intrepid
boundary-testing?
Weren't you Fearless
all-Investing?
Infinite Spirit
Never resting
And now look at you
Utterly Ordinary
the typical type
Suburban Sell-out
Cheers to real life.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Not happy with the outcome keep working and striving too many detours and road blocks. Pursued a career ended somewhere else. Worked hard to be full time but a part time who works harder than a full time worker. So many let downs put my trust and confidence in the wrong people. I was a team player and you made it about yourself. Made the most of what was given to me and adapted. Working and not happy made mistakes so it's hard to go back only forward. The stress makes it hard to sleep over thinking till it makes me numb. Hard to breathe anxious to do good be better but it's never enough. Thick skin and tough shouldn't be tough others make rough. Don't want to do it anymore been doing it because it's right no one cares to do it you keep your head up when all you want to do is hide and run away.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC