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text message to make me laugh
hot and sticky outside
I walk you to your work truck
you kiss me
the sun rises

hazelnut coffee
the leaves are changing
so is your mind
we share a bottle of beer
you kiss me
hung-over
the sun rises
so you close the blinds

hazelnut coffee
he adds sugar and cream
I think about calling you
instead I tell him
I just like to be alone
the sun rises
a little later than usual

hazelnut coffee
my bra is the only ornament
on your Christmas tree
I am thinking
about how good your hands are
at unwrapping
the sun rises
reflecting off the snow

hazelnut coffee
January like a blanket
I drive to find your arms
we watch too much TV
but I never think
to say I hate TV
and I love you
remembering that I like
hazelnut coffee and sun rises
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
We are heating up
A-glow--- A-star--- A-blaze
Many other well-lit planets
She's luminous like no other
Simply crazed__Fairytales

*She's Peach-Fruitti-Tutti
Godiva loves nuts
All the melt in's
*
Mr. Bacio-Hazelnut*
Mr. Pistacchio he got his nose______

Inside their sweets____Pinnochio
She's the Light-up Icecream Cone  

Moods are like ice cubes
hot and cold websites
I prefer cold zone
Feeling like
Eskimo in Alaska


Miss Prima Donna
Oh! Donna is her name
Gelatos are not all the same
We are not here to have
special privileges

Robin lost some ruffles
Polar bears ice Igloo
College boys with their sports mug
Polo shirts Santa hoo duffle bags
We don't know what she knows
or what he likes the stars
of the Cosmo we are not
here to win someone's love
OH! Yes Lotto

We are not professors or wizards
Harry Potters, they have some
Pots not a fan of pans got
some ****
**** so cool menthol smoke indeed
Around the Gelato in eighty days
The Race of a drive

computer clicks one-day creation flag
Hens and chicks laid the golden egg

Mr. Egghead meeting Conehead

His tasters choice  
 She loves Mr. Maxwell Mansion
This is Italy the Art sculptures
Sweet Gelato lips say a
thousand words of pleasure
We travel with Exotic lovebirds
Saving the Ice blue diamond
Icecream wreck what a she
gains more than a pound
Mama Mia,
not the Chia job plant
 Over the rainbow
chill out pants
Having Gelato clean
as mint float

To the waffle cone top
of the mountain sugar coat
Niagara Falls here
"Gelato calls"

What spaghetti my name is
Carretti

Mr. Alfredo his physique and
passion for food
Feeling like the comics
Having fun marveling
Carvel walking through
the love tunnel
  
Hot ladies how do they ever
Decide iced up inside

Hothead Alfredo throws
the dough
She coughs he laughs
The pizza everyone's
the head is turning beet red
Something is burning exorcist,
Lady in red pizza list

Back in Brooklyn best
Pizza and Italy (Rome) Venice (Florence)
But Bensonhurst Saturday night fever
With Nightingale Mr. Chippendale
He's chatting away on his cell phone

With her Gelato looking at the
stars of the men spiritual experience
The Cosmos feeling meltdown presence
St Thomas sunny like yellow
gelato melting

Being a saint please don't faint
A food critic dessert
*** a hex playful flirt
T Rex mighty green lime
The love fallout of coconut
He's the hottest man
on earth Pluto
Being whole flavor or 1/2 pint
of Vanilla Sky scholar or
Intermission Icecream internship
The Canadian cup another trip

  Nike air what an ice cream pair
Going back to New York City
Rockettes icecream kick
He's on his time feeling the royalty
Lets bow to the dogs best friend
French barrette in her ice blue
Corvette, she is 'Ice Queen"
Super Ice me, Hero

Do what the Romans do
Lend me your warm soul of hands
Getting married Italian medieval rings
For my next Gelato adventure
escape be polite on Google
Mr. Alfredo loves all kinds of noodle
The shape of Cone's to come in her head

Not an Antman, please or fly by night
Icecream Cone Head Batman
*But I am a woman named Robin
Christopher Robin, Robin Hood
Why are boys and girls name alike
**** good humor lady
Good humor truck
Where is her order head chef
shrimp scampi
In the islands of Sorrento

What a time for ironing
What a waffle shirt eating
his waffle
Icecream with ladybugs and dirt
So many varieties mental thing
Everything icecream you scream
What a college Varsity every year  
"Hot lady Gelato's" head of the dean
list oh! No
[Mr. Alfredo} ice cream chair with
another Gelato pair
Chiao for now
Gelato went a little too far I love Gelato lets travel with Robin and get some unbelievable Gelato but we need to go to Italy I was there it's amazing
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
We are not on a schedule
But we are working
Ivory skills of mastery hard
We can not afford to lose
The Elephants hearts diary
The Zen of topiary
      Details
  The good luck

The hard worker making
True buck the husk of fruit seed
The Peking God of duck
Superman of gifts of steel
The movie superstitious eyes
Everyday good earth cries
Elephant Trunk
Bring on the Holiday
The tuxedo the Elephant Tusk
Godly task the top rank

Anomalous

Questioning the situation not
so delicious
Sensual so moving vivacious
The comedy of errors
Ridiculous to the sublime

The compromising position
Waiting for the next
      "Crime"
Mens of romance
Holiday the gracious gray
Taking risks

*Gallivanting never separating love
Of the tusk, life holds too many risks

Smiles and baking
more loving
The harder you mix
    Wonderful Ivory
   An elephant is a true
   ingredient
Holding the whisk over creamed
Looking high up the
white feathers
Like a beauty, I have never seen

She loves to pick his holiday
Elephants circles the tie he's
her dream
There is no truth when its a holiday
when people
Laugh between there lies

Start running toward
Elephant Tusk
Moms homemade apple caramel
pecan pies
Conflicts subjects
to paint talk to the "Elephants"
With the dreamy ivory tusk

The fragrance of Ireland
Spicy Greens musk
King hand card player tough skin
*Holiday Queen got numbered in
The men million stars of
musk saved the day it flew in

You make me feel brand new
I never made a mistake
Never one that I couldn't explain
Running towards or afterward
Those love words
Before the Gods
The veal chops
Emperor of emails
The Cops and robbers

So modest and shy with demure 
 Holiday spirit world of hands galore
What allure dreamy contentment
She got holiday advancement

The contrast between
Holiday family love the honesty
but our government magical
mystery all bribery
Go for the tour just pour
your words
Quite a mystery white baking
flour messy
Moon and the Star handkerchief style
dressy

The Astronomy we need
to build a better
Here and the now
Wondering how?

Deep brown hazelnut
coffee royal bow
Seeing through the
Gray starting to pray
The parade of the Elephant
The day we can trust
This isn't a Fay Ray
not my kind
of town
The holiday comes and goes
too quick
There you are Rick and
his cousins
It felt like a holiday of
*Tombstones
The gathering with the finest
rhinestones

More sound of silence
Please no I phones
Shut them off enjoy the
Elephants tusk and
their home turf
Not the bluest sea
Make it the lovely
    (Earl Gray)
Bringing surf and turf
More conflicts those predictions
More spiritual afflictions

Just find your peace within
His Elephant pants win
You got the whole tusk
in your hand
"Snow White Huntsman"
Affection like a
housewarming
My holiday transformation

Neon Lion light of crystal ball
The spiritual Tree elephant
Touched a part of me the art
All the fine elements bring
us closer, not the copy
of an imposter

Something to smile about
The myriad
The full length of the camera
The Elephants has a heart
no drama
Flying so Ivory gown sheer
Moms roast will not
come next year
Red devil computer
Telling me there are
Ghostbusters and
travel gliders
I am the true
Elephant lover
More homestayers
music players

Men looking astronomically
Feeling silly
in their whiskers
The world is horrifying
But there is no denying
more praying
Her heart is very thick
Elephant skin close to her
heart is luck
What is happening
to our economy
The sad thing people are selling
Elephant's
Tusk for money we need
to stop this

Lucky Elephant tusk is
turning to good luck
We pray for the world
Holy bless
The holiday Spirit there is no Scrooge here this was done differently do you love Elephant husk please save them they are beautiful and good luck this cruel world is selling them we need to stop this
Kelly Bitangcol Aug 2018
“Pepsi employee killed in Hawkins car crash.”
“Maine Vice Mayor Deaver killed in car accident in Castle Rock.”
“Woman ‘dead’ after car crash found alive in morgue.”

The news reports on radio echoed through her whole car as she indulged her third bottle of Russian Standard. Weird, she thought; she has been hearing news about road collisions all day. She was sure that the alcohol wasn’t intoxicating her mind to hear different things, she knew she was still sober. Everybody knew she always had low alcohol tolerance, even herself knew that; now she couldn’t even taste the bitterness of the liquor, she feels it inside of her. Drinking was the thing her mother told her to never do, perhaps because it turns her father into a monster with a closed fist as a weapon.

She looked at her rear-view mirror and realised she was travelling alone on an empty road. People had told her before to never travel alone in Derry Road or else something might happen. She wasn’t travelling; she was running away. It fits her, she thought, she and the road were the same; they were both empty.

She heard an unfamiliar noise, like the sound of a steel colliding with another steel. She had realized that her car engine died while she was driving. “Seriously?” she said to herself, “Is everything I own dead now? Like me?”

She stepped outside of her car and walked to find any gasoline stations or houses that could help her. There is no luck for any signs of functioning establishments on an empty road like this, she thought. However, a place filled with buried muscle cars, abandoned pickup trucks, and old bulldozers caught her attention. It’s an empty road. How is there supposed to be a car junkyard? She thought to herself. What’s even stranger is, she didn’t see it while she was driving.

“Well this day couldn’t get any weirder,” she said. First she couldn’t get drunk after drinking three bottles, then she kept on hearing news about car crashes, and now she suddenly saw a car junkyard out of the blue? She opened her hood and a massive smoke appeared, causing her to inhale it. She was coughing while staring at the oils leaking. She didn’t know what to do. She had no choice but to look for people who could help her with her car. She didn’t know anything about it, she didn’t even know what the problem of her car was. She glanced at the sky and saw the sun was slowly setting as well as her hope in what’s happening. She thought to herself, maybe this creepy car junkyard could actually help her.

She walked towards the old car junkyard and the sight of it surprised her. Her eyes widened when she saw people hanging out, beer bottles everywhere, and some couples having the time of their lives.

“May I help you?” A long haired guy who was wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt appeared by her side. She was having second thoughts in answering him back, but she really needed help, especially if she reeks of alcohol on an empty road.

“Yes, actually I was driving and then my car suddenly stopped. I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but a smoke appeared and the oils were leaking. I figured you can help me.”

“You think we know everything about cars just because we’re hanging out in a car junkyard?” He asked while laughing. Her embarrassment was overflowing at that moment which caused her to look down, she was still hearing the guy’s chuckles.

“I just guessed. I think.” She said this while looking at the ground since she was too humiliated to look at him. Much to her surprise, his laughter was no longer heard. “Thank God.” She whispered to herself.

“We’ll see what we can do. At the moment, why won’t you just join us?” Join them? Like hang out with people who are in this creepy junk yard? She stood still while ruminating on what she should do. She was feeling a little scared that maybe these people are actually killers or ghosts but there wasn’t really anything to lose for her. This is the place she'd rather be than her house where her mistakes and failures are always included in their dinner conversations.

She walked towards people who were about her age. Girls with vibrant hair colours looked at her from head to toe, some of them smiled at her that caused her to smile too.

“Your car died?” asked a short haired girl holding a beer bottle.

“Yes. This day couldn’t get any worse. Life couldn’t get any worse, from losing everything you have to people you trusted betraying you. My life is as worthless as my rotten car.” she uttered. One problem she has always had was the inability to control her mouth. People tried to cut her tongue before, unbeknownst to them it’s a far more dangerous weapon than their sharp objects.

“If that ain’t the truth.” said the short haired girl while taking a sip of her beer. Seeing people drink their beer bottles triggered her, she was fighting the urge to go back to her car and finish the remaining bottles of her Russian Standard.

“You want one?” the short haired girl asked while giving her the beer bottle. She just shrugged and shook her head, she was never a fan of beers.

The people in the car junk yard continued to hang out and drink their beers. They talked to her and even told some stories, she was enjoying their company. Epiphany suddenly hit her when this one thought crossed her mind; people there talked to her and asked her questions, but they never asked for her name. She never knew even a single name. Abandoned cars, unusual but enthusiastic people, and a junkyard in the middle of an empty road. She was starting to think she visited the labyrinth of lost people with broken cars.

“I hope you guys don’t mind me asking but, who are you and what do you do here?” curiosity was evident in her voice. For the first time, she was starting to care about things.

“We live here.” A husky and deep voice replied, which sent shivers up and down her spine.

“You live here? Like you sleep inside the cars?” Her voice was filled with wonder and a little bit of fear. She has never heard of a lifestyle like this. What about their food? Their money? Their family? These questions surrounded the confused mind of hers.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“I’m sorry if I ask too many questions but how did you guys meet? Like, were you all friends before or did you just meet here?”

“We all met because of one thing, our cars suddenly died. Actually, two things; our cars mysteriously stopped and we all had the desire to walk away from life.”

She immediately felt tiny little bumps over her skin. She thought this was actually a nonexistent place but she was right all along. She was feeling a combination of terror and nonchalance, like a person who is on the verge of death but has already accepted the fate that the heavens had stored for her. People already had their eyes closed while some are still staring at the constellations in the sky, wondering why their lives didn’t shine as bright in the dark as them. She’d rather sleep than look at the stars, for she knows her life would be much better with her eyes closed.

“Are you sure with your decision?” a soft but eager whisper awakened her from her thoughts. She saw the long haired guy staring at her, waiting for her answer.

“What decision?”

“Are you sure you want to walk away from everything already?”

She looked at the guy with annoyance mixed with sarcasm. “What? I’m just sleeping. When my car miraculously work again, I’ll leave immediately.”

“You’re enjoying here, aren’t you?” She didn’t try to utter some words, she knew inside of her that he already knows the answer.

“I was like that too, you know? I thought this was the place where I can finally be free. I finally walked away from my problems, I don’t have to deal with never ending problems and challenges anymore.” He paused, which caused her to look at him and wait for his reply. “But that’s only what I thought.” He said this with a broken voice that she was sure she would never forget.

“But isn’t this junkyard truly for us? For people who failed, for people whose lives don’t deserve to continue anymore. Maybe our cars stopped for a reason, maybe our engines were never meant to be fixed. Maybe we were never meant to be fixed.” She felt tears slowly streaming down her face. She remembered the sight of her lover with the person she trusted the most, she remembered the bathroom floor filled with her own blood, she remembered the bruises on her face after the night her father got drunk.

“At first it was. It felt good. Until I realised that walking away from everything isn’t the solution. It doesn’t make things right, it actually makes them worse. The fact that you didn’t even try to fight is the worst thing.” She felt it. She felt his pain. She didn’t even know who this person was but one thing is for sure, she felt everything this guy had been through.

“But I tried, you know? I tried everything and life still gives me the same, eternal problems that I will never find solutions to.”

She could see his hazelnut eyes travel around her. Her blue eyes that were filled with tears looked at the boy who told her more meaningful words than her own father ever could. “I was like that. I was dumb to think life will always be easy, that I can surround myself with happiness and positivity. But life isn’t like that. Your life will not always be like the rising sun because most of the time it’s a thunderstorm. But I was more dumb to think that the best decision was to run away. I heard all about this place ever since before. I drove all the way from my place to here, thinking I could escape it all. That’s not the right decision. There isn’t a day here when I don’t think of my mother crying while I was in the hospital bed, wondering what she did wrong. I gave up on life when the people in it didn’t give up on me. I was stupid for thinking that I could reach my destination immediately without having a journey. I was stupid to think that I can just drive for 1 kilometre and be at the place I want. It doesn’t work that way, life doesn’t work like that. There will always be a journey, a journey where your car’s engine will be dead in the middle of an empty road, but you will find a way to fix it and drive again.”

“So did you regret your decision?”

“Let’s just say I was too late.” She couldn’t find the right words, she didn’t know what to say. She lets him do all the talking for she knows he can never say these words again.

“Look, I don’t want to be the one who decides for you. Maybe you’re so fed up of everything, I get it. But I’m just asking you to think about it, before everything is too late. And piece of advice, if you decide to leave here, please, don’t ever look back.” Blue meets hazelnut, in that one occurrence, they knew their car engines aren’t the only ones they have in common.

She knew that if she walked away, she was never going to see him again. It seemed impossible that he would tell her his name, but she still took the risk and ask him for it. “Before I go, can I please know your name?”

“My name’s Kevin. Kevin Parks.” His face was filled with regret and sadness. Maybe saying his own name was a struggle for him, he knew he would never hear his loved ones say it again.

She nodded and smiled at him, it’s been too long since she put a smile on her face.

“I’m Rosa.” She said. He smiled, knowing she still has the chance to let the world know her name.

“Tell my mom I’m sorry.” And just like that, he disappeared. She was left alone with the chaotic mind of hers. This was everything she wanted, to finally walk away from everything.

She looked around all the abandoned cars and abandoned souls, this is the place she’s supposed to walk away from. The darkness, the surrendering, the giving up. The people disappeared and the smell of beer and cigarettes were no longer there. Silence was her only companion, and it was the most riveting thing she has ever stumbled upon.

She went inside the rotten car of hers and inserted her key in the ignition when her engine miraculously turned on. Hearing her father’s drunken shouts, covering her scars with bracelets, and seeing people who shattered her are the things she knew she will experience again; this reality lead to Rosa’s hesitance in leaving the car junk yard. However, she thought that maybe she could visit Kevin’s mother and talk about him when he was still not aware of this place. This place, this car junkyard filled with abandoned cars and souls unexpectedly shed a light to the road towards whatever destination she was meant for. For the first time in many years, the sun finally set in her direction again. The rear-view mirror was very tempting to look at, yet she gathered all her courage to put her foot on the gas.
Carolin Feb 2015
Coming into his dreams
seducing him for fun.
Stripping the clothes
off her skin to make him
turned on. Starting to kiss
his neck while he sits on bed
with his legs wide spread.
Coming into his dream
seducing him with her silky
chocolate brown hair. The way
it falls down covering her *******
resembles the same way the
angels fell from the heavens
above. Kissing him there and
there marking his skin every
where while he takes off her watermelon coloured
underwear she kisses him
deep and hard before the sun
rise and before its time for him
to wake up and open his hazelnut coloured brown eyes. She comes
to his dreams to ****** him in
the dead of every single night* ~
Nandini Apr 2014
The hollow in your eyes,
hazelnut radiance in the dark,
burnt with wait for the glimpse of the starlight.
the hollow within the eyes cant ever be measured...those deep glistening pools  i want to dive deep and drink of it.
Ariel Baptista Jan 2017
Stretch me out and count me like clouds
Say she is vapour
Venom, velvet and vermouth
With hair of hazelnut rapture
Clutch the moments, clutch the moonbeams
Clutch the stretched out skies of cloud and mustard gas sunset
Sing she is a child of trauma
Supressed in the name of breathing
Violence in the name of skin
And she is venom, velvet and vermouth
She was born to pink salt lakes in the low country
With ruby pomegranate eyes
And hair of hazelnut rapture
Girl with the soul of a thousand pilgrim journeys
Girl with the soul of a blackberry bush
Girl with the soul of olive trees and sheep meat and oven bread in the fire country
Human smiles
And other dark things of value
She lies like velvet
She lies in the name of supressing traumas
In the name of breathing
She bleeds like a billion stars bleed vapour
She is venom and vermouth
With hair of hazelnut rapture
She is the sum of a thousand pilgrim journeys
The prayer of holy rivers in the canyon country
The smoke of incense burned by sages
The scars of bodies burned by crusaders in mustard gas chambers
Goddess of Nuclear energies
Red-eyed like ruby pomegranates
Like the dewy cauldron of morning
When tenuous steps lead bodies down the path of executionary revolution
To boarders, frontiers, walls of white-skin scar tissue
Sing songs of Babylon in the free country
Clutch the moments
Clutch your breaths and hold them in broken palms
Clutch the tides and teach them
Breach your rib-cage, unstitch and return the borrowed bones
Melt the metaphoric thrones
Breathe backwards in the name of unsupressing traumas
In the name of truth
Stretch me out and count me like clouds
Girl of angel-breath ambition
Soul of blackberry bush and smile of splintered terracotta tile
Sing your songs
Say she is vapour
Looking for notes, criticism, anything really! Thanks **
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams)

<•>

familiar that apple google and amazon
have me under 24 hour surveillance
e-specially now
as I am in their
geosphere of influence

but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status,
and is addressed to me personally (“you”),
that’s just creepy

so charged am I, obligated to oblige,
to counter-compose a love song of mine own,
under the pinot “influence,”
(in a manner of speaking)
which a love taught me to love

what if,
a new love song ecrit,
to an old and loverly land,
a woman-land designed to be desired,
no difference -
kissing a new girl first time,
a wet and unforgettable
compote
when falling
on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed

now I tremble-tread
for the line of great predecessors,
“the land lover scribes”
skilled in natures homaging,
is like a line out the door,
around the corner as if
a new flavor ice cream
has just been isolated and mined and I...
<•>

I,
but a novitiate
in a far away, wild untamed world
where my nature taken by her nature
cannot deny paying my just due:

selvage
late middle English, from self + edge

how perfect!
“an edge,
woven on a fabric during manufacture,
intended to prevent unraveling”

the pacific coast air
the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding,
god’s own forestry reserve,
the cascades, a goal on the horizon,
country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild
all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to
imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin

all will be my own selvage!
preventing the eastern unraveling disease,
a nearly incurable permafrost low grade
kate spaded infection,
brought along with me for decades,
my loon June companion, now stalling out,
lost from my happy head

a vineyard on every corner,
marijuana growing next door,
rivers that change like children growing up and down,
cheek to jowled property line
live the berries and the hazelnut groves,
god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic
like marshmallows dotting the landscape


all daring you to say

I could
love
it  here
A Love Song
William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963

I lie here thinking of you:—

the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
the horned branches that lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world—

you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west
Meditating in the carnage,
my core's cyanide became
warm milk before bed. My carcass
coexisted in inconsistent comfort, that
safety untouched like internal feelings.
Unstable caramelized eyes watered down to a
wary hazelnut from lack of love, the way the
phone screen glows white to gray at 4 AM.
Aching in agony; I haven't found a person
to care for the poison within me-
I love using metaphors, similes, etc for poems.... This one took an odd turn...
All feedback is welcome!
Felicia C Jul 2014
hazelnut coffee cup
cotton button down
hem my skirt
hem my thoughts about your hands
your belt left bruises
your teeth leave marks
your eyes leave me without
July 2013
Carl D'Souza Feb 2021
I am
gently munching
crunchy hazelnuts
which taste delicious
as they break apart on my teeth,
bits of hazelnut
passing over my tongue;
the hazelnuts are covered in chocolate
which melts on my  tongue
as I gently munch
and savour the taste of
sweet milky creamy brown chocolate.

I am
Chocolate-Happy.
Claire Walters Jun 2017
I walked into a 7-11 with you and  then all of the sudden I stopped and starred,
not because a loud and angry guy was screaming at his kids not to touch anything,
but because,
the coffee in the pots were cold and less than half full just sitting there on the counter
and no one was going to come in and drink it,
it would be left there to sit all night getting colder, until someone dumped them and cleaned them out, that's how I was before you came along,
I was a cold *** of coffee left over from that morning that no one wanted anymore,
you see, you seemed to drink the whole coffee *** before it even had a chance to get cold,
And if it did get cold,
You'd drink it anyway,

You got ecstatic over the thought of having caffeine in you to wake you up and make you lively again  
And I love that about you

You are different
You don't care about my non-coffee drinking past
You don't care about the dark rough grinds that took over me and made me undrinkable
You don't care if I was French pressed or keurig'd out
You still love me

You'd still love me if I was skim milk
If I was a skinny fat free latte
You love me now, even when I'm whole milk
If I became a double chocolaty chip
And I love that about you

You love my "I wanna white mocha latte",
and my "I need an iced French vanilla coffee from Dunkin' Donuts right now!",
And my "I am on a first date with this guy walking around with this amazing dude spilling a watered down small coffee all over my hands because I am so nervous, AND I DONT EVEN CARE BECAUSE I DONT KNOW IT YET BUT HE WILL BE MINE FOREVER!"

You're that kind of "I-don't-need- another-espresso-shot-but-I'll-take-an-extra-one-anyway-even-if-I­-do-have-to-pay-fifty-more-cents" type of guy,

Because in the end I realized paying that extra fifty cents was worth it and I'm glad I did
Because this is the best cup of coffee I've ever had and i don't want any other kind,

And I wish I would have tried this sooner and I want this feeling to last forever, because this feeling is nothing like I have ever felt before, it's like the first time sipping a different kind of coffee and not sure how it's going to taste and then all of a sudden your taste buds start going crazy and you lose your **** mind because it is so good,
And you want the cup of coffee to last forever, and it will,
Because you will keep going back to your most favorite and amazing cup of coffee for every day that you live

We went to Dunkin' Donuts again the other day,
We're known as the 7pm coffee drinkers,
One of the workers that's always there gave you two free to go cups,
We're there a lot....

The first thing I gave you was a small coffee with cream and sugar filled kiss,
the second thing was a gift card to a coffee shop,

I love you a latte
And you know i espresso a lot of feelings towards you
You're my 4 packs of sugar
My hazelnut and French vanilla creamer
You're the first thing I think of when I wake up and what keeps me up at night,
You and my coffee
Us and our coffee,
Surprising each other at work with a 16 oz coffee in our hands with a dumb smile on our faces

You are the reason I am happy
You are the reason I love coffee so much
You are the reason I wake up
You're the reason I ask if you want coffee
And the baristas at our school have an odd look on there face when I order not one but two cups of coffee and they can't help but wonder if there's someone they don't know about
And there is
It's you
And you are mine
Trevor Gates Jul 2013
A satisfied appetite is a simply joy

Overlooked and simplified

Like a growing urge, a salivating need

That is entrancing and glorified.



Everlasting for moments we call meals

Forgotten in time, lingering above

But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside

Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again



The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight

And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips

Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center

Halved and topped with mascarpone crème



The man with a skin of caramel glaze

Caressing and savoring

With a fragrance and scent

Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin



In the pursuit of a brief love affair

What oral sensation did my taste buds want?

My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await

Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff



Generous portions and humble pies

Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die


Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté

Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce

A robust aroma and savory appeal

Basil leaves with garlic strips

Olive oil to top the surreal


Hubristic meatball aborigine  

Elysian cuisine or many dreams


Teasing the senses, warming the pit

Of flowing pleasures

And tingling fingertips

Without moral measures

And succulent wines

Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone

Seasoned with Sicilian herbs

And paired with broiled asparagus

Drizzled with lemon juice


And a glass of Merlot

Spices I hardly know



Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows

With love there is pain, passion endured through the names

Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums

Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass


Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami

Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami


Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor

Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin

red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread

devilish rounds of crumbling ***-swirl bread

Smells and wonders, tastes so ...

oh god

Divine and sublime.
A little hobby of mine is cooking, so I thoroughly enjoy looking up new recipes sometimes to try. Movies like Babette's Feast, Ratatouille an The Trip. Amusing how we can associate flavors, smells and tastes with more than just culinary customs. We can correlate joyous emotions, moments of sensuality and comfort.
AM Aug 2015
It was when his finger prints left marks on my coffee cup
in that Starbucks he politely gave me my warm hazelnut
I remember how I got a little struck of his height
he made me look at him like I am gazing at the stars

It was his 'hi' that painted my crooked smile
followed by a simple question, "what's your name?"
God, he's so cute in that black t-shirt and snapback
I sounded like a ****** when I speak my name out

It was his vibe and a little of his laugh
that got me re-arranged a space in my mind for him
as he threw compliments with the same amount
of every single thing I like about his consuming eyes

It was a bye-bye that evening where it started to rain
and I counted his steps as he walked away from me
along with the ticking clock for his first phone call
cause he stole my every attention until I stumble and fall
Ariel Leigh Mar 2013
Though her eyes are jeweled crystals,
She is the annotation of a valid *****.
Asinine men still don't envision,
She is the offspring of Satan.

Women see her true form,
Underneath that pallid, limp skin.
With lipstick as red as strawberries,
The masquerade is precisely blood from the virtue.

Animals snarl at her without awe,
Yet she's the carnivore.
Her black crinkling hair covers her coyness,
Only to ****** the prey in the hotel room at dusk.
Jake muler Apr 2016
Middle of the hourly awakening
I'm tired, can't sleep
But the hazelnut coffee
Sounds so good.
Even if I can't go
Back to sleep
And my poetrys misunderstood! It's all good,
My eyes will at least be partially open
When my body starts to lag
Because of the hazelnuts high
The good taste for a minutes grab.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
why doesn’t english phoneticism diacritic the non-trill r, or why doesn’t it diacritic the non-harking h? i wonder... where’s all the nation’s intelligence gone to... investing 650 billion in the ant mound that’s london? the politics blame it on the eastern european... ‘never blame it on the chinese or the arabs... they have the investments to come with boom & bust coordinates of new york’s 1920s hopes... followed up with depression.’ but oddly enough no recession in poland... perhaps because the poles have all the salt and lost all the dollars’ worth of edible mince pie (while the irish only lost ***** in hazelnut hangover forgetfulness on the titanic minding the class system of who got the lifeboats) - **** me, i’ve turned into a welsh longbows’ man with the famous V of agincourt... i’m not even welsh... but i’m assuredly an abacus: count to two sheep flights of suicide and towing two snorkel sneezes worth of bubbles before dozing off; ah... the celebrated humanity.*

that’s how it works... the r that lost the wheel and the ballerina twirl,
and the rolling-on requirements of a diacritic mark,
since all the available ones are inadequate,
and the h needs surgery to be honest...
it’s hardly a hay stack... as is the gnome eager to learn
about gnosticism and u-boats...
but did i tell you this one story that might
make you laugh?
in my post brain haemorrhage psychosis
i bought a martin & co. acoustic guitar for £600
while trading in a mandolin i bought cleaning toilets
in an edinburgh nightclub getting more than i expected
from a **** groper... sold for £25 second hand which i didn’t take
and just left it there due to honour
(who'd empty ****** in beer bottles from a toilet
getting harassed by a gay
in order to buy a £70 mandolin to play
only one song and then sell it for £25 and take the money?!)...
no, really, the english r needs diacritic markings
to distinguish it from the other european arms and arses
fidgety.
so this martin & co.’s guitar i bought
and took to my ex-girlfriends house...
which i left outside... and... oddly enough
in a guitar sheath the guitar suddenly spontaneously
decided to itch and break up...
my ex-girlfriend’s father said the cold did it...
he was always the handyman to break things...
then i started to head-**** the guitar until i managed
to weave a hole in it to sound more hollow...
so i fixed it in the end... a blind man could play it...
my ex-girlfriend’s father ended up as a nutcracker in
the mental health unit for a month while
england rejoiced when the pantomime season came along
in the local theatres - plates were thrown and dogs were walked...
like tonight... me in cognitive conversation:
‘hey stranger’s dog across the street, why you pausing
tail waggling and pavlov ready for a treat
and trying to imbue a french revolution’s cause off the leash?’
religiously you're reversing the due pundit of prayer
for the thing suffering... christianity almost feeds
the notion of prayer unto the continually suffering...
you wouldn't see prayer so easily given to
zeus ******* hera on the chair... would you?
pathetic, even morbid perverts of poverty
******* out the blood from the man...
if he deserved it he deserved it... it's not so easily
grecian polished into the realm of the undeserved...
the classical philosopher inquired: the gods exist...
but why are you sacrificing animals for their existence?
the modern philosophers inquired: the god exists...
but why are you sacrificing your emotions for their existence?
i will not sacrifice a goat on the altar...
but that was easier given the fact you're feeling
such sibyl s & m with that thing dangling on two planks of wood;
didn't i write of the malachi heresy...
the heresy that invaded monotheism and said
john smith postcode *** *** from the 21st century
will always be john smith from london from the 16th century?
malachi's heresy concerning the reincarnation of elijah
decisively spoke of the fractioned hebrew god... it spoke of 1
as 1/2, 1/3, 1/4, 1/5, 1/6, 1/7, 1/8, 1/9 etc.
i can't believe that... like hegel equated in
the book marx digested and rebelled against, i = i,
malachi you propagator & instigator of christianity and islam!
malachi! to the greeks & romans with you tied to st. paul!
(even allen ginsberg mentions this equation
in one of his poems: i am i, old father fisheye that
begat the ocean, the worm at my own ear,
the serpent turning around a tree;
kant and 0 as negation, hegel and the equals sign as being,
naturally ≠ has to imply non-being);
not building idols of forearm and knee for worship is what islam
got away with replacing them with the worship of words...
i'd hate to worship that night idol dictated by a man
who couldn't read... it's almost like a crow hunching
next to a statue of ramses ii about
where r a m s e s trivialised the six pack of the abdomen
there were the letters r a m s e s without definite form
to concern the suckling of favourite idol mantras...
idol holy word hum hum ham ahead of you...
thou shalt knot the casual reference of muhammad
in the corner shop for thou shalt not offend
the goosebumps sensation i feel when i hear the sounds...
MAKE THEE **** A HOLY **** WORDED & WORSHIPPED!
ARSES IN THE AIR GENTS... WE'RE GOING TO HAVANAH!
and so it was... the only fear of death i have
is to have lived to being aged 72... and then died;
death sooner... death... sooner!
my parents die i'm moving to the true england, up north,
to liverpool or manchester... **** the southern fairies
from dubai... i rather move to the faroe islands to be honest...
and **** a dozen orcas for a fry-up and the digestion of winter...
i rather **** time occupying the space in greenland
among the icy chinese known as eskimos;
i'd fit in among the føroyar kindreds... i love the doom & gloom
and hate the sun & tan of globalisation's adventures
with advertisements and juggling tourism
among terrorism's fictive narratives.
Daniel Ferris Sep 2014
In that moment, your skin was perfect
Just like the rest of you.
Soft, gentle, pure...
How could I resist?

Here, now, I can see
Our time had a taste like Arabica.
Short, bittersweet, with notes of hazelnut.
But in that instant,
That eternal moment,
There was not one drop of coffee
On your lips.

Because you were the first girl
I almost kissed.
And you were the first girl
I wrote poems about.

I know they didn't rhyme, but
It was the best I could do.
Y'know, poetry was kinda new
To me. But I wrote it for you.

Better?
Mahdiya Patel Sep 2015
He reminded me of the
night but his very eyes lit
up an entire city//
Poetoftheway Oct 2017
Growing Hazelnuts in the Pacific Northwest
(a conversation between two coastal poets)


we periodic update each other by
email or poetry...writers choice

~~~
my turn but
not an easy poem to commence,
for its eminent domain fraught
with relative comparisons favoring one side,
emphasizing the differences that life prefers to offer
a magnetic choice,
attract or repel

a language conundrum
an iron-strong irony that the poem's ending,
its commencement, its ceremonial completion,
far easier for me to forecast before the real work initiated
<•>
commanded  by you to write of me and mine,
with detailed, careful accuracy
as if it were a poem!

So Why Not a Poem Then?**

my hasty notes emailed upon my current status
you dislike for they are both brief and oblique,
poorly scripted, yet generous
with typological confusion, writing in this genre of
self-evaluation always is concluded by me as:

devolving into either boring, pompous or delusional aggrandizement or the final infinity-indignity of
mealy mouth whining

so an updated poem will be writ,
the happenings of my life have not changed greatly,
the struggle to earn daily bread that supports a familial universe, grows more difficult as demand for buggy whips drops even more ferociously with the onset of miracle
self-driving cars

your son fights fires, commands the earned allegiance of men who fight that which threatens the survival of others life and limb, mine, fights for the his daily bread which is only equivalent in its mind numbing insidious mental exhaustion

I make no judgements or place any emphasis erroneous

the California fire, your sons volunteered absence,
leaves living holes in your family to be filled,
and the burden shifts with the Oregon wind, northward,
upon your old-er tired-er shoulders,
a somewhat similar etching on my body
carved in Eastern Standard Time worry lines

reading between the lines of your concerns,
read of all the plans in process,
feel the cares and concerns that  lself-sacrifice impose,
among them the 75 acres of hazelnuts harvest ready
that need his missing hands to do the harvesting work

which makes my daily shifting of financial instruments
seem very, very, petite bourgeoisie

I have studied in some detail the minutiae of hazelnut harvesting methodologies which makes me into another
east coast expert poet - confident in his opinions validity,
tho devoid of any hands-on experience and would not recognize a hazelnut from the ones (nuts) floating in my head

well, here must also admit into evidence that every potted plant or tree I ever purchased in the Flower District (West 30's) died. ignominiously. that a delicious word deserved of being spoken aloud for the
accuracy of its sounds

as predicted ending this poem, far, far easier than the writing

we cross pollinate each others lives; selfishly think, nay,
convinced, each, I am the possessor of the better half of the deal, for me the loving of your ordinary of soil and ash,
*** wee football, the honest labor of building things
is getting an honors degree in sharing

though,
though worrying about our children
seems to be deemed a bi-coastal commonality

perhaps the Yankees will win tonite, (nope)
perhaps the Giants will upend the Seahawks tomorrow, (nah)
items of passing interest that will soon pass,
for your real serious worries are
combulated confabulated and combusted with mine,
what is yours - now mine shared

this intersection happens when two poets from opposite ends of these united states cross pollinate via manly hugs,
75 acres of friendship that need harvesting,
and the earned respect of insight into our singular
psyche so rich-earth deserved

with manly hugs and respect

your friend the n-man
Oct 20-22, 2017

~~~
3:31am
Elizabeth Milnes Jan 2012
It’s always been just coffee kisses,
they’re all I have left to bring.
Overflowing mugs of latte love to spill on your hands, your lips, your heart,
Caffe mocha affection
laced with cappuccino hugs.
Iced or steaming, you decide.
Hazelnut, peppermint, French vanilla
(dulce de leche piquitos para ti)
warm espresso admiration,
americano dreams,
sugared and creamy to sweeten your tongue
served up with a coffee house smile—
bitterness hides in a candied disguise
but not today.
No sugar in the raw, no milk, no cream,
no sweet sticky flavors to trick your lovesick mind,
no fancy names to make you think it’s worth the cost.
Just pure, dark caffeine,
ground up this morning,
rich and smooth, but bitter and dry—
brewed with intention.
Just one coffee kiss, for you.
One plain black coffee kiss.

Take it or leave it.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
i loath that educational poetry that's intended to address you with scold or searching for a higher tier of morality, there are poems like that out there (rudyard kipling e.g.), with educational / instructional overtones in the way they're written, i always wonder though: did the poet remember the idea of solipsism and writing the poem as if to himself, a note to self, rather than for others to peer into the poem and learn something?

that's the thing though,
i'm a child of immigrants...
actually an immigrant
myself... no, wait, let's do
what the higher tiers of society
call it: i'm an expatriate,
a child of expatriates -
and they still talk with an accent,
me? self-taught english
from the age of 8, retained my
mother tongue nonetheless,
speak none of the two tongues with
an accent, unless i want to,
a friend of mine introduced me
to a greek cypriot, lovingly ridiculed
me as posh... and let me tell you,
sounding posh in essex is hard to do,
i admit it would be harder in
scotland or east london, but essex
is still a hefty mountain to climb -
it's like that crass joke i heard in
the edinburgh comedy club i used to
haunt once a week...
a guy stands up and with a mighty grin
announced himself with over-stressed
elocution: 'you might recognise my accent
(i.e. denoting where he came from,
a great conversation starter on these
islands)... it's *educated
',
and that really crushed the hazelnut
in his **** -
well if it was a woman telling the same
joke, it would be a crushed hazelnut
between the legs - missionaries
in positions of ardent prayer
and christmas wrapping paper -
because a woman's strength in the leg department
is like the lips of oysters, or any over shellfish
for that matter - insects of the deep blue
(exoskeleton).
Styles Jul 2014
Hazelnut colored eyes,
dark  liquorish hair,
bright red cherry lips,
cinnamon brown freckles,
sprinkled over your,
smooth caramel complexion,
spilling into your tightly woven
deliciously lovely  frame.
Evie G Mar 2022
A conversation over a cup of coffee
(Sainsbury’s low quality)

The kettle burbles in the background
Bartering bubbles for blatant babbling

The granules flop, shake if they stop
Right from the top, into brown slop.  

Stir with a spoon,
Stare into the eye of the storm:

Vanilla swirls, auburn curls,
Minding their manners, glances from girls.

Hazelnut eyes, thinking they’re wise.
Smile contradicting the, frankly, **** skies.

Pupils dilate,
Chalk dusted slate,
Tea leaves are telling me this must be fate

Dumb conversation,
Mind saying more,
Something unsaid seems to open a door

I’d rather its shut, its dangerous but
Sugar, im just an emotional ****

I’ll let you in, this time you win
‘Another coffee?’
You ask, with a grin.
Alexciya Feb 2021
The gurgle of the coffee maker,
The clink of your spoon on the frigid counter,
The sizzle of bacon residue in a frying pan,

and an egg cracking over it.

The murmurs of the news reporters on the tv,
The distant roar of a train in the background,
The dive into sensory pleasure,

while reality dissipates.

The smell of hazelnut creamer and cinnamon,
The taste of a waffle with buttery syrup,
The warm sun on your face through the window,

today is good; today will be different.

The giggles of the waffles and coffee,
The light conversation and hard laughter,
The feeling of home... within them,

a sudden shift in atmosphere.

The sharp loss of appetite
The grieving of what wasn’t lost
The shared remorse for nothing you’ve done

they tell you that you’re pathetic.

The despair in your mug dropping into the table
The swallowed tears and screams
The chaos that covers every square inch of you

distance between you and hope still stands.

The ***** kitchen and your empty stomach
The distressing moonlight that creeps in the window
The anger in thinking you’re liberated this time

sounds of an empty home stir.

The cold seats that have accompanied nobody
The wallowing roar of silence
The jacket of despair that wears you

your average day.
Robin Carretti May 2018
What happens
_ to space_
between us
This is the
human race
Ah, Vey?
Just pray

Overly smitten
But not seeing
  clearly picture-prey
He or she runs!!
Little darlings
here comes the sun

The lime doing the time
Falling trees of coconut
Feeling- overloved
Deviant artist
splat coconut milk

No Security Cat
comfort box
So out of recession
Killer fox__

Chocolatey coconut
Cleanse my mind detox
Almond Joy concession
Rise up Face Botox

He cannot
read you
Haywire always
wired up his words
Hurried Hazelnut
coffee if you mind
Over-sugared
Increased brain
functions bitter rinds
So commercialized
The Cocoa Puffs
Going bananas
monkey ***
Lexie Vamp Vex

Mr. Ed overload
of Oz colors baboon
Going up Air Balloon
So many airheads
The  Rainforest
GQ  he's gone IQ
((Quarterly Neck of the woods))
Not orderly Outback
Steakhouse
Dinosaurs
******
Vicarious

No shortcut
The nervous system
The fast have a drink
furious
Cracking a coconut
Her Safe__
*
6-6-6 combinations
Could crack her
Coconut oil neck her
City Girl call her

Intellectual brain
Singing
Gene Kelly
umbrella
Raining coconuts

(On Overload)
Strawberry Fields
This will be short
Yeah right forever
shortcake, not any sort

The trend of
coconut
Nearer because
of you I am
further
She was the
Brazilian Nut
With her
blind gut

((Coconut Houdini))
Island of Bali
Beauty of Judy
Somewhere so over it
rainbow

King Kong
Hairy chest banging
coconut drink slurping
Of girl talk
Strong New Jersey
Stamina


***** of Venezuela
Overload of
Prima, Donna's
Instant Karma
going to get them
Knocked them off
there feet
Where is my
John Lennon
He has the best beat
You will be tasting my coconut drinks every line your on to read
So take this trip please don't ask him for a sip you have the best drinks
with men of GQ what divine coconut  winks
Kenny H Jun 2013
One day, when I awoke,
I remembered a nightmare I had that previous night.

I was at a school, a haunted school,
With a group of girls I didn't know.
They were there to release the spirits of three sisters
Who were trapped there by a mysterious phantom.

The first girl was named Clara,
She had hazelnut hair, hazelnut eyes,
A heart that could only be described as infinite.
She was the oldest of the three.

The second girl was named Nora,
She had a sense for adventure and heroics,
Her eyes only looked forward,
And would sacrifice herself to save her friends.
She was the middle of the three.

The third girl was named Mary,
She had a tame body and never really spoke up,
What she had in shyness she made up with her smile,
And she liked to sing and dance.
She was the youngest of the three.

We climbed up the fire escape behind the school,
The ladder was sticky,
We couldn't tell what it was because it was so dark
No one had thought to bring a flashlight.
We reached an unlocked door
That Nora keenly opened up.
Bella scolded her to be more careful,
But surprisingly Mary was the first to enter
And she hid behind the door to let us through.
It was me, then Nora, then Clara
As we entered a brightly lit hallway
With a door all the way at the end.
And so we walked.

Nora jumped ahead of me,
While Clara stayed behind with Mary
Who regretted her jump start.
So we walked down the hall quietly
With Nora making giggles here and there,
I would look over my shoulder every now and then
To make sure Mary and Clara were fine.
Mary held her hands behind her back
And was looking at her feet,
Clara was looking ahead with her hands together in front
She titled her head, and smiled.
For someone whose sister is lost
She seemed quite content with the people she was with.

Eventually, we reached the door
Which looked like a plain old door,
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about it.
Nora haphazardly opened it only ajar
Because Mary shouted to stop.
Nora looked back with a questioned stare.
Clara took it upon herself to slowly open the door
And make sure everything was safe.
I just stood there breathless.
Clara called us over one by one
To the strangest wooded area.
A wooded area in a school
It was covered with black trees, dead orange grass,
And a purple sky with a yellow full moon.
There were no visible creatures,
Yet I felt like we were being watched.

We walked through the crusty grass
Whispering where we should go.
Nora pointed her finger to the distance.
Clara, Nora, and Mary marched ahead of me
All determined to move forward,
Although Mary let Nora and Clara walk in front of her.

At this point I realized
I was like a ghost to these girls,
I seemed more like a wish
And more and more
Like a wish to save them.

We entered a clearing
And saw the large faceless dark phantom
Breathing cold air.
The girls and I stood stiff
And the phantom took it upon himself
To come to us.
He stood in front of the girls,
All three of them were crying ****** tears.
The phantoms pat the girls on the head,
Comforting them genuinely.
He took them into his darkness,
And they disappeared from my sight.
st64 Nov 2013
let's all hold hands, dearly loved ones
and express gratitude for those living..
        as if..
the table high-decked with every sweet-meat
        fennel-sprigs clipped and hazelnut-oil on roast
        a mixed-salad of vivacity and touch of chili in sauce
        a dose of pesto and a dash of chopped-chive
        a pinch of salt on cut sweet-pepper
and so much more....
        means that much

but do they remember..?
surely they do



1.
there was a time when she needed you
but your harsh-judgment turned its back in stiff-penalty
which later led the flow of her life in slow-drip out
on the filthy-floor of a public restroom
as she pushed out her legacy
alone and no friend
                 to grip her departing-hands
                 to clean up the red-mess
                 to wipe down the bawling new-
blob
surviving its necessary-squirm on the cracked-tiles

you heard the knock-of-need at your Hellenic-door
and the pillow you flattened and stuffed further in
    you couldn't offer a slit of time
    you wouldn't open that wretched-door
    you could not stop choking back old-tears
and when you checked your porch in the evening
your recently-scraped leukocytes blew a green-fuse
a small white-cat in a corner sat pondering your move
as a pile of singed-feathers lay in neat-disorder

now, here you are, grimacing with her crying-babe in arms
this poor orphan will be at bitter-play with some coarse-baubles
just like her scraggly mother, but she'll outlive that false *stain



2.
you swallow two blue-ones
        lose track of yourself
you never remember what you forgot
while you glibly insult those who pass by
belittling their big-arses and blue mini-purses
until the cycle goes round that beguiling-circuit once more
and you can't open a paxity-envelope with arthritic-heart
'cause you'd endure anything not to relive..
until tinkling-coins are all you hear falling
from your grandfather's endless-pocket


3.
appearing at the side of the latest arrival
we all welcome the burly-figure yet with tapered-fingers
who sits next to me and we try a smile, comes out dry
    I lost my grandchild to an accident last spring
    and he lost his daughter (we learn)
hello, Ixion.. yes, so sorry to hear..

he recounts his open-horror and mouth-dropping hell-tale
of his sweet-kin's blind-search for escape
he acknowledges what he never could.. at home
his final gin-soaked treachery against humanity

I am silent in here
I am at odds with this circle of strangers
          who pour out laden-things, some getting their catharsis
          everyone talks of how they loved and who was lost
but who remembers the broken-lives left behind
on the rickety and twisted conveyor-belt of life?

     my daughter now believes she sees her child's face in trees
     and has taken to counting each and every new-leaf she sees
                                                            ­                              fall
                              ­                                                            fall
­     when she remembers to open her eyes (in her morning)
                                         to step off her bed
                                         to go to the toilet
                                         to blot out the sun
                      to count the leaves on windy-days
she ends up re-counting and I have no heart
                      to correct her
                      to fix the frustrations that fate fuel-flung her way

I wonder.. where she learnt this habit?
they do say all behaviour is
learned..

daylight beckons again in gentle, yellow slants
and I recall the two silver-marbles in my pocket
       on its secret-bed of old-leaves, some soft and some crunchy
       thirsty for the soothing-touch of my fidgety-fingers
count.. one, two..
                      one, two..
                               one, two..
yes, one for her.. and  w-w-w-w.. one
for me

one two.......

(oh, one too many a disaster - perhaps perdition has a friendly-face
and I sit with her 'neath
the three trees in the alcove-garden)





some things don't escape the sheer drop
of.. resultant excess-distress
in dark-parched mind-tunnels
untrod for fear of slipping..
in the mess




(now, everyone.. it grows cold
let's eat)






S T - 22 nov 2013
fancy a deck?
hm... thought not!

anyhow.. when I took off my hat today
I found this poem stuck inside
ha.. it musta fallen out me head.. lol





sub-entry: brink

on last hard-brink
unexpected fine-link

wondrous-pearls
on the deep sea-bed

blink once.. and then
dive...
Jay Bryant Dec 2012
Staring in her eyes,
I'm more then hypnotized
I feel that I'm drowning.....
Not in any ocean of water
But a sea of sand.
Deep down in the brown
For the blue is cold
And her eyes are warm.
Mocha is her color
From her eyes to her hips.
In love with her brew
And her aroma.
A coffee that needs no cream
All I need is a sip
And maybe a lick of her cup
Bcuz she taste like hazelnut
Tho I think I've said enough
Bcuz I love it too much.
Jason Watson Sep 2012
The glaring orange and red vermillion rays stretched over the mountain top and city skyline in the humbling spectacle of nature’s dawn...
Lifting away the frightful, cold and deathly nuances of the city by night...
The dull glaze of the concrete motorways,
Spun and circled around the growing organism of steel suburbia...
Filled with a meandering stream of colourful cars
Feats of engineering beauty
The blaring noise of traffic drowned out the natural stillness of nature’s beauty...
In the peak rush hour of a Cape Town mourning....

To the left of me...
Stood the deathly profile of a street urchin...
The little lady...
Body thin and frail, hands out-stretched in a sinewy leather grasp...
Warn and tattered rags for clothes...
Burnt and ***** face....
Yet still able to muster a look of hope....


I lifted my fingers to my mouth
And let out a shrill and deafening whistle
Drowned away by hooting and the hum of the engines, spurting noxious fumes,
Defiling the air....
She turned with a vigorous jolt
Raised eyebrows and a head turning smile...
I ushered her towards me with my outstretched hand, well manicured nails
Not a wrinkle of hardship characterising the clean skin
In the burning rays of yet another hopeful morning...
At least for me.

As her body was moving, all I could see were her eyes...
They pierced me, danced for and contorted the world around me....
A hazelnut brown painting, embedded in a small circular hole in the skull...
A gateway to the emotions
Connecting everyone, regardless of age, race or even stature...
As I gazed, captivated.
I saw compassion, longing, loss, warmth and passion in her eyes – the whole spectrum of humanity
In two small but infinitely deep pools
Cascading into a never ending abyss of emotions
Of pain, suffering, a little joy and infinite hurt....
Then I blinked...
And all those emotions, those connections and our future...
Were gone in the simple gesture of a fluttering eyelash
As she looked the other way...

The car lurched forward yet again...
With the flash of a green light and safety of movement
To the other side of the intersection
My hand still outstretched holding the crumpled buffalo note
My contribution to a severely needing hand
Lost with the bustle of life continuing, and leaving behind all too weak to keep up....
She began to scurry away, back to her pavement

I looked back...
The little lady gone.
Lost forever
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2013
Under the muted bark of hazelnut trees,
Spurious, sprite juncos scurry in vertigo,
Pecking, replete bouncing downy knees,
Grounded, tuft, constellation of Scorpio.
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2014
Under the muted bark of hazelnut trees,
Spurious, sprite juncos scurry in vertigo,
Pecking, replete bouncing downy knees,
Grounded, tuft, constellation of Scorpio.
umbrellas Jul 2013
coffee stained breath
two spoons of hazelnut creamer
three packs of sugar
how intoxicating
this invigorating kiss

drenched with caffeine and passion
your tender lips
wrapped around mine
in youthful innocence
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
Under the muted bark of hazelnut trees,
Spurious, sprite juncos scurry in vertigo,
Pecking, replete bouncing downy knees,
Grounded, tuft, constellation of Scorpio.
Erenn Dec 2014
He never knew how it felt 
like to be loved. This heart 
of his could only emit it. Born 
with no hands and feet. He could 
only breathe and fabricate amity. 
This girl with her tiffany blue ribbon 
on her hair, drifts him into the ocean of 
her blue aqua eyes. Struck by her 
glance with that ethereal smile akin to 
the moon-crescent. He just knew he wants 
to be with her presence.

She fell for his hazelnut brown 
eyes. As they reminded her of wolves 
howling in the dead of night to the silver 
moon. Shape shifting and bones breaking 
his body is left every night shaking and
aching. He never gave her much information 
about his transformation. “You are my 
moon and ill forever howl to you” he softly 
said
.

Sitting on the rooftop where he fathom northern lights will appear in the black night, emitting colours of hope with stars like freckles glinting like they know his wish.
His only wish is to have hands & feet. So the girl with blue aqua eyes would gleam at him like the moon elegant in her eminence.

Knowing her would make him feel 
alive instead of blind , useless and dead. 
"Hold me through the night and cradle me 
like a baby in bed". "You're all that's in my 
head he said. With you I become no longer
blind". "I just feel stronger and refine. Shine 
down your light on me" he said.


As the sun rises waking souls back to their homes. 
Rays of fervour stained on souls who lost hope
Giving them the miracle they hope to prevail.
As he woke up with both hands & feet
He was no longer bounded by stigma in defeat.
He almost died when he held his breath for the longest time. 
When he saw her, the girl with blue aqua eyes said, "Honey, Get up wolf boy it's time to eat."

He was living a dream within a dream
A nightmare filled with fantasies.
He knew then she was the moon gleaming.
Staring at his wife, mesmerized
**That was when he felt that she has brought him back to life.~
Erenn Italics
Carolin Bold
3rd Collaboration with the gifted & talented Carolin!!
I can't believe we actually collabed 3 times within 2 weeks.hha
And this time we write about wolves!
Enjoy!
And do check out her page!
http://hellopoetry.com/carolin/
Emily Budrow May 2015
Hazelnut eyes,
Your smile is my morning coffee.
One shot of espresso, one kiss is all I need.
And I could go for hours upon hours talking about the way the thought of you holding my twists and turns inside my brain.
The soft sound of your lips curling into a smile across your mouth, barely audible, plays on a loop as I sip
My coffee, sweet as could be!
Your sleepy morning yawns are my sugar,
Your giggles, my milk.
Your delicious voice, carefully, speaking slowly
'I love you'
You say, and I know now why
I abandoned
Tea!
Ma Cherie Sep 2016
You're having a bad day
not everything is good?

Yes, that's very true...
come in and sit down.

You haven't eaten?

Well...
you came to the right place.

Here is a nice armchair,
my Grandmother's from Ethen Allen
yes...
a beautiful deep burgundy color
with goldenrod yellow twirling paisley
in a burning orange background...
lovely she is
her shapely curves...
rugged, straight lines
carved into flowers
her cherry stained legs
worn edges...
so soft, comfortable and weathered

I agree
she is very reliable and sturdy
and she is kind
so forgiving...yes?

Oh, fresh coffee ...
ahhhh you smelled it,
of course
here you go
a steaming cup of hopeful dreaming...
brilliant,
in a aromatic plume of Tahitian Hazelnut
swirling ribbons of fresh Vermont cream
cinnamon rolls in the oven
sugary love smells intoxicating...
yes?
glazed sugar awaiting

as cool crisp dried leafy breezes
flow through waiting drapes of warm white linen

Yes, so very  poetic this place...
A gift...why I'd say!
I love this time of year
very much...
especially the trees...
floating in the air
the leaf dancers drift silently
waving Goodbye in the Fall winds

Welcome to my  Vermont
to the beautiful Green Mountains
in splendid peaking colors
panoramic splendor
The natives so
oh...you know

They call 'em verdant visions
again come springtime
come on, stay awhile
put on a friendly smile
a welcome done in style
my home is your home
take your hat off what's the hurry?

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Smile everyone! & thank you!!
Sam Po Jul 2014
Her
a boy told me:

I like staring at her dreamy hazelnut eyes.
I love caressing her slender body.
I want to stroke my long fingers on her brunette hair.
I fancy her snow white skin complexion.
I adore her kissable lips
and I'm yearning to give her my mischievous kiss.



and I told myself:

"I wish I am the girl he is talking about."
#her

— The End —