Best Expresso Poems
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
What a difference a day makes
It's always special
Spending time with you
You makes it that way
Together playing
Or when we snuggle
What a difference a day makes
Spending time with you
You do make a differences
Not just in a day
Spending time with you
When you awaken
Me different hours
I just return to sleep
Till six o'clock
Feeding you breakfast
filling your bowl with
dry food
Covering you warm
Then I grind my coffee
beans
For a fresh cup of coffee
Expresso coffee
To waken me
Then have my breakfast
To begin my day
Nude draped across *Chaise Longue like a pharaoh,
Stained with cheap coffee from the expresso,
Take-outs growing mould beside my cello,
It reads ‘Buyer’s Dream’ on the sale memo,
Landlord shrieks for rent in high *falsetto,
“Maybe next week”, I sing back in *mezzo,
I pour a long-cracked mug of prosecco,
Next doors jazz flows, Nina Simone’s echo,
That paints the canvas bright gold and yellow.
* Chaise Longue – A long chair
* Falsetto – high-range singing voice
* Mezzo – ‘middle” in Italian (middle range for female singers)
07/11/22
Monomixorhyme and Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
Syllable counter: howmanysyllables.com
Thrift shop miracles of multi-
layered mysteries,insomniac-
drifters stumbling up the highway to
a water-logged Nirvana.
Stuttering hymns to flannel saints
who have not yet; joined the cult of
organized-nicean-rebellion.
Midwest slackers distressed in jeans
and in mind blood slowly becoming thick
black-tar, seeking release from big-haired-
bards &synth-pop-psychiatrist.
seeking freedom from German-hammers
& London-fog,
searching with work boots unsalted;
For a new kind of weather.
Earth-sister-pixie over caffenated
Balarina dancing rythm-less to a new
discorded blues dreaming of jazz and
feminist revolution; building a new alternative-
nation a new president Kennedy,
Shouting rain soaked rebellion in Starbucks
Between vicodin and shots of expresso.
Souls coming together in mosh-pits of
Discontent everclear-mud and hormone-
laced sweat coming down together;
Drinking rivers to drench the fires of MDMA.
Indian outlaws lost in the dextroverse,
Seeking the pain of country music, but
the Appalachian's were lost bathed in
black-lights&neon the coal miners daughter,
left the hollers for the Seattle fog&adderall .
O' lomo tinted cherubs that filled the 90's
morgues screaming love songs to familiar spirits
Of delta-blues my girls & boys here's where
You sleep tonight put to rest by your own
Divine-hands seeking Nirvana, and all
You ever wanted was there in your arms but
The man in the box would tell you otherwise,
And still nothing else mattered.
Sarah, for your birthday, I do not want to ruin the surprise,
So put on your mask, and here is a blinder to cover your eyes.
I will give you hints as we get on our private fumigated plane.
Of course your mother is waiting, and she will do the same.
We will have a menu that has Belgium chocolates I can't hide.
They will be scrumptiously delicious, and taste juicy inside.
You may order hot chocolate with a shot of caramel and Nutella.
There will be some pretty hot guys, and maybe a particular fella.
Please do not guess yet, watch your feet as I guide you up the steps.
There are protein shakes, brownies, flavored lattes, sprinkled flecks.
An extra shot of expresso? I do not see why not, Sarah Dear.
Yes the destination café might be coming abundantly clear.
Sit beside your mother and do not guess out loud.
She has told me all about you; she is insanely proud.
No doubt there will be scones, muffins, and a sandwich of the day.
Come on pilot, get the engine started. We are ready to play!
“Expresso Shot”
He drank tibetan milk tea
from his saucer
like a cloistered munk
his conversation
was hushed and tinctured
with fountains of try-too-hard satire
he spoke softly
and quite fast
like a panther doing laps
a surprise
well hidden
springing
from long Prairie Sky switchgrass
chasing after too curious merecats
and bouncy pert Botticelli bunnies
mid-life
hazardously glazed lush
in confused transition
he gushed around
his love for life
to the moon and back
and there sat I,
the great I am,
green eggs 'n ham
watching and listening
waiting for the loophole
to be held like a love leash
of course, out in the open,
I’d give him free reign
drop the ropes
and hand him
freedom and a little hope
I’m generous like that
sometimes…
and there sat I,
the great I am
in two minds
with my dark
expresso shot
two Beretta Picos
under the table
ready to raise
and shoot straight
through his floundering heart
the one big shot
he bit into the half glazed
oozing his sweet jam
all over the place
I kept the kill clean
it was mourning time
the blowback delivered
painless and nice
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Ain't nothin' like a steamin' cup o' coffee to greet the early morn.
It'll calm yer nerves and git you goin' just as sure as you wuz born!
With mixin's added to suit yer taste, it must be scaldin' hot,
Decaf, regular, chicory-strong or mild, it really matters not!
Some folks prefer a styrofoam cup, others a massive mug,
But those proffer an indelicate way to down a gulpin' slug.
Others, a dainty cup and saucer, pinkie sedately bent,
Sippin' delicately so social faux pas one is sure to prevent!
I hear it ain't acceptable to dunk a donut in yer mug o' java,
Or pour coffee in a saucer to cool, tho' it's hot as flowin' lava.
But I ain't concerned about it bein' a great big social blunder,
As folks disdainfully stare at me as if I wuz some alien wonder!
Docs debate the merits of caffeine, whether it's healthy or not.
Let 'em bicker, I'll decide what to percolate in my coffee pot!
My dear old Dad had his daily caffeine fix, livin' 'til ninety-four.
I've done the same fer years and I'm approachin' nigh four-score!
Nowadays, fancy concoctions are brewed for the discernin' taste;
Expresso, mocha, cappuccino, even Irish whiskey laced!
Such exotic ambrosia to others I'll graciously defer.
I'll keep on slurpin' an ordinary cop 'o joe, which I much prefer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Awake from slumber
I grind coffee beans
Expresso coffee
The flavour enjoyed
A strong coffee taste
I make six cups
I make this often
When very tired
Expresso coffee
Is a strong coffee
Needed to wake up
From lack of sleeping
I brew it often
Take bread out for the toaster
Only to return it to the bag
Looking for a lost item
To find it under your nose
Put on shoes in a hurry
Notice one shoe different
Things happen from lack
of sleep
That when things go wrong
When awaking up early
We need our strong cup
of strong expresso
In order to begin our day
One or two cups will do
To begin our early day
To do things we do that
won't go wrong
"Americano"
filter-dripped
watered down
weak coffee
artificial
the mood
steaming diluted
swings lower, unfilling;
the wanting
lusciously dark
hot to the tongue
more rapid
complex in richness
animated
scalding and sharp
Expresso
piercing arrow
shoots straight to the heart.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Radio impulse
Stray songs invite;
Hip melancholy
~~~~~~~~~
Words and lyrics
Basket of moods;
Mental corridors
~~~~~~~~~
Espresso machine
Caffeine song;
Frothy brew
~~~~~~~~~~
Dancing darling
Plucks my heart strings;
Sense surround
~~~~~~~~~
Listen now
Birdsong metaphor;
Dawn brings magic
~~~~~~~~~
Profound moments
Rain wets window;
Windy sadness
~~~~~~~~~
Neighbour smiles
Meal takeaway chit-chat;
Weather and prices
~~~~~~~~~
Pineapple slices
Lunch time treats;
Sour-sweet yellow
~~~~~~~~~
Dress-up ladies
Dolls on stilettos;
Curvatures glow
~~~~~~~~~
Mascara eyes
Vivid charades fix;
Dreamy distance
~~~~~~~~~
News headlines blast
Earthquake tremors again;
Nepalese pain grips
~~~~~~~~~
Sighing old woman
Complains to herself;
Ghostly whispers
~~~~~~~~~
Wayside alcoholic
Smiles in somnolence;
Happy delusions
~~~~~~~~~~
Be beyond blur
Lively nonsense;
Sound escape plan
~~~~~~~~~
New food court here
Up market ambience;
Prices escalate
~~~~~~~~~
Two grownup kids meet
Playground romance;
Brief interlude
~~~~~~~~~
Wedding banquet
Happy couple cheers;
Sanguine guests feast
~~~~~~~~~
Yoda in green
True to life;
Star Wars philosophy
~~~~~~~~~
"Do or do not,
There is no try."
The Force runs away
~~~~~~~~~
Sing to the dawn
Be happy now;
Tomorrow can wait
~~~~~~~~~
My darling calls
Expresso ready;
Blurry steps slide
~~~~~~~~~
Glimpse here
New light flings;
Suspend objections
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
27 May 2015
Singapore
It is Sunday, no reason to leave the bed
I pull the blanket about my shoulders
And stare at the ceiling
You loved Sundays and came to me
With toothpaste kisses and
Warmed your feet against mine
You loved putting your head on my shoulder
And suggesting things we could do
Museums and shows, exhibits and parks
There was no limit because it was Sunday
And you loved Sundays
There were days when your eyes were soft
Saying “Love me or I’ll die”
And days when passion clawed with your eyes
Saying “Love me or I’ll kill you”
And from the bed I can see the flowers
You planted on the balcony and almost feel
Your fingertips coursing my cheek
In seductions so subtle my mind could not
Understand the message of my body
And you would finish with trembling breath
Before surrendering to soft, embarrassed giggles
Hands fitted into each others, we would walk
Pausing only for an expresso at Dario’s
And a while to lean on the railing of the bridge
To watch the dark mystery of the canal moving upon itself
We would lie in the tall grass and watch fireflies
Dance against the tent of night
Then race madly to catch the last train home
Where we would eat bread and cheese
And drink cheap wine on the table we made from boxes
And life was young, alive and beautiful
Because it was Sunday, and you loved Sundays.
Michelangelo and Leonardo both painted a fresco.
Said Leo, “I’ll paint it after I drink my expresso”.
The result was “The Battle of Anghiari”,
And the Italians ooh’d and they ahh’d like it was a Ferrari.
But it faded from view in a decade or two,
So today no one knows what Leonardo did do.
Now Michelangelo climbed up onto his scaffold
And painted the ceiling of that Vatican chapel,
Which can be viewed still to the present day.
And since, as we said, da Vinci’s faded away,
Faded since he painted in an experimental technique,
One might say that the ceiling won the battle, so to speak.
(Sept. 5, 2016; Revised Sept. 8, 2016)
Why is that when you look at me,
you see my skin,
why is it that every time I look at the tv,
its the same bland people.
What ever happened
to a variety?
Hasn't anyone
seen a basket of fruit?
How do I live in a society
that isn't even designed or
made for me.
Leftovers are the most familiar
because my kind are typical rejects.
What to do? What would you do?
You see coffee, plain and no sugar
is boring that's why its a sucker for additives.
And what does the plain coffee do,
pretend it never some sweetener or sugar
because its ashamed. Ashamed of its bitter blackness.
The Lady
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
The lady walks ..
The lady colours
Me bright
The lady in navy slack
And jacket navy
Her blouse is white
Her see through brassiere
Is satin teal I think
Her blush is pink
I want to wink
The lady swings ..
Her scent is butterfly
In black ash
I inhale the magic
She wing's ..
Sensational .. seductive
She sways to me
Like expresso
I'm hoping for a collide
The lady's eye's
Flutters wide
Her lady eye’s
Ice my craving
I am on high
Bold I shy
The lady smiles
The lady walks
The lady pass me by
Spicy thrill !!
The lady astonishing.