In the Land of the Lost, on my floor;folks crazed
A wod jane does yell trash in flush room.; felt miffed
My nerves tense, on this floor -I’m on edge;feel brash
Here 8 months there is no hope in sight; feel stiffed
There’s an old bag here that bums for cash; she’s trash
How to be sane ? I then write poems; do art
Strange sounds comes when my roomy does sleep-old old pfart
I tell him stop it please I crash hard; mind dazed,
Need more cash to live here.I say your; bucks due.
Funds, ask your kin be nice small talk will help you
First two floors and 3 west folks seem not so bad.
I hope the other wards are fairer, am glad,
Nice things to state about the Vigi,caff great.
I like tuna sarnies all dressed please;first rate
I am finished with this poem with much heart .
Categories:
caff, anger, angst, crazy,
Form: Rhyme
Now I’m just a simple fellow
And what I like the most
Is a dollop of brown sauce
Spread on me breakfast toast.
You can keep your marmalades
Jams and your various spreads
Just give me a bottle of HP sauce
Cos I’d rather have that instead
Not served in a plastic bottle cos
At times they can suddenly spurt
And before you really know it
You have sauce all over your shirt.
No, served from a glass bottle
It flows in a steady stream
That mixes with your hot butter
To provide a culinary dream.
You can keep your haute cuisine
Because what I enjoy the most
Is lashings of hot butter mixed with
The brown sauce on me toast
They looked at me in horror
Breakfasting at this posh caff
And one of them had cheek
To just stand there and laugh
And then to make doubly sure
Me and me habits weren’t seen
They went and put me table
Behind a large folding screen
I find it rather irksome that
The breakfast for which I lust
Is regarded by so many as a
Habit of loathsome disgust.
No, I’m just a simple fellow
And what I like the most
Is a dollop of brown sauce
Spread on me breakfast toast.
Categories:
caff, food, humor,
Form: Rhyme
Seated in a coffee-shop
an extra-large with hot milk
and a slice of decadence
await her indulgence
she leans forward
and spontaneously reacts
to her companion’s
whispered observation
rose-red laughter
pours white-water loud
from her joy-filled mouth
her floating hand
gee-jawing above the table-top
enthusiastically conducts
the wheeze-gasp spasms of her mirth
she unloads like rolling thunder
pounding the other patrons
as they de-caff-dunk
their croissants
huge, mesmerising
her sheer abandon
reduces all others
to a whisper
a stolen glance
some harrumph
others smile
I would love to hug her
to chat with her
about dinosaurs and daffodils
carburetors and kittens
to fall asleep
next to her smile.
Categories:
caff, feelings,
Form: Prose Poetry
Henri de Touulouse -Latrec
a painter with a body a wreck
Known for mixing with riff-raff
in local bars & 'caff'
Categories:
caff, art, people,
Form: Clerihew
I.U= 20013
A. Area Quad Caff Cout
B. Etiquette and refinement
C. Kessler Kamm Grouse
D.Squeezing oranges and lemons for drinks
II. Orchestra
A. twelve bassoonist
B chelloists and Violens
C. Flutist and Clainets
D. Electric and acoustic guitars
E. Percussionist
III.
A. Narrow
B. Broader
C. Thinner
D.Thinnest
E. Veage
F. vanished
IV.Gaussian
A. ^=V/f
B.F=256 Hz
C.V/1
D. 0=9+0=00=90+0-0
C8H11NoZ + C10H1ZN20 + C43H66N!201252
Categories:
caff, business, career, clothes, culture,
Form: Ballad
Little old ladies stooped over trays,
at the garden centre caff,
where they spend their days purchasing
tranklements, considered slightly naff.
Everythings game from gnomes to pomander
that remind them of their mothers,
that are placed upon shelves,with yet more elves
along with all the others.
The lucky ones, with husbands,
still shuffling behind,
attracting envious glances
from the ones with lives less kind.
They sit and eat their cucumber sandwiches
and sip their Earl Grey teas,
twin set and pearls and purple rinsed curls,
and painful, arthritic knees.
Then out to their Motability cars
with their plastic gnomes and honey in jars,
back to suburbia or their lonely flat,
with its chintz drapes and sofa and marmalade cat.
Categories:
caff, memory, old,
Form: Rhyme
some say I come on too strong. I consider that better than coming on too weak. much better.
Categories:
caff, abuse, adventure, africa, age,
Form: Choka
I speak not but spit snot
I speak not visual-vocals in void
…..But 2 evoke thy psyche
Utter not hollow heart bit whispers
Breath out immortal echoes to fuel empty tankers
4 we must lampoon that baboon low with its high tennis courts
In deep ink I print my blistered body
The de-caff in the Book Café decolonized my coffee-pot
Illiterate me can now Braille the author’s palm and comprehend. …
I read the rainbow so need not my plastic coat for his rain is dry and over
Categories:
caff, art, hope, social,
Form: Free verse