Long Cafe Poems
Long Cafe Poems. Below are the most popular long Cafe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cafe poems by poem length and keyword.
Mornin coffee thinkin of you!
Simmers thoughts of a wonderful brew,
as dreams of romance percolate into view!
Such an awesome aroma I sense,
if we were to become more intense!
How's about a warm slow roast,
somethin that you'll like the most!
And if you want to make it nice'n hot,
know Im gonna like you a lot!
Here's some sugar for your cup dear,
with visions of holding you near!
Cafe au' lait is a tasty treat,
but bet your the one thats really sweet!
What a rich blend we've found,
and I look forward to stickin around!
Guess I better get a bigger pot,
well considerin all the luv you got!
Starbucks gives you lots of frothy foam,
you know I cant wait to get you all alone!
Wishin you have a bottomless mug,
so I can give ya lotsa hugs!
Hey care for some Arab-bic-ka,
you wont mind if I grab-at-ya!
Gettin dizzy the smells so heavenly robust,
why honey you might like if I just go for bust!
Want to wait for a traditional slow drip,
and get better acquainted with your upper 'n lower lip!
Expresso has a very strong flavor,
but girl it's you I really want to savor!
Fix'in yours up all real creamy,
and gettin it nice and steamy!
Oh so sweet and yummy,
brings a taste of joy to my tummy!
Shots of Kahluha makes a good intoxicating mix,
and I would crave to give you a nice fix!
Yep just hoping that you'll spike my cup,
and really stiffin things up!
Darlin for you I'm makin it strong,
so maybe I can kiss ya all night long!
And anytime your ready to take a drink,
deep within your arms I long to sink!
Be glad to fix ya a mocha delite,
and still be kiss'in ya come early daylight!
Next there comes a double shot latte,
your turn to show me how your so risque!
Carefully made you'll never find any course grounds,
your tearin me up with all them sweet moanin sounds!
Just ask me to prepare yours with a french press,
and surely you wont last long in that lil mini dress!
Amazing what happens when you roast a little bean,
lacey silk stockings tempt where to get in between!
Just hollar whenever you want a cappuccino,
now what about that juicy maraschino!
Ahhh the heated scent is so incredibly aromatic,
why honey never knew your so kinky 'n acrobatic!
So whenever you ponder for your cup,
k-n-o-w that I'd like to just fill you right up!
Mmmm talkin bout good to the last drop,
whoa babe I'm about ready to pop!
Thinkin you might go for a really fine grind,
I'm about ready to lose my mind!
I remember it as if were yesterday
VE Day...well, not exactly
but, close enough for me
The actual surrender of Italy
May 2, 1945....but the damn Americans
Always the Americans wanted May 8
So, it's May 8th, but I'll always remember the second
We were in Milan...I love Milan
Hitler was dead, Mussolini was dead
I was alive, and in Milan
Rumours were out that the war in Europe was almost done
Nobody had told the Gerry's that though
Word came from Lubeck that they'd surrendered
I was twenty one years old, going on 50
War ages you...and not in a good way
I was in 6th Airborne and ready to go back
When the word came down
I remember kissing the waitress at our cafe
I kissed her hard, and with as much passion as a 21 yr. old can have
I didn't want to let her go
It was over
I kissed her for myself, and everyone in Milan
I kissed her for my folks in Clapham
I kissed her for her folks, wherever they were
I kissed her because we were free, they were free
I kissed her for my Uncle, who we lost early in 1941
Lost him during the blitz in London
England lost 430 people, we lost Uncle Cyril
That was enough, I was signing up
Now, it was over and I was moving on
I kissed her for everyone still waiting for the news
But, most of all, I kissed her for Leslie Testro, Rfn (18yrs)
Lance Cpl Thomas Wray (22 yrs), Lt. Dennis Edmonds (21 yrs)
and all the others attached to 6th Airborne
Who wouldn't know it was Victory in Italy
They were lost, not forgotten, never forgotten
Forever in our minds, our roll of honour
We celebrate them annualy
Few of us left now, but, those that are
go back to Italy every two or three years
back to Milan, and we toast them all
My waitress, Rosa Testrini
She was there as well, every year
Until five years back, we lost her
Now we toast her as well
We all have our honour roll
She was on mine
I found her again in 1950
We were on our second trip back
She met my wife, and I her husband
He's still there, and we talk
My Italian is better than his English
But, we talk as well as we can
I miss her, and the others
But that day, that glorious day in May
I've never kissed like that since
And my wife knows it
Sometimes she reminds me...
I laugh, and remind her....
What that day means...if it hadn't happened
We may not be kissing now
so, she'll never get that kiss
Only Rosa
Rest In Peace my waitress
Yesterday I dreamed a dream,
that had no end.
You in your white gown, and long, black hair flowing.
You were calling my name.
I heard you, but I couldn't reach you!
And when I say your soul was tainted.
You went out in the night life.
You dressed in your black, evening ball gown.
You danced till the Red Sun came out, over the horizon.
You smiled at me.
A flame in my heart burned red hot!
My knees and hands shook with nerves;
Nerves of love and joy.
I blew you a kiss,
but you turned away!
Oh, please don't turn away from me,
for I would die, if it happened again!
Your beautiful and golden heart showed me the truth.
The truth that every gentleman wants to hear.
I've seen you walk the streets,
in the blue dawn of August.
As I followed you, you stopped and looked at me.
You smiled so beautifully, and my heart fluttered into oblivion!
You walked with your friends and I went my way.
I couldn't find a single trace of you that day.
I cried out "Why did I leave her like this?!"
I looked for you, all over the courtyards and town squares!
Yet no sight of your beauty.
... No sight of your golden heart, that I hold so dear to mine.
Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
Why did I leave... that is the question!
I should have stayed by your side,
till the ends of time.
Yet I had left.
Why...?
One gloomy and parish midnight.
I came along a road,
and soon found myself in front of a wayward cafe.
Smiling faces all around me.
I spotted a beautiful face that outstood all the other faces around me.
It was yours.
Your face brought me to sanity and I went over too you!
You spotted me and tried to run!
I caught you in the dirty hallway and pulled you in.
Our eyes met and I fell in love once again.
Sanity re-entered my mind, body and soul.
I kissed you and you kissed back.
You held my hand, and we left the cafe and walked down the street.
The street was gloomy, yet we together brightened the dark street.
We went back to the lit up city streets, of the lands filled with smiling faces,
and we fell in love and slept together.
You lay there in my restless arms and I gave you a sweet kiss,
upon your sweet and soft head.
Your dark hair was sweet smelling and felt of silk.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep with you,
there in my arms and we dreamed together
till the morning came and woke me up,
and took you away from my weak and weary arms.
I dreamed a dream of you.
Seven Mossad Agents came to Norway a winter day
when a snow drowns the needs of the homeless
asleep in a shop's doorway absorbing the sarcastic smell
of coffee and the aroma of a Napoleon cream cake.
Their mission was to assassinate a man called a terrorist
by them, but freedom fighters by others.
The target had been located, a man of 47 bearded, with
prematurely gray hair, Semitic features, and a nose somewhat bigger than what is the norm in a Nordic land
He works as a waiter at a cafe, and take the bus home
a quarter past ten in the evening, to his bed-sit, about ten minutes ride from the town.
The group needed two taxis to take them to a hotel called, “Larsen's ski lodge” a pleasant little place with
modern IKEA furniture, giving rooms an airy ambiance
the group went to work at once, the leader carrying a
heavy mobile phone, trying to make contact to base, one presumes an embassy, but failed.
One of the women donned a blond wig, walked to the cafe to be sure their target was there
a quarter past ten two men entered the bus, one of them
who spoke a few word in Swedish, asked for two ticket to Husly which was the lat stop before the bur turned around and back to town
when the “terrorist” alighted the bus the two assassins followed.
No point going into details here, but they got their man
and hid his body in a snow drift.
Cooley, they stood by the stop to catch the bus on its return trip, smoking cigarettes of a foreign brand oblivious eyes saw them at the bus stop
The assassins had overlooked one thing, the man had a girlfriend and when he didn't appeared as usual she went out looking for him with the help of neighbors
Her boyfriend was found in the snowdrift
the police quickly knew what they were dealing with
but since they, the local police were not armed, they waited for reinforcement, when in the morning the assassin group came out to go to the railways station
the group were arrested.
Then the bomb dropped, they had murdered the wrong man, another Arab, they quickly insinuated was a terrorist too, what else was he doing in Norway
The court case took a long time, one of the prosecutors
fell in love with the woman with a fake wig, tried to
say she was an innocent bystander, it didn't wash
the case dragged on, in the end, and since the holocaust
was invoked, the guilty only got a few years.
The Christmas Cafe
I scratch my nails
against my head
and
ponder a while in thought,
but my soul turns bare
And Death twirls
his curled hair.
Taunting me
as my breaths
become caught.
Caught between
the living and the dead.
A cafe with dim lights,
like some sort of spiritual
dread.
Snow blankets the ground,
Raucous laughter is heard
As I see you cross the room
But don't say a single word.
Instead I conduct
A choir in my mind
And wonder if you'll come
To my own short demise.
But here in this place,
I swear to you it's safe
To whisper words of praise
to the left-behind days
Where you and I betrothed
We swore we'd never leave
And now that we're
Dying out in the cold
we can both pick
white lilies to grieve.
But you couldn't handle
the words and the ink.
And now that we're
a second out of synch,
Our very last winter,
for us, it crafts this;
A cafe caught in the middle
Of a wonderland bliss.
Where we can still meet our eyes
crossing over down the hall.
Where we can
Still
Pretend that once, we had it all.
But as I reach my gaze to you,
I seldom pass out of the blue.
You reach into your heart and pull
it from your chest to mix
with mine and the falling snow
And then, too late, you rise to go.
I pull you under blankets
Of death and grief and hell
And just before you go,
The door twinkles its last bell.
The shop is closing up, you see,
Except for its last ghost with me.
The pub empties
out into the street
The people socialize and scream
For they can still
ignite their dream
with our once burning heat
at the level of our true decree.
But none of that's found
in the cafe today.
And the door slowly closes
as you find your own way.
And the night starts to fall,
Gentle leaves flowing from trees
standing tall.
The branches are bare, and inside
there's decay.
But our souls still rot on
to live another day.
Just like our hearts,
As the beating won't start
But perhaps we can find some
Comfort
In knowing
That as we look out
at the cold winter snowing
That Christmas lights dim
And the faint choir hymn
twinkles gently on
underneath the same moon.
And perhaps the soul will at last
alight
As in different worlds, we
count the starlight.
Finally
Accepting
That we'll both be dead soon.
It was approaching sunset
displayed boldly across red sky west
as I entered Dream Café,
Time for candle lit vespers and incense
which I feared would be more personal nightmare
than political dream.
I came to this Café,
for the first time,
because our Democratic Town Committee
was nominating candidates for Mayor
and City Council
and School Board
right after silent and sung vespers
here inside a DreamCafe
on BenFranklin's wisdom street.
I had been warned.
All those inside this Dream
each day at sunset
begin to smile with gratitude
and to pray
for multiculturing grace
to grow together.
This felt like a strangely inappropriate way
to fulfill Democratic trust commencements
so I was prepared to include my dismay
in my review
for next News delivery day.
Lights dimmed
along rose-hued
rough-cut walls
as candlelight began to come our way
through mists of frankincense in sway
and lavender,
orange and lemon oils
worked into handmade chairs
and cherry tables,
maple walls and oak-grained floor;
Incense burners on display
quieting louder sounds of fading AnthroPlay.
I had been warned
about this poly-creolizing array
to begin with a peace poem read
or sung
and, if a favorite of cooperatively gathered patrons,
then others might join in
sometimes swelling cadence
and harmonic rhythms
like I Have A Dream!
repeating what we've come to sacred share.
And so it was a well sung love song
for Earth,
of Earth,
and all Her EarthSoul Tribes
with and in harmonic sway.
Thanksgiving for sacred dawns
and dusks,
and all FirstForest creatures
and creations in-between,
And even nightmare absence of DreamCafes
for those still longing to belong
here,
where we are together planted,
here as now co-dreamers
of silent echoes
for just one solidarity moment
before reflecting voices
begin to stand
and sing fertile flowing anthems.
Voices speaking of love they heard
and felt this warm moist day
in Spring,
and who has come to mind
among WiseElders and Adolescents assembled
and nearby
here this dusky day
to rise above our sometimes polarizing fray.
And this
to my surprise
was how vespers invited nominations
for how best to continue ending our vespered day
for all who enter
this grace-filled DreamCafe,
and those nearby
eager to read all about it
come next NewDawn's greeting way.
He’d had a hard life, with lots of worries and many medical bills to pay
It all started he said, when his wife became ill, on that sad, spring day in May
He tried to keep it all together for her, so she wouldn’t have to worry
She was so sick and frail, then her mind slowly became very blurry
She hung on for her life, but over time her memory slowly began to fade away
“It was such a long hard time”, he said, “Then an Angel took her home on a warm July day”
My heart was breaking as I pensively sat, listening to him quietly talk
With tears in our eyes, we sat together, then I asked if we could go for a walk
“People always pass me by,” he said, “As if I’m not even standing there”
“You’re the only one,” said he, “Who’s taken the time to even show you care”
“I don’t want their sorrow or pity”, he said, “Just some friendly care and love”!
“I lost my wife and my life, when an Angel took her from above”
“Never a tear in their eyes, or a friendly smile, never offering to lend a hand”
“What if I was an angel?” he said, “Sent from God and no one lent me their hand”?
After we left that cafe on that hot day in September
I found a tiny emblem of an angel in my jacket pocket Something he must have left for me in order to remember
Let this be a real good lesson to all of us, as a test of our brotherly love
You never know if that homeless beggar is an angel sent from above
I always think this to myself whenever I see a person in need
“Are they an angel unaware looking to me for a helpful deed”?
Stop and listen to the call you hear, the one your heart’s been given
Help those you see, take up their cross help them while you’re still living
Whenever passing by someone you see in need, try to let go of your greed
Stop and heed your heart, give them a hand and do them a helpful deed.
It’s been three weeks now, since I’ve seen Sam standing on that street
I've been so worried I stopped and asked many others that I meet
“Has anyone seen that man named Sam, who stands alone on this corner”?
When no one seemed to know, I asked my friend, that small café owner
He told me that he’d seen Sam just the other day
“It seemed odd”, he said, “But he never even looked my way”
A couple days later, I happened to read a short story in our local news
It told of a homeless man named Sam, where they’d found only his clothes and shoes
This Poem was submitted for the poetry contest "Jamie's interesting contest 1" sponsored by Jamie Pan, for theme #6. Reflections in a window.
Once while my mind was drifting through a cafe fenestration,
Whence my cappuccino cup carouseled round a mindless spun spoon,
A presence within a reflection's penumbral lines broke my lack of concentration:
A woman stood between the clash of shadows and pale light of the moon.
She stood there in the street resound on the glass,
Dressed in a pomegranate gown which melted to the ground.
Around her the air shuttered and shook within a glowing gas,
And she stared at me through the glass, although her head was not around.
Looking around to see if anyone else could see her too,
The busied bodies around me kept on being, undisturbed.
I rubbed my eyes and shifted to erase her from my view,
Yet she stayed put in the window with her body unperturbed.
"The horseman is a marewoman" I thought, fancying myself clever,
"And she is headed to a ball and forgot her head;
Perhaps we've been telling the story of Cinderella wrong forever"
The thoughts from inside my attention deficit head said.
I stopped, when suddenly, the phantom in the reflection crossed her arms,
And I imagined her absent head shaking in disgust.
Having unwittingly insulted a ghost, who haunted me in a foreign town of farms,
I apologized in my head to this woman whom I was beginning to distrust.
Guilt was replaced with anxious fear as I realized this woman was in my mind,
Hearing my thoughts and reacting to them appropriately.
Sweat trickled down my neck and dropped into the cup of espresso grinds,
And I averted my gaze from the woman and noticed the barista looking at me.
Having noticed me staring intently through his window,
He looked through to see where my sight dove in to swim,
I looked at him look and then looked where my eyes had showed,
When the woman lifted her arm and pointed right at him.
He dropped his demetasse, which cracked in half upon the floor,
Spilling a machiatto onto the granite beneath his feet.
He looked back at me whilst everyone looked as he swore,
As he quickly cleaned up his mess to make it, yet again, neat.
I immediately went up to him before I had time to think,
And asked: "So you saw her, too?"
To which he said with a wink,
"Saw who?"
2/15/17
city limits;on 2nd street and elizabeth avenue,near a tire shop,and its where billy
the kid the out law lived and died;as brushy bill,so sad,yet here stood by those
very same street names in real life,his last 3rd living descendent, generation gap
as i guess we could of called it now!he wasnt dead,like all would of like to
believed or masked;he was my son,mr pj bertrand jr,and me im his mom;norma
jay bertrand the writer4386/homeless international poet of the usa/07!in reality
how practical does that sound,but my son at 24 years of age looks more
idenitical to him every day,its gets kinda spooky!in and out of hico,texas,except
here he was by the same stop sign holding a white plastic sign with a christian
quote on that read on wed,oct 26,05 can gods people help this family in
america;why?we that is i and my family was out on a personal fundraiser walk on
our own;since we were victims of both hurricanes and had no address physically
and lived in our suv;that eventually quit.no organizations cared and femur refused
to aid us;so we did it on our own,headed toward dublin,texas no less;off hw y6
north west for that one paticular night,it was where no one was giving rides and
only passing us by;like a real loser we felt inside;in and out of hico,texas,what
they didnt want to realise;billy the kid wasnt missing he was right there by my
side on the side of a abandoned house of white stone;resting my shattered knee
caps due to my bone cancer,on 2nd street and elizabeth avenue i was then
petting billy the kid who resemblance could kill a real deer that happened by! and
it could of been seen on the back on a rural map;its where njay wrote this on the
side of the ditch,if the residents came up and some would be in literal tears
telling him do you know who you look like;he could only nod yes mam or sir!and
sigh!believe it!ask the manager of chicken express cafe america;if you think i
lie;its more than just a word of mouth!i and he was both in and out of hico ,texas
and thankgod it wasnt in the south;yet no body asked how?nor had the nerve to
smile or laugh!or saw wowl!his living legacy america!is in actual replica on your
streets;a remake of the notorious gun slinger of the west in and out of hico,texas
call me and you can see him more than twice;at 409-679-5423
I left California a week ago Sunday.
Alone with my map, I found the way.
Initial trepidation gave way to wonder.
Beauty of the land enhances the spell I'm under.
From Novato to Tahoe, the drive was slow.
Allowing the remembrance of freeway driving to grow.
Expecting Nevada to be a long, boring drive.
The high desert vistas permitted my juices to thrive.
The interplay of clear blue sky and the light
Creating wondrous hues and vistas of pure delight.
Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds,
A wide-mouth frog carved in the mountainside winked at me.
A ribbon of highway stretched across the Salt Flats.
Looking more like the desert I expected awhile back.
The Great Salt Lake out of nowhere appears
Glistening in the sun like a clear, shiny mirror.
Turning south in Salt Lake City, a planned detour
The Utah rock stars I wanted to explore.
The landscape changed as ever higher I climbed.
Mesas in the distance of color sublime.
Zion and Bryce Canyons... magnificent to behold
Paled in significance as Route 12's glories unfold.
Each bend and curve created a new scene.
From pure, sheer red rock to pine mountains of green.
Land of the Anasazi, the Ancient Ones.
Lived in Boulder, Utah; an oasis in the sun.
The Escalante Grand Staircase is dedicated to them.
Feeling their energy as I traveled the rim.
Torrey to Moab and Arches Monument Park
The formations of red rocks truly touched my heart.
Guardians, gatekeepers, animals, angels and more
Chiseled in stone that was once the ocean floor.
Petrified sand dunes spread before my eyes.
A white rolling desert of rock under clear blue skies.
Opening again to wondrous chiseled formations.
Natural arches and windows of the mountain nations.
Treated myself to lunch in the “Eklektica Cafe”
Met a young man there who made my day.
He gave me the perfect response to "Why Boulder?”
Tell them, he said, “I'll let you know when it's over.”
Touring now behind me. I'm ready to roll
Heading full-steam to Colorado; pine and aspen to behold.
As I cross the border, I am greeted by a sign.
“Welcome to Colorful Colorado. The Trail Through Time.”
I have come full circle somehow I knew
Driving along, I remembered each view.
While there is no ocean; rivers and lakes abound.
It feels very much like I'm homeward bound.