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.
San Francisco Jazz Afternoons
Carries me back to those special Sunday afternoons with you.
The striped awning Jazz cafe, our very unique,ibeloved rendezvous.
The smell of the glorious, scents of the Pacific Ocean,
Those brown flirtatious huge eyes,lashes, my West Coast sensation!
My diamond engagement ring glittered like rainbow butterfly wings.
Memories of Coltrane, Davis, music that made you my heart laugh and sing.
San Francisco, always the beguiling, mystical jewel of my heart.
Everyday people who loved peace,jazz music, discourse, finest coffee and art.
You later, bought a fresh, intoxicating gardenia for my ebony bobbed hair.
Do you recall later, Union Street in The City’s, moist, foggy, sensuous air?
The spiritual City, was indeed our forever souls', sparking, galaxy prime,
We were both as daystars, walking its winding streets, so totally divine!
1/9/2024
I met him in the town's local cafe
A young adonis working the railroad line.
Long blonde hair, eyes so blue,
with a strong muscular body too.
He asked me to meet him the next day
Agreeing, this became our first date
A local fair was in town that day
Hand in hand we made our way.
Together we climbed a high hill
To watch the horse races run
He leaned over and kissed me long
My heart went flop and it was done.
Young hearts giving it a try
a few moments between a young girl and guy
That first kiss from this golden child
All thoughts began to run wild.
It ended at the fireworks that night
He was leaving with the morning light
The first kiss, remembered forever
The first date an extreme pleasure.
for Carol's contest
07/08/11
Phyl
The city is a milky, oval opal
cradled between the mountains' breasts;
from my airplane window I view her misty shoulders,
her features masked by darkness,
quiet in midnight sleepiness.
From my perspective she lies in peaceful slumber,
but what do shadowy vapors hide?
We descend; closer,
the pricks of light stab more sharply
until I can discern the gleaming blood flowing,
shimmering rivers pulsing through the streets.
This flight will end below
where you are waiting in brightly lit airport;
people rush upon their ways
to other highways twisting through the sky.
We will find an all night cafe,
sit across from one another
and wish our own heart fog would dissipate.
Copyright, August 13, 2015
Apple of my eyes,
She entered my life.
Was a high school classroom,
Where our love would groom.
Turned stronger as time went on,
Where parents were called upon.
Galla time with meets in the cafe,
And outside in the shopping malls.
Ditched ourselves to lag behind,
From the levels we best deserved.
Then came the exam results,
Found ourselves lying in a trench.
Hence staying away in different cities,
But for the same air that connects.
Her birthday, I got a call,
Returned happy with a secret meet.
But mom knew to my surprise ,
Awaited me to tell and meet.
Moments of unknowing betrayal,
That was a teenage entertainment.
Little did I know of mother's hurt,
Repent that was my last ditch!
Written on 29/10/13
Entered in contest on 11/5/14
Contest - poem never entered in contest#1
Sponsor - PD A
The quick fix had worked so
She slipped the needle away,
Her little liquid friend that helped
Through each long working day.
A toot of the horn told her
He’s out there with her lift
For her to work the punters
From the pub leaving shift.
Only a whore they said
When the body was found,
A battered shop mannequin
Lying on waste ground.
With their numbers cut the
Police couldn’t do much more
And, as the papers had said,
She was only a whore.
Somebody said there
Was a child somewhere
Quietly and efficiently
Taken into care.
Three girls at the funeral
Hardly a significant memoriam
Then she was ushered off
To the local crematorium.
A cup of tea in a cafe
In memory of a working mate
Quickly slurped down as
The afternoon was getting late,
The girls went back to work:
With their habits to feed
Any fear they may have felt
Overcome by addiction’s need.
Not high class call girls
With upper class clientele
Just a poor exploited women
With only one thing to sell.
So, Austerity still rules,
Unfair decisions are made,
And poor women are still driven
To the rough end of the trade.
I walk too fast on these busy sidewalks under the towering, illuminated skyscrapers,
any tourist or visitor notices the pace of my footsteps...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I talk with a northern accent so clear and distinguishable; and instantly anyone
who's visiting this wonderful city, recognizes it...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I wear the latest designer's clothes that define the image and ego of my masculinity;
it's so chic to sport the new trends and be admired...that's so distinctively Newyorkese..
I'm an avid fan of the Yankees, and at City Fields I watch my heroes passionately play;
I jump from my seat, when a player hits a home-run...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I find my spot on the Great lawns in Central Park, to hear a summer concert or opera;
with eyes focused on the stage, enjoying the moment ...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I ride over the Brooklyn bridge, when the water below glimmers, and the lights above shine;
a magnificent view, I'm privileged and glad to live here...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
From the high sea, I can see the Statue of Liberty...the Green Lady holding the heavy torch;
at Ellis Island, she welcomes everyone and smiles, and that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
Going to a familiar cafe along Fifth Avenue, to chat with old friends and drink cappuccino;
tourists kindly ask me to take their photo, I smile...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Jane, my former fellow-worker friend, who lives in Carmel-By-The-Sea, and had been visited by many of us from work.
Gleaning Clint as a third invitee at His Hog's Breath Cafe/Tavern, thanks to Jane<--impetus of my 114 miles (228 miles in total, down/up) drive from my San Francisco home, with the added feature, aside from Clint, is California's central coastline drive ... ala incredible folks.
It's been some time since the store episode/trapped-i/epic-sword, in-back at home recovering.
My phone rang during days that it did, of horrid prices and matching service, hmm--half a second or half a century.
Anyhow, tis Jane calling for a special invite to The Grand as her creative date/Clint cancelled last minute as he found her to be his perfect catch at 21 ... to a catch 22, so the lamb pulled out of the bag and clawed me.
I first saw her at an outdoor cafe
patting her dog cozying under the table,
with her dark sunglasses and her fluorescent yellow jacket,
inspecting the crowd.
"May I join you?" I asked and she didn't mind.
Inevitably we started a friendly chit chat and
she said she had a lot on her mind, school and all,
and I told her what was really on my mind,
looking for a date to enjoy Summer together.
"I could be your date," she jolted and so we began
on a more serious footing within minutes, asking
questions that were relevant on our mind.
Did she like sports and what was her favorite movie?
She said she was more into music than movies and
was a fan of David Bowie.
I too had eclectic taste and liked musicals.
We talked incessantly about Bowie and his 'Little China Girl'. Her
mother was Spanish from Central America, her father a linguist,
conveniently aiding the ruse.
She asked me if I liked dogs and
Yes I said wondering how old hers was? She said 12 and then I
wondered if that was not too old for a dog and she said she hoped not.
We were clearly a match and I had to rush to work and we exchanged numbers
and that's when I noticed for the first time she was blind.
How deftly the eye deceives. She was concealing herself in plain sight.
Of course, she knew how quickly this could make me disappear, but I
queried further.
Losing your eyes is easier than you can imagine, she said, recounting the moment she was caught at a Paris demo, a curiosity factor with the gilets jaune, and the ruthless police spray, blinding hundreds, and then I was thinking, maybe she wants a younger husband in her tender age, my
premonition told me of her absolute future devotion to me, until the day she
touched the bald spot and then our love lost its innocence.
Touch here,
sink your finger in my head, but it was for my lips that her finger
hushed me, just like Bowie's little China girl.
A cute single teen
Enjoys her toast and beans
A young man opens the door
Thier eyes meet over the floor
With cupids arrow in between
Like a movie love scene
They share a table to feast
Vowing every time they meet
To sit at the same place
Over the table, face to face
But a fire the following week
Closed the cafe indefinitely
They never again crossed paths
Years and years went by fast
Each married another spouse
With children and big house
Now aged and partners passed
Alone, and reminiscing the past
She tries the new cafe in town
He's sat there on his own
She asks if she could join him
Not knowing he's her old flame
Sharing stories from lives gone
And the love they once owned
Realising they are the one
The young love that had gone
Beans on toast tasted better
Now they're back together
The twist of this love song
They we're close all along
He was sitting alone in the corner
In a little cafe at the painting of Monet
And was talking to imaginary friend
About thinness opaqueness fear
Sensation of heat cold anger despair
Cruelty he claimed is the language of reality
Not the barren lame poetry with vulgar
Metaphors hiding behind empty words
Cruelty was the only honest way
To open the hidden heavy doors
Into suffering human soul and heart
And talk about things that matter
Through shamanic art of reaching
Deep into the guts of true teaching
And bringing light to the dark corners
That have never been lit before
Actors dancing in overpowering way
Manikins with terrifying theatrical faces
With empty eyes staring at the audience
And drilling through their souls
Objects of strange proportions
Surfacing in a dreamy scenery
Of unrecognizable ghostly world
Of the modern stage transformed
By the means of the theater of cruelty
It is the only way to be honest
To himself Artaud claimed
And believed
He was right
He sacrificed his life
To this idea
And died lonely forgotten
On the bare floor
Next to metal bed
That stood at the door
He tried to open so hard
In a madhouse
Where magic of theater
Truly belongs