Long Cafes Poems
Long Cafes Poems. Below are the most popular long Cafes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cafes poems by poem length and keyword.
NYC nior in black and white
NYC nior in black and white
Dark landscapes 1957 NYC
of automats radio city and hotdog stands
memories of things past
Take us back to lucid dreams of light and shadows cast
set the stage late night dark wet NY detectives on the beat
slow moving like grit and steel they stride down the great white way
steam and clouds shoot to the sky from sewer covers
smoke rings blast out from bill boards of urban midnight cowboys
from route 66
On the street hipsters glide down in pinstriped suits
cool sleek long with straddled watch chains dragging
smoking stogies from drooping lips
wing tipped shoes rested on black boxes at shoe shiners row at 53rd and lex
wanting fem defal’s dark diva’s in fish nets tight red skin dresses with sleek spike heels long cigarettes with long brim hats and netted veils as they walk the line swinging their Purses leaning against posts on the foggy corners
Dharma bums gaze at city lights dreaming of old bards songs
through garment push carts and rushing feet
in the machinery of the steamy night
the boxcars moving past open doors
The cities glare in shadows bare
neon signs striptease flashing in the backdrop of honking horns and traffic
night clubs casinos and one night stands in greasy motels
pool hall hustler’s poker players loan sharker's and scheamers
whisky bars dockyard and widowed screams
tenement houses windows open curtains drawn
sweat and muscle tee shirts yelling out to others
saxophone city of butchers boozers bribers and brown baggers
Bright yellow checkers and taxis on Times Square
down the smoke hazed dark lanes against the hard walls
slim Jim zoot suiter’s lazy dazed side leaning
roll loaded dice with steaming cheap Tricks
Newspaper stands and barbers shops with marbled checker floors
white steaming towels with waiting hot lather
man with straight edge and black leather strap leans over
with Sinatra playing in the back
Neon city balanced in chaotic disorder of abstract lines
of municipal signs
city where monk lady day and Coltrane play Improve
in old coffee houses of smoke filled cafes for pennies a day
as street poets whisper and drink their troubles away
dreaming of Brando bogie smoking Joe's and blondes
of slip hips and jive
To the Invisible Friend
The dredging decades have floated by like drifting clouds in the beckoning western sky.
Hello dead friend of my distant youthful days under these erotic jacaranda blooms.
It is my firm hope that you are satisfied and settled inside your deep and cozy earthen confines.
We spent months hours and minutes tangled together in a passing parade of exquisite time.
We ate a plethora of flailing foods together inside the old quaint cafes in busy Uptown.
We talked unceasingly under whirring ceiling fans in the yellow eating breakfast rooms.
You and I drove in suspended romantic time down the Harbor lanes at prying midnight.
You pressed your tresses and closed your eyes upon my shoulder into the late kissing night.
What has happened to your young voice and your shy waves to me from the darkened distances?
We have moved away from each other in decades gone by like skiffs in a crescent watery breezeway.
We have left behind a thousand inter crossings and a hundred by crossings with suspended ecstasies.
So sorry that had to happen to you that morning in October when the sky hi jacked your future days.
Look to the west behind these eucalyptus trees that now cast long August shadows at twilight.
Look to the blue-laced north now and rest your tilted head upon my shoulder as it leans westward.
Sorry you’re dead now as you sleep in your grassy bed of jealous roses and wailing wisteria.
Sorry I had to see your white-sheeted body on the evening news lying there amidst the tragic landscape.
But now dear dead ghost whose faraway voice I can still hear even now from talks in the old evenings.
Did we not take long strolls on old cracked sidewalks under a curious canopy of jacaranda blooms?
Did we not seek and grasp great silver moments in the green-drenched darkness of hot skin and tears?
You and I know of those secret dances with the music turned down low in the swallowing darkness.
You and I remember the long floating ride down the deserted boulevard at prowling midnight.
We were irresistibly falling in love with the idea that this sensual drama in the dark would never end.
Goodbye dear dead friend of my distant youthful days under these erotic jacaranda blooms.
It is my firm and final hope that we’ll meet again outside your deep and cozy earthen confines.
I once met a waiter in Berlin.
A tall man with blonde hair,
a long scar above his eye,
I knew his name only to be Jurgen.
Following coffee one fine day I asked this man,
“Do you know where I can go to find a splash of life?”
He replied with a smile,
“I'm sorry I'm not the best for that, perhaps you should speak to my wife.”
And with that he called over a very pretty lady,
as he summoned her he told me that her name was Sadie.
I looked at her and said,
“Oh my gosh miss but you are quite amazing...
please excuse me for my amount of gazing.”
She told me not to worry,
it was neither here nor there.
But that I should find my way to the edge of town,
practically to the brink of nowhere.
I looked at her confused and I said,
“What miss should I travel so far to see?”
She looked at Jurgen, then back my way, and simply said,
“I guess you'll just have to trust me.”
So I paid for my coffee,
then I started out.
Not knowing where I was going,
my head full of doubt.
I walked past the stores,
and the city shops.
I reached the country farms,
their lands brimming with crops.
I walked so far in fact my legs began to falter,
I cursed Sadie and her cryptic words
as I traveled halfway to Gibraltar.
Then just as the sun was about to tuck itself behind the horizon for this night,
I saw what I believed to be the most awe-inspiring sight.
Maybe it was the glister of her blue eyes against the stony mountains behind her en masse,
or perhaps it was the shade of her beautiful auburn hair atop the chartreuse grass.
Whatever it was I was smitten from the start.
I knew it to be true,
I knew it deep within my heart.
She smiled at me with all her warmth and said,
“Well hi there handsome, what brings you way out here?”
I said,
“You know, at first I wasn't sure, but now it's very clear.”
It's been twenty years since I married her,
that little splash of mine.
We moved to the city and I became a waiter,
not always,
but just from time to time.
Now on days when patrons ask me
just where should they begin.
I smile and say,
“It starts by speaking to my wife,
instead of drinking coffee in the cafes of Berlin.”
January 7, 2016
Cloudless the sky over beautiful water,
Sunlight at dawn as the day starts to break,
Open the blinds to let in the new day and,
Smile as the sunshine confirms they’re awake.
Croissants for breakfast with strong filter coffee,
Shower and dress to prepare for the day,
Get out the tourist guide, plan their adventure,
Join with the locals to make real their stay.
Walk in the countryside on a long ramble,
Visit a vineyard, high up in the hills,
Sample the product at end of the visit,
Several glasses, mop up any spills.
Boulevard cafes or old fashioned taverns,
Famous for seafood to try for their lunch,
What will their dinner be? guessing it’s chicken,
But not seen the menu, it’s only a hunch.
Shower for dinner, they’ll put on their glad rags,
Her in white dress, him in shirt and blue tie,
Orange juice, soup, they were right it’s then chicken,
Followed by cream on home made apple pie.
Wine with their dinner, they’re charging their glasses,
They had gin and tonic their aperitif,
Already they wonder what’s tomorrow’s dinner,
Will it be venison, pork, lamb or beef?
The dinner completed, a port or a brandy?
Or just filter coffee to wash it all down,
Only ten minutes to walk to the centre,
So now for a stroll to the centre of town.
Traditional bars full of tourists and locals,
A drink in a couple, it starts to go dark,
Chatting with bar staff about local venues,
Tomorrow they’ll go to a close water park.
Hand in hand stroll up the hill to the hotel,
A swift nightcap then in the nice hotel bar,
Up to the room to reflect on the first day,
And all the things that they’re enjoying so far.
Undress now for sleeping, the blinds closed til morning,
They lie down together and switch off the light,
The first day of holiday now is completed,
They’re so glad they came as they’re kissing goodnight.
The door locked behind them, their night is their own now,
The start of their holiday as they’d desired,
He holds her as she falls asleep on his torso,
His choice of this venue seems really inspired.
They swiftly are sleeping while leant on each other,
In love in this beautiful holiday place,
Tomorrow exploring more parts of the landscape,
No wonder they both sleep with smiles on their face!
My hometown, my lost friend,
Thank you for greeting me once again,
at a time when we both are lost.
When I wander your streets,
you also wander within me,
weaved into my thoughts.
Winding down to your core,
to the oldest part of you,
I finally remember your last hug.
I left you in chase of dreams,
but the silence of your smooth brick walls
always called me back, haunting me to recall my origin.
Do you remember when I climbed up your bosom?
Swept up to your canals on the rustle of your voice in the wind?
I remember cycling up streets of yours,
through rows of antiquated shops,
the vast green fields coming into view.
I stretched on your arms and legs to the sand hills,
where your voice blew fainter than a whisper.
Your vast cemetery is a reminder of where we stand in relation.
And how in death, you hold us tight against your bosom still.
I know that your greens and parks are like your dreams.
And your slums, your plazas, are your nightmares.
How granite manors, dilapidated ruins of industry,
slums, and cafes dot your skin harmoniously.
Now I glance your history over thick stone railings.
Modernity to your face makes you sad,
an unclouded glimpses of your ancient face cries,
and I’m here to wipe your tears.
Your hug brings back my pleasures.
Some are darkened subconscious – like late nights walks,
embedded in drunken haze, winding to romanticism of my youth.
Others are gracefully vivid, the walks through the mango gardens,
holding my father’s hand, and dreaming of unknown world.
Now winding down to your core, to the oldest part of you,
I finally remember your name.
It rolls off my tongue like the sound plucked strings off a harp.
It is there that I know who you were.
It is then that your message –
– brings me peace in its clarity once more.
You are like the rediscovery of an old photograph –
bringing me peace in its clarity once more.
You are the city that made me,
and to who I owe my fondest memories.
Heed that I am older now,
I walk a shorter pace and sleep a longer hour.
Beautiful women in spring, in the sun,
only bring nostalgic sorrow to my heart,
I long to find you one last time,
My hometown, my lost friend.
The Perfect Day
I believe I lived the perfect day, the ideal greatest day,
A day awash in a sunlit brilliance unseen since the first blink of Eden,
A day as buoyant as time standing resolutely still in the cool zephyrs-
A rarified floating air, cleanly sterilized by a healing divine fire.
I can still smell that perfect, utterly resplendent day in 1966.
The sky was brilliant and blue like the face of a vain diamond,
Redolent of star blossoms brought to earth by armies of the unseen,
Their reaching arms uplifted and waving, with undulations of rosewood.
I can still feel the magical freedom of living fast and easy on that perfect day.
Laughing like a thankful child under a blue blanket of restored faith in goodness,
Drenched in the magnificent serenity of sun-lit air on that perfect day in April.
I can still remember like a dime what I did on that perfect pristine day,
A day dedicated to life and living, like all the other forgettable imperfect days,
Days fraught with sickness and confusion with bleached out emotions laid bare.
I opened the window that day, and let in the pure perfect air into my old room.
The perfect day came inside and reminded me of the imperfect days to follow.
I now hear dying children singing like spasmodic seraphim in the hurling sky,
Dancing out-of-control, their strange pirouettes amidst yellow and red mud puddles.
This perfect day has seen many shriveled faces in the musty cafes, drinking sadness from a cup,
Coming back from doctors appointments, and the usual haunts where many lights flash;
“Deciding the day is come to leave the old house, this old street, under this undying sun.”
It is time now to tidy things up a bit, as this perfect day succumbs to its sealed climax.
I stare into a beveled mirror and see a vast universe of imperfection. Perfect chaos.
Perfect imperfections that cannot be perfected by any perfect day, any ideal greatest day.
I now see the Perfect day! It is but a wispy memory floating like a ghost cloud,
Unseen indeed, by the imperfect straw men and women of this perfect Earth!
I have known him for years.
This good friend of mine.
Always got me out of trouble.
Since the age of Nine.
Welcome to the free world, we say to each other.
As we graduate from University throwing hugs at everyone we see.
Our first real time we saw each other since graduating was in Paris for our friends Wedding.
We caught up the next day at Cafe De Flore.
I’m getting married in Berlin in three months he told me.
The look on his face was difficult to read.
Even for a friend I have known since before I would buy laced shoes.
How are you so happy? He asked me.
I have been out of work for a while now and been having a hard time getting employment.
“I am married to the my best friend, I got the promotion I wanted, but I am missing some part of myself, why am I not happy?"
Want to count something with me?
When I wake up in the mornings, after making tea, I count.
I count my blessings.
There is more to life then anything we can ever imagine but the key to finding happiness lies within our eyes, our spirit, our mind. Know how lucky you are to wake up, simply waking up is a gift, start there.
I saw him two and a half months later in Berlin.
I asked him, have you been counting?
I was late for work a few times he replied as we laughed.
Our talk at Cafe De Flore really gave me a perspective of my life I have been missing, thank you.
The next morning I had an interview in Berlin.
I was headed to get coffee and breakfast when I got a knock.
It was my best friend with breakfast which was a basket of blue berries more than I could count
"Part of a healthy breakfast” he says.
“A thousand blue berries should do the trick" I reply.
He says "no, the counting we will do together while having breakfast”
I never heard anyone count their blessing or have someone listen to my blessings.
I got the job, thanks to having a healthy breakfast with my best friend,
Instead of drinking coffee in the Cafes of Berlin.
"There is a window open from my heart to yours." Rumi
See the splendor of pained poetic souls.
After he died, leapt out in the air above,
turned into a star in Gaza's bleak sky,
pouring words and tear.
How many heart cries. For what endless suffering,
soothed by his verse and rhyme.
The gallant Gazans follow it with reverence.
Although they weep for his loss, they dwell in his poems as a citadel,
a secured ark.
Did he predict today's indistinguishable relation
between occupation, displacement, and genocide?
All words coalesce, flow uncomfortably into the English lexicon.
Out of his grave, in Gaza City, the stone grove of his voice,
the vulgar odor of colonial infection withers by the spell of his love.
The tyranny of outrageous minds is set ablaze, when they hear him,
more joy than rage, soothing yet like a hurricane pounding the waves,
bridging the hearts.
He came to speak, to bridge the chasm between hearts, collapsed in shreds, secured in grace.
Poets are with art and nature crowned.
Reach Refaat a poet's crown.
Mark him the chronicle of this scene of horror,
author of resistance, pride, and honor.
Refaat wrote, "sometimes a homeland becomes a tale," a heroic tale,
and their savant poets too.
After he died, the sky of Gaza was littered with white kites speaking shinningly
to the deadly drones menacing above, like the buzzing of so many flies.
A parable of justice, a hope that never dies, under the golden dome of Mediterranean Sea saluting the eyes, eyes that see through the dark clouds, the brush of freighted air, the march of history toward a luminous point, into the clasp of a fresh new-born idea, nearer to binding faith than wild dismembering injustice,
Gaza uncaged, free from all deceits, where people mingle at seaside cafes with no fear of being bombed, reciting his poems, with bouquet of flowers on his grave with the note that reads, rest easy friend, Palestine will forever be free.
Inspired and dedicated to the famous, to the Royal families, to the actors and actresses, and pop stars, who live lives of Uncharishable Fame.
"Fame is a struggle and the lives that surround it are not happy." - Christopher Boskovski
Fame, have you ever walked down the streets of stars?
Have you stood on a stage with a beam of spotlight on you
at center stage, delivering a sweet monolouge of peace and love?
Fame, do you know how it feels to be followed along city streets,
and bustling cafes by flashing lights, and Poperazzi?
You strike a pose, you sign an autograph, and you are late for a dinner reservation.
You grow dark, and hungry and you seem not so happy,
but yet you smile?
Fame, do you like to be famous?
Is it a fun life to live?
Somedays living in Mansions and others out of the suitcase.
Somedays eating lobster by the bay, and others, cold pizza on Saturday.
Are you misreable, not knowing the womanthat you love, loves you back, or loves your
wallet that is so fat?
Books upon books of love poems staked towers of romance that scrambles your brain,
and leaves you with tears of sorrow in your eyes.
Fame, enough of the fake smiles
and red carpet wardrobes and be true to yourself.
Stop and smell the morning roses that bloom,
walk through the parks with smiling faces on every corner,
before all that beauty goes away.
Fame you don't see color, you see black and white.
Contracts, nothing about love, only about wages.
Live life, before everything around you dies.
Be happy and true.
I ask you fame,
come away from your money and expensive cars and cell phones
and live life, instead of living a fabricated one.
Read a book of poetry,
that shows true beauty.
Stop making yourself happy, reading tabloid viewings,
in morning newspapers of yourself.
Look in the mirror and smile.
Fame, I tell you now, you are not happy.
Come with me
take my hand, and sail with me.
For Fame, I shall show you a golden dream in reality.
Four cafés in his small town, on fourth floor window looking at the neighbour tower , he saw his friend entering the shopping centre
He went to join him as he wanted to share a cup of coffee with him in one of the cafés upstairs.
In the first café, some drunk people were deafening at the bar side, It drove them mad,
After taking coffee, they decided to go to the two closest cafés at the corner of the shopping centre on the third floor to avoid that noise.
They set and started to discuss before they could order some food.
His friend Look at the other cafe, which was opposite of the two closest cafés, a gorgeous waitress stood at main door and she called him using body language. He liked her and told his friend about the beauty of the waitress by the door of the café. They both saw the bouquets of roses in the fourth cafe, moved fast , thinking to find lovers. More new waitresses were gorgeous , majority of men were happy to drink and eat while seeing them around.
When she came closer to ask them to order, they were looking at her face smiling than ordering foods or drinks.
They told her to wait, and she left the code of their online manu on table. She was the last daughter of the owner of 30 cafés around the country. So humble to their customers, she wanted to find a person who could love her without knowing her rich background.
They ended up ordering food and some drinks through the code , and she came to serve them.
One of the men caughed out his feelings for her , saying , " you are gorgeous lady , I love you. "
It was a day dream to her as she liked the man early , used body language to call him closer.
The answer was , " I love you too"
They started to date and ended up marrying after some months.
Some people found their husbands and wives in the cafés.
March 13 /2023
Written for the contest sponsored by Julia Ward