Long Caffeine Poems
Long Caffeine Poems. Below are the most popular long Caffeine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caffeine poems by poem length and keyword.
in the drab grey wetness
of a cold november morn
barely awake
making his way
through sluggish traffic
crowds off to work
his mind a blur
operating on automatic
a tingle comes over him
an aroma reminding him
of the first cup of coffee
he’ll grab out by his office
before starting to wake
first sign of brain activity
out of the corner of his eye
a pop of yellow
a sign of joy
a blond little girl
with the loveliest of smiles
and brightest bluest eyes
wondering who is this angel
curious about her secrets
and her enchanted world
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~CAFFEINE INFUSION~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2020, 1st place 2021
I was once a koala
Fuzzy, meekly peering newbie
Chosen for convenient cuteness
But misleading, as I have never
Set foot in the Southern hemisphere
Everyone who knows me, knows
I am a beast for books
A rapturous reader, a
Paramour of the printed page
Their feel, their scent enthralling
Everyone who sees me, sees
Round red frames sliding down my nose
After years of contact lenses, I returned
To eyeglasses, just because they feel right
So come, sit, let's share a coffee or tea
Which I drink every day, with cream
Caffeine so necessary for my well-being!
Also good for your heart, it seems
Eyeglasses, books, coffee - the triumvirate of me.
1/24/19
for Star in your Avatar contest
Sponsor: Mark Massey
Abuzz (Aldrin The Afternoon) With Energy
a-gush with vigor
of a balled umpire
after a cold shower,
particularly most enjoyable, when
(during hot weather),
these lovely fleshed
out bones heavily perspire
me no liar,
plus the boost,
I didst acquire
from downing one guarana
to help jumpstart mental empire,
(essentially caffeine
in capsule form)
initially found me
figuratively being catapulted
skyward blasted, as if shot out
like a healthy
arsonist flame of fire
into cerulean heavens, like an
Aerospace rocket ship
this dada packet
thrust above Gaia
moony miles higher,
but after so
many hours overtaken
by invisible drag net,
re: led zeppelin
said charge (akin to quaffing
one cup of coffee) did expire,
a crash test dummy) systems
of a down quite in dire
straits, sans dramatically dropping
altitude as kamikaze hire,
thus needed to recharge,
without a nanosecond to wait
this foo fighting
beastie boy (George), hence
upon padded foldout chair
comfortable seated poise,
aye didst create,
and commenced meditation
(a transcendent closed eye practice),
sensing the oblate
spheroid (planet earth) traveling
thru deep purple space
NON GMO flute'n gree
holistic practice helpful to abate
anxiety and/or panic,
I resumed of late
which light trance like state
brought me a measure, where
inner peace didst inflate
of blissful fate
essentially homeopathic ploys
to quiet mind chatter
within my pate
accessed to help me feel
(like Tony the Tiger) GRrreat,
thence returning to man my station
i.e. sitting facing Macbook
Pro external (Lenovo)
and dash (imaginatively) riding in a
one horse open sleigh.
"Bonjour, in the cocktail woods"
I see the waffled leaves of teal trees painting pink moon,
With diamond dahlia arcs, flowering an orchid boon
Sprinkling love of french perfumed spells and cocoa mystique,
Flickering in neon scented star seeds of rose-glossed antique
For, I'm the fragrant fluorescence of pure peace lilies,
Floating amidst dancing dove's glowing daisies
In a redolent riverbank, loving life like the sweet butter-sun,
Wandering in black forests, enveloping magic in red ribbons
Defrosting my white chocolate heart peeking through tinkles,
Singing beyond the glass petals of peony and snowdrop marvels;
Perhaps, plush strawberries too have starry scars,
On their silken ganache skin, bleached with calendula and mars
And my luscious butterscotch lips tremble at the blurry squeaks,
Ruffled by minty chills in my cherry-blushed cheeks
I search for addictive caffeine in gold-glazed dawns that bask,
Pouring nectarine reveries in lavender litchi hearts
Life's a bittersweet syrupy sea, coated with tangy rainbow hues,
Forlorn, this forbidden folklore is shaded with sycamore's adieus
They say, mocha pupils and vanilla haze of iris,
Can carve a melon hued watercolor portrait alive,
But I believe that the purest is never a sweet dessert survived,
In this delusional donut-shaped globe and tangerine beehive;
So, I shove my identity in Van Gogh's abstractly bejeweled canvas,
And let my caramel brown hair, gleam in golden hymns of aqua
Waving walnut "goodbyes" to velvet ochre sands and sapphire skies,
Forevermore, fluttering hummingbird's dreams in oscillating flamingo galaxies.
Don't ! Ask the sun, where we were
hidden, perhaps, in that caffeine moment.
And, pondering on the empty space !
Don't ever say, the visual became clear
as the silver dropped, to the deep floor
like that broken sun,Yes! There are secrets
Between the doors of safety, where you played
with the past, un-knowingly.
It was on the inside of the outside of everyday,
needing ! And wanting to be balanced in scales, of comfort.
While outside the Frog and the Heron, watched on,
as visitors were composted, In a myriad of cackling voices.
The happy shone, it sprinkled the day!
Left me with joy full in my head and heart,
It was, the time, that time, back tracked
the feeling you get in that Sun of short shadows.
Surrounded ! And everything once was !
And stones warm, purpose built, together, talking, and walking back.
It may have been then In 1967, see what memories,
and thought pools we swim in,
between two distant unreachable shores.
Maybe a sandy future palmed and green,
or the rocky crags of endless chores.
Colours seem thin, its stacked and smoked out doors.
A tarry sun accompanies frost, on blued wet feet, tramping moors;
Whiling away the day, she stares into the fire making deals
with ghosts in the flames, I stare at the empty jars,
I care about the red wine still in the glass, and now
time is as fragile as the comb, dripping like a yellow sun ;
But, i know the wham slap of the morning is due !
Like an unwanted letter, or whisper of bad news.
This moment can be split, and spat against a broken future
I need a compass point to be sure of this journey,
a map of shifting clouds, of muddled ideas to gain
a painless transposition along this ragged edged trail.
Tomorrows, tomorrow are numbered, and in short supply.
So upon this bed of chaste dreams you lie,
within this pure love you die,
from this breath of life you bleed,
yet grow again from another seed.
Jigsaw puzzle patchwork:
Verses that I love —
Bound by a stern code;
Quotable quotes saved:
In mellow memory —
A quilt of earthly scents;
Rhyme and time and chime:
Flavours of seasons past —
Chronicles of tales unfurl;
Espresso moments divine:
Double, triple, many servings —
Coffee and caffeine conversations;
Rise and shine and style:
Smiles to match fond grace —
Gratitude prompts attitude;
If only I can see easy:
The true me beyond fancy —
Lift canopy above my soul;
Heart and mind attest thus:
What body holds sacred —
A certain immortality;
Knowing what I know then:
Now makes knowing nothing real —
Empty this vacuum now;
Yet more and more floods to fill:
A certain empty feel —
Feels even more than more;
Paradox of a human:
Being in conflict with contrast mad —
Crazy beyond wordy description;
So much About Me is at least:
That I do not yet know more —
Perhaps that works the best;
For in my end I see:
My starting point entrench —
Knowing nothing at best;
So my journey journal jest:
Writes of many cites bite —
Rites of unfinished business;
Dying to live thus:
I die as flesh must die —
Fly into the timeless sigh...
Leon Enriquez
06 February 2018
Singapore
in traffic there is an accidie and weariness
and flatness and humdrum of the road
but leonard cohen helps with that
and i think about the poor north koreans
without their fix of coca cola
and the mental health of the finnish with
their billabong of coffee and caffeine flowing
out their ears and the best brand of water in china
has the biggest market reach and woodpeckers don't
get headaches because according to a
professional content provider they just don't
and speaking of the chinese
they've found a hut on the moon
some distance away from their rover; who can tell
who might be living in that hut
i look up out the windscreen at the moon
and imagine myself living in that hut
or maybe leonard cohen is living there now
and england have lost the first ashes test
and outside the hut is a scoreboard showing
australia need twenty runs to win
the hut has become a pavilion and there's plenty of
tea drinking going on
no finnish there pal
and someone shouts howssszat! across the galaxy
as asteroid 4660 nereus misses earth
as i miss childhood
it travels on and on into the depths of the saddle
of the universe
So Dog Gone Tired Today...
May 20th, 2021
Like a fly without his/her buzz
even popping a guarana (caffeine) does
not shake the feeling
like brain covered with fuzz
no matter how hard I try eyelids claps
shut nor how many hours of sleep elapse
offers nary reprieve folds
welded tightly shut
feel like they weigh
much as a ton mud covered flaps,
thus thought to summon
meager energy reserves perhaps
generating poetic lines
interrupted by taking constant naps
but no matter eyelids
weigh heavy as a ton steel traps
narcolepsy not ruled out since
tired body struggles as if gasping for air,
yet such fatigued state uncommon for me,
though bothersome to grin and bear
this bout of sleepiness, where this
white knight chess sleeps
trouble free aye declare
quality deep rapid eye
movement marked noticed
since medication taken
to treat debilitating anxiety e'er
concomitant panic attacks, where psyche
got rent asunder send
ding this atheist to hell
episodes pained me
forked flaming tongues flare
ling, immobilizing, paralyzing
and stinging entire body,
hence methinks primary cerebral gear
and cog glommed
like a drain clogged with hair
nonetheless, no alarmist worry,
nor "worst case scenarios" betray
my ordinarily mellow emotional state,
thus any task I must delay
thoughts unstoppably captivated
by snoozing upon
a bed of freshly mown hay,
and then hours later
diminishing fatigue in catchy rye
ming verse aye re: lay
relishing being awake,
the mine true valued self I kin portray
best to surrender whereby
unfettered invisible manacle doth yoke
mine body electric unresponsive, yet woke
to myriad stuff dreams get made
ashen faced flesh impossible mission
to energize (think cattle prod) futile stoke,
thus methinks eternal sleep only option,
whereby yours truly only request do not provoke
nor poke
the bear, but only I make exception for
Little Red Riding Hood,
cuz she ranks as innocent young female folk.
Tea came percolating from the pot
Burglarizing the neighborhood clans
Moms held their babies in their arms
Above their heads for fear of caffeine
The fiend held everyone hostage
At gun point it seems without a doubt
Leaving the young to their own devices
To run or drink coffee as they will
No one questioned the authority of tea
Though it has no arms or feet
Or mind to speak of so to speak
A crime scene most fowl came about
Screamed out in the form of steam
Boiling over in the pot most odious
Whistling obscenities loud at the police
Tea’s particular proclivity towards crowds
In particular those who identify as single
Struck fear in the community at large
As tea has no time for any people
As you can see, tea don’t think
Come sit upon my deck, it is covered
with birdsong; bedecked in peace.
Come tarry; let me pour a warm beverage
of chocolate, tea or coffee. Listen
to the tweets, twitters, bird-sweets.
Come sit close, listen to nothing at all,
but the peace between two friends.
We will wait, we will watch for a.m. deer.
Quietly, we sit, side by side, as the sun
gives rise, reveling in God’s mercy -
day by day, with Summer bare feet,
sound mind, promise of newness.
Come sit, as friends do, then eventually,
their lips part with a passing remark.
Nothing cool or wise, just a soothing tone,
that lets the silent world know there’s life.
Quietude trains, it is painted with rain
and wildlife. Come, as the cool of morning,
touches a heart of flesh and pink pyjamas.
Come, as I sip my two-serving cup of peace
and quiet, whistles, hooting, no hollering.
There’s an occasional chirp, rarely a deer.
Here’s hoping. Yesterday, I spied one alone,
who hid behind a tree, momentarily, though
it did not see me. Come, I say, come. I watch.
We’d watch, or talk, or both. Perhaps, I’ve said
too much. Let’s listen, as my skin steams,
from my guzzled caffeine. Birds dance before me.