Long Expresso Poems
Long Expresso Poems. Below are the most popular long Expresso by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Expresso 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!
songer.co/song/r8btoho3abg0psszqle86vkb
[Verse 1]
Girl, I’m caught between the thrill and the fall,
Your shadow’s tracing cracks across my wall.
Electric hum beneath my skin,
Addicted to the mess I’m in.
[Pre-Chorus]
Whispers call me higher, but I grip the rail,
Chasing sparks that flicker — I can’t bail.
Every heartbeat’s a quiet fight,
Lost inside your soft, electric light.
[Chorus]
Acrophobia, yet I’m chasing the highs,
Hands shake — I cross your flashing warning signs.
You lift me like a fading light,
One more sip, but you’re still not mine.
No parachute, no soft landing hand,
Your love’s a wave I don’t understand.
Floating fast, breath held, knuckles white,
Acrophobia — still climbing tonight.
[Verse 2]
Late nights fade into the blue,
Scrolling through the silence, thinking of you.
Caught your new song on some late-night stream,
Is that me in the video, or just a dream.
[Pre-Chorus]
Whispers call me higher, but I grip the rail,
Chasing sparks that flicker — I can’t bail.
Every heartbeat’s a quiet fight,
Lost inside your soft, electric light.
[Chorus]
Acrophobia, yet I’m chasing the highs,
Hands shake — I cross your flashing warning signs.
You lift me like a fading light,
One more sip, but you’re still not mine.
No parachute, no soft landing hand,
Your love’s a wave I don’t understand.
Floating fast, breath held, knuckles white,
Acrophobia — still climbing tonight.
[Bridge]
No twelve-step for this kind of sky,
Cold sweats can’t make me say goodbye.
You’re the rush I fear, the fall I crave,
The steepest climb — still I misbehave.
[Chorus]
Acrophobia, yet I’m chasing the highs,
Hands shake — I cross your flashing warning signs.
You lift me like a fading light,
One more sip, but you’re still not mine.
No parachute, no soft landing hand,
Your love’s a wave I don’t understand.
Floating fast, breath held, knuckles white,
Acrophobia — still climbing tonight.
[Outro]
The higher I go, the harder I fall,
Your electric touch is my favorite thrall.
Caught in this loop, I won’t say no,
I’m high on the fear, so let’s go.
Note: This song is an echo to the ultra popular “Expresso” hit, from the guy’s point of view.
Sitting by the window and reflecting, on one bitter cold day,
The sky cloudy, the weather report predicted snow,
The temperature outside 10 degrees, a little low,
33 years ago, it was a sad, life changing day that May.
My dad is all I could think of, he consumed my thoughts,
The Specialist Oncologist had given us the tragic news,
My soul trembled, my heartbeat fast, I developed the blues,
It was confirmed, my dad had cancer, my stomach in knots.
It was in his bronchial tubes, no therapy allowed,
For it would burn them, and he would certainly much sooner die,
I ran to the restroom at the Hospital, all I did was cry,
We went to a homeopath, who gave us extra time, only borrowed.
My dad was in remission for a year, then immediately,
Like a clock struck twelve, or like a storm with lightening,
The cancer began to spread this awful disease was metastasizing,
In 4 months, a man weighing 95 kilos became a skeleton, disturbing.
Our house doctor lived near and visited my dad every morning,
My dad was very sick by now, an expresso coffee cup of porridge,
We fed him, even water he hardly kept down, such awesome courage,
His breathing was hardly audible, manna mou he shouted, crying.
The doctor arrived, he said that this would be the longest day ever for us,
I took my son to school, explained that his grandpa might travel to heaven,
My father died that morning, my son was inconsolable, he sobbed until eleven
That night, wanted to go to school the next day, grandpa helped him in his test,
He said, and he got an A plus.
NB Manna mou – he was crying for my mom’s mum who he was very close to – Greek words.
Radio impulse
Stray songs invite;
Hip melancholy
~~~~~~~~~
Words and lyrics
Basket of moods;
Mental corridors
~~~~~~~~~
Espresso machine
Caffeine song;
Frothy brew
~~~~~~~~~~
Dancing darling
Plucks my heart strings;
Sense surround
~~~~~~~~~
Listen now
Birdsong metaphor;
Dawn brings magic
~~~~~~~~~
Profound moments
Rain wets window;
Windy sadness
~~~~~~~~~
Neighbour smiles
Meal takeaway chit-chat;
Weather and prices
~~~~~~~~~
Pineapple slices
Lunch time treats;
Sour-sweet yellow
~~~~~~~~~
Dress-up ladies
Dolls on stilettos;
Curvatures glow
~~~~~~~~~
Mascara eyes
Vivid charades fix;
Dreamy distance
~~~~~~~~~
News headlines blast
Earthquake tremors again;
Nepalese pain grips
~~~~~~~~~
Sighing old woman
Complains to herself;
Ghostly whispers
~~~~~~~~~
Wayside alcoholic
Smiles in somnolence;
Happy delusions
~~~~~~~~~~
Be beyond blur
Lively nonsense;
Sound escape plan
~~~~~~~~~
New food court here
Up market ambience;
Prices escalate
~~~~~~~~~
Two grownup kids meet
Playground romance;
Brief interlude
~~~~~~~~~
Wedding banquet
Happy couple cheers;
Sanguine guests feast
~~~~~~~~~
Yoda in green
True to life;
Star Wars philosophy
~~~~~~~~~
"Do or do not,
There is no try."
The Force runs away
~~~~~~~~~
Sing to the dawn
Be happy now;
Tomorrow can wait
~~~~~~~~~
My darling calls
Expresso ready;
Blurry steps slide
~~~~~~~~~
Glimpse here
New light flings;
Suspend objections
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
27 May 2015
Singapore
Thrift shop miracles of multi-
layered mysteries,insomniac-
drifters stumbling up the highway to
a water-logged Nirvana.
Stuttering hymns to flannel saints
who have not yet; joined the cult of
organized-nicean-rebellion.
Midwest slackers distressed in jeans
and in mind blood slowly becoming thick
black-tar, seeking release from big-haired-
bards &synth-pop-psychiatrist.
seeking freedom from German-hammers
& London-fog,
searching with work boots unsalted;
For a new kind of weather.
Earth-sister-pixie over caffenated
Balarina dancing rythm-less to a new
discorded blues dreaming of jazz and
feminist revolution; building a new alternative-
nation a new president Kennedy,
Shouting rain soaked rebellion in Starbucks
Between vicodin and shots of expresso.
Souls coming together in mosh-pits of
Discontent everclear-mud and hormone-
laced sweat coming down together;
Drinking rivers to drench the fires of MDMA.
Indian outlaws lost in the dextroverse,
Seeking the pain of country music, but
the Appalachian's were lost bathed in
black-lights&neon the coal miners daughter,
left the hollers for the Seattle fog&adderall .
O' lomo tinted cherubs that filled the 90's
morgues screaming love songs to familiar spirits
Of delta-blues my girls & boys here's where
You sleep tonight put to rest by your own
Divine-hands seeking Nirvana, and all
You ever wanted was there in your arms but
The man in the box would tell you otherwise,
And still nothing else mattered.
1566, Eastward Street
Hampton City
11:00 p.m.
September 22, 2016
Detective Sparkly is hired to investigate crime cases
Tall, tanned skin, brown eyes and black hair
Thirty years old and single. He had not been very
Lucky with the ladies. His detective works take
Many hours to investigate and resolve the cases
He was in his office when received a phone call in
His cell phone. Who can be calling at that hour?
Detective Sparkly answered the phone call. For
His surprise it was a lady. She identifies by the
Name of Tarlene. He felt a strange sensation in his heart
Tarlene wants to contract Detective Sparkly to investigate
Her husband murder. Jaron was found dead inside his car.
He was the CEO of a prestigious stock brocker firm.
Local TV and new papers covered the news. There no was
A specific suspect or reason for this crime.
Detective Sparkly arranged to met Tarlene in a coffee shop
In the morning of next day to gather more information about the
Case he was going to investigate. Tarlene arrived at 8:00 a.m.
She was drinking a mocha coffe when Detective Sparkly arrived
To the table.
They looked as if they had known each other for a long time
Detective Sparkly introduced himself and sat down. He ordered
An expresso coffee. Tarlene started to tell about her husband
Death. Detective Sparkly was taking notes in his notebook. Why
They do not know is that destiny has a great surprise for both
Nayda Ivette
11-26-2015
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
Ain't nothin' like a steamin' cup o' coffee to greet the early morn.
It'll calm yer nerves and git you goin' just as sure as you wuz born!
With mixin's added to suit yer taste, it must be scaldin' hot,
Decaf, regular, chicory-strong or mild, it really matters not!
Some folks prefer a styrofoam cup, others a massive mug,
But those proffer an indelicate way to down a gulpin' slug.
Others, a dainty cup and saucer, pinkie sedately bent,
Sippin' delicately so social faux pas one is sure to prevent!
I hear it ain't acceptable to dunk a donut in yer mug o' java,
Or pour coffee in a saucer to cool, tho' it's hot as flowin' lava.
But I ain't concerned about it bein' a great big social blunder,
As folks disdainfully stare at me as if I wuz some alien wonder!
Docs debate the merits of caffeine, whether it's healthy or not.
Let 'em bicker, I'll decide what to percolate in my coffee pot!
My dear old Dad had his daily caffeine fix, livin' 'til ninety-four.
I've done the same fer years and I'm approachin' nigh four-score!
Nowadays, fancy concoctions are brewed for the discernin' taste;
Expresso, mocha, cappuccino, even Irish whiskey laced!
Such exotic ambrosia to others I'll graciously defer.
I'll keep on slurpin' an ordinary cop 'o joe, which I much prefer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Four Cafes
Winter mists swirl up from puddles on the cobblestones blurring the names of the four cafes facing the narrow boulevard. Townspeople and visitors walk briskly with their heads down, collars up, against January’s invading chill.
From my apartment window I gaze hypnotized as people scurry through invading night like fallen leaves.
Madeleine and her small son, in a shopworn cap, wait outside darkened How Wheat It Is for day old bread. Breakfast.
Light from the bistro next door, scattered through the raindrops, makes prisms. A couple, identities disguised by distance, celebrate new love over chardonnay in bright blue like a rain painting reflecting on the street.
Old Charles slowly pushes open the heavy doors of Four Seasons Café, white paper box, leftovers for lunch in his apartment next to mine, clutched in arthritis molded hands. His apartment still smells of Marie’s Bellodgia and Arpege.
A golden glow scampers into warm corners of dimly lit Aubergine’s at the end of restaurant row where Jacqueline, Michelle and Annette share secrets of young women over rich expresso and lemon tarts to the strains of Mood Indigo.
January swirls above the street’s night life like a parasol holding this portrait in time.
3-4-23
Contest: Four Cafes
Sponsor: Julia Ward
200 Words
It is Sunday, no reason to leave the bed
I pull the blanket about my shoulders
And stare at the ceiling
You loved Sundays and came to me
With toothpaste kisses and
Warmed your feet against mine
You loved putting your head on my shoulder
And suggesting things we could do
Museums and shows, exhibits and parks
There was no limit because it was Sunday
And you loved Sundays
There were days when your eyes were soft
Saying “Love me or I’ll die”
And days when passion clawed with your eyes
Saying “Love me or I’ll kill you”
And from the bed I can see the flowers
You planted on the balcony and almost feel
Your fingertips coursing my cheek
In seductions so subtle my mind could not
Understand the message of my body
And you would finish with trembling breath
Before surrendering to soft, embarrassed giggles
Hands fitted into each others, we would walk
Pausing only for an expresso at Dario’s
And a while to lean on the railing of the bridge
To watch the dark mystery of the canal moving upon itself
We would lie in the tall grass and watch fireflies
Dance against the tent of night
Then race madly to catch the last train home
Where we would eat bread and cheese
And drink cheap wine on the table we made from boxes
And life was young, alive and beautiful
Because it was Sunday, and you loved Sundays.