Long Lattes Poems
Long Lattes Poems. Below are the most popular long Lattes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lattes poems by poem length and keyword.
My Astrologer, ‘Sex and Love’ horoscope, for Halloween, is grim and on-trend for me.
(Libra) “Get ready to take some chill-time - give yourself the space to recover. People pleasing is out, boundaries are in!” Yeah, I’m like Texas, I have unsecure boundaries.
Sure, I KNOW horoscopes are horoscopes but while other signs get unicorns & puppies:
Aries: “Use your deepest desires to please yourself, step into your power.”
Gemini: “Your curious and bubbly nature shines, shoot your shot for that special someone!”
Cancer: “Be at home in your feels, your needs & emotional expressions are valued, go deeper.”
I’m getting “Suck it up buttercup,” thanks universe - what did I ever do to you?
We’ve been scanning the teen magazine fall looks, “We’re living in a bold era, a time of expression!” They declare, which means dramatic-metallic eyeliners, goth grunge, bold reds and Beyoncé’s “Renaissance silvers.” Luckily, Yale’s pretty low fashion environment, because seasonal changes are a lot to keep up with.
I love Autumn, with its colorful leaves, pumpkin lattes and colder nights, but coming from the south (in ‘21), I had no idea how badly heated air could dry out my skin and hair (freshie year, my thumb literally started to crack, like a plastic Barbie).
In the spirit of fall fashion and maintenance, my entire crew made an Ulta store run this morning for hair masks, detox tonics and skin moisturizers - we’re ready, bring on the cold.
The best smelling places on earth are Ulta and Yankee Candle stores. In my religion, heaven smells like Starbucks in the morning, Chick-fil-A around noon and Ulta stores as the sun goes down and things turn dreamy and romantic.
We’re on Fall break this week and Peter’s favorite aunt - Lita - is visiting. Lita’s a tall, slim woman (eek! A guess), in her early sixties. She’s nicely weathered and tan. I’m sure she once had Peter’s blue-black hair but now it’s mostly white and styled in a loose braid. I think she rocks the coastal grandma aesthetic with a wardrobe of mostly pale tans, whites and flats.
Peter has all kinds of stories about her - she’s a character. When Peter was 5, on Halloween, Lita pretended to sacrifice a chicken, cackling, like a witch. He was wide-eyed until she admitted she was just making fried chicken for dinner.
Lita lives on property adjacent to Peter’s parents, but hers is larger, more of a farm, where she raises chickens and grows Meyer-lemons and persimmons. This may explain why Peter slices up lemons, dips them in sugar and eats them like oranges (I shiver). Peter told me that Lita always liked fruit, which is why she bought Apple stock in 1997.
From what I’ve learned, talking to Lita, she practically raised Peter’s dad (David). Their parents had a boy before her, an older brother she doesn’t remember meeting because he drowned at a church outing when she was a toddler. Their parents, in their grief, had turned in on themselves, becoming as self-centered as gyroscopes.
They’d left Lita by herself for weeks at a time, to raise herself on a more-or-less trial-and-error basis. So, when David came along 13 years later, he became her responsibility. She started working as an auto mechanic and eventually opened a couple of shops of her own. She describes herself as more well-read than formally educated - as if knowledge had just settled on her, like dust from an old library.
“Teressa (Peter’s mom) is very curious about you,” Lita confides to me as we huddle together over venti pumpkin lattes, “Peter’s very tight-lipped where you’re concerned.”
“He is?” I ask, confused, “maybe he’s ashamed,” I venture, “or maybe he’s planning to dump me?” Lita looks amused, ”uh huh, that’s probably IT,” she agrees.
“Look! I say excitedly, pulling an envelope from my purse, “It’s my first-ever paycheck,” I beam. I make a production of opening the thing, like an Oscar envelope. “$223,” I read, shaking my head in admiration, then adding, with sincere sounding hyperbole, ”he can’t dump me NOW, I’m RICH!”
Barista
An Italian coffee Bartender
Making cold drinks and hot expresso’s
With shots of anxiety
With many flavors poured in your coffee
In charge of running a coffee shop
Always poetry with coffee machines
A morning ritual
Don’t forget about Cappuccino’s
Caffe’ Lattes on the go
Pouring art in my coffee cup
Barista’s prepares coffee bean rosters
With steam aromas arise fluently
Every cup is beyond cultivating
Beverages brewed to stay awake
Buoyant rhymes with melodies floating in your mind
Have is no other way
Coffee is truly therapeutic
Baristas are multitaskers and creative
Millions drink coffee by the gallons
So many flavors to choose from
What is your favorite coffee shop
Can’t live without it
Awe coffee, two cups
Such innocence, my youth was lost, so unprepared
To hear the rattling chains, or depth of deep despair
No use pretending to the pitch of restless sleeping
How useless expecting yesterday was ours for keeping
The mantel clock still continues to tick away
A pale rising sun still labors to start the day
I know every crack in the city sidewalk
I know every star in the December sky
The cozy place we drank our cafe' lattes'
Where we shared and laughed and talked
The pace has slowed, now the sidewalk never ends
Coffee bitter tasting, the cheery place now dim
The smile that filled the empty rooms
Still resonates, but lacks a tune
Yet as winter's storm has passed and spring appears
The year...this year or perhaps..., another year
I'll come to know that you are here....
You tossed your seeds into the wind
And scattered them across the land
When darkness comes to hide the sun
I know this now....my dearest one...
Your presense, my friend, ..is never gone...
Oil spread across blank canvases
W
i
l
d
reigning over the smudges I tossed
crimsons and violets and fuchsias galore...
merging together to form a tree bark hue
the deepening browns often relate the most~
unique and fertile as the shades can ever become
wild and bitter like lattes blended with vanilla
down to earth and relaxed as a warm light source
making my skin go reddened and vibrant
like parakeets nesting in trunks and serenading
or moss clinging to nearby marble, discovering a home
sort of like a fashion statement, a mild accessory
but these browns won't linger in silhouettes
just keep me pacified and add to soft ambiance
while aiding to the beauty of belonging
and the silkiness of softness which surrounds us~
He took her there most days
They rowed out to his small yacht
They sat and drank take away lattes
She just cried a lot….
She was so full of sadness
Tormented by relentless fear
So very troubled
Her mind clouded and unclear
She liked it on the river
It gave momentary relief
Life seemed a little clearer
Though be it only brief
She saw them in the distance
Hoped they would come her way
Unbelievably without deviation
They were there without delay
Swimming underneath the small yacht
In water so clear and blue
So close they were touchable
He cuddled her and said,
“This is just for you”
The dolphins swam away….again without deviation
A direct path into the open water
She knew in her heart those majestic creatures
Had sought her…
The emotions they evoked in her
Mere words cannot describe
With heart and mind now smiling
She sipped her latte
And just cried….
My plan has gone… pear is not a bad shape!
Pear is a charm to in-your-face industrial
Archipearcture – take Anglia Pear! Pearhaps,
With each drip that resides
On a crackled depearction of our pipped-out minds,
Pearter will pearlish a pearlindrical container with a handle & a lip, used for holding
and pouring
Free-flowing substances by allowing the pearstream to flow over the sides of the liquidator into liquidized liquidness.
Solid licks! Your pearsonality is
pearsented through the pear of you
in your pearfect music.
My dream to have a non-existent pearting of mine propearsed to be pearsented will be brought to fruitition when I’ve prepeared the pearfect shaped urn to paint.
Just keep munching on your pear jam toast, I hope they are prepeared to say so I don’t have to unload the dishwasher.
Pearhaps it feels like an even smaller second to them since they were catching up on The ApPEARtice last Friday night. Profound pearssions are pulled without a trigger – schedule prepearations pearhaps only have room for drips to prepear what will be someday peartinent – a pearsonalised tankard full of pearpose. Sometimes it takes extra time ordering to pear a feeling with pumpkin spice. Chai lattes are not so nice.
Ah,
The sugar’s in an urn over Pear!
With all this pearetry,
I’ve urned it!
The little humble bean
that found its way into a cup
made a splash upon the scene
after Kaldi’s goat had stirred it up
it travelled fast and well
from Ethiopia to Yemen
some called it the drink from hell
until Clement became a fan.
the aroma crossed the pond
and Boston had to celebrate
once the New World had succumbed
it quickly poured out into states
before old London knew
they served it morning, noon and night
this penny university brew
would see its name put up in lights
in newspapers and magazines
the high street flooded with its shops
a berry rarely seen
in processed form warmed more than pots
served in different ways
from skinny whites to espresso shots
cappuccinos to tall lattes
we toast the goat that time forgot.
It felt like Autumn
on this morning’s run
I want it to be fall
with its syllabus of vibes
I’m signaling a stance
I’m autumn’s undoubted champion
wearing my choice like gangland colours
- I could give my all to fall -
summer only ever had my subdivided attention
Summer’s just too needy: it demands relaxation,
bare legs, sun block, beach plans, hydration,
barbecue, and relentless fun, with scant variations
I want the visual promise of leaves falling
the flattering autumnal colour palette
my whole devotion crowns shortening days
fall always serves as a competent stylist
complete with venti pumpkin lattes
and mornings with a costume of frost
Unbind the theatrical heats of midsummer nights
and let the season's advance revive us
show us falls slanting golden afternoon light
let crisper darknesses harbour counterfeit witches
and lengthening dusks warrant winter wishes
Let fall assume her russet throne
and give us autumn’s cool agenda
without the influenza
.
.
Songs for this:
Ping Pong by Dimie Cat
Messy by Lola Young
Sarah, for your birthday, I do not want to ruin the surprise,
So put on your mask, and here is a blinder to cover your eyes.
I will give you hints as we get on our private fumigated plane.
Of course your mother is waiting, and she will do the same.
We will have a menu that has Belgium chocolates I can't hide.
They will be scrumptiously delicious, and taste juicy inside.
You may order hot chocolate with a shot of caramel and Nutella.
There will be some pretty hot guys, and maybe a particular fella.
Please do not guess yet, watch your feet as I guide you up the steps.
There are protein shakes, brownies, flavored lattes, sprinkled flecks.
An extra shot of expresso? I do not see why not, Sarah Dear.
Yes the destination café might be coming abundantly clear.
Sit beside your mother and do not guess out loud.
She has told me all about you; she is insanely proud.
No doubt there will be scones, muffins, and a sandwich of the day.
Come on pilot, get the engine started. We are ready to play!