Perfect Coffee
she dance in front of me, in early morning suite,
before the Rooster crock in early shout of morning,
brows and feel then the coffee lies in the table with
a happy roost
comfort the night with that dancing lady, where
every inch of her hair, languish her leg just off the
bed to play, come admirable ecstasy wake me up,
full and squeeze the earth, grip my trembling heart
as you quizzed my neck into the earth seeking night
with nothing but gone of myself
I almost drawn, of the mixed emotion of sugar drops
in the coffee, wanted a perfect blends of boil water as
it fades away, oh! yes thanks to the table that hold
every cup, the party has to go like a merry go around
the table of free
now the sweet aroma of coffee brings a good
morning mist, with sugar dare coffee taste as old, the
same thirst the tongue requests; drink the leverage of
mate that holds, for each breath of lips that savour
the spell, lives the saving faith
a hot coffee for free, take it out or dine with thee ….
poem by Antonio Liao
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Related quotes
Coffee!
Coffee beans all ground up,
Coffee in my favourite cup,
Coffee black, coffee white,
Coffee dark, coffee light,
Coffee right, to start the day,
Coffee at work, coffee at play,
Coffee midday, coffee at night,
Coffee to sober, coffee to excite,
Coffee weak, coffee strong,
But maybe instead some Lapsang Souchong! ! ! !
TEA! ! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is it Tea or Coffee?
Is it Tea or Coffee?
Tell me!
My instant early morning dream
I like it black, white with sugar or cream!
The choice is free
Yet the mind cannot agree
With Tea is a Yippee!
With Coffee it is a Whoopee!
The thought of a little caffeine
The smell of fresh roasted beans
Will once again set off my adrenalin
While my exhausted brain is waiting
That stirring cup of sizzling black
Put on the kettle; spill the beans out of the sack
I will pay the fee; I will pay the levee
I will beg on one knee for a little bit of Coffee
Take a sip of the early morning coffee
Close your eyes and try to see
As you smell the airy aroma like a bee
Tea or Coffee! Perhaps you now understand me
Those swarms of dark brown seeds
They feed my vicious needs indeed
I don’t care how much I pee or how much I wee
For that sparking liquid of hot black called coffee
Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Cup of mocha
You never liked
the taste of mocha
You said it was
coffee laced
with chocolate lies
I always loved it
when the chocolate
masked the coffee
Just enough, and
let it linger nice
A lie coated truth
But, truth nevertheless...
The warm cup of mocha
Stands and grows cold
outside in
Dreams, forgotten,
lie dormant
new, old within
I stretch over the table
as across continents
To hold your hands,
to cup some warmth into;
a coffee grown cold,
a life grown old
We always shared
the mocha
you sipping
seeking the coffee
While I taste
the chocolate,
wait with the coffee
We stare athwart
Our love’s passion,
no longer an obsession
It retains within us ties,
Coffee mingled with chocolate lies
You always said
“Serve me poison,
with a smile,
I will drink it too.
Please, don’t lace it
with chocolate as with
coffee you do.”
You never liked
the taste of mocha
Yet, you always
drink it with me
As you sip,
your eyes crinkle
and I smile too, with you...
poem by O. Sudhir Janardhanan
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Pssht....
pssht...... everyone wants
to hear but no one
likes to listen
good and bad make it
sense
early morning is a coffee,
a finger tip
and lips
that save
a table dine, where issues
and concerns are fine
a cream of sweet honey
in a table meet, where our
minds meet....pssht...
poem by Antonio Liao
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Coffee for Bed
Bed coffee
Don't drink...
At morning...
Drink water
300 ml after
Take coffee...
Avoid bed coffee
For yours good
Helth...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Java Blues
Rick danko
I walked into a diner
And the blonde behind the counter
She asked if she could help in any way
Hell, I knew by her smile
Her number I could dial
If I was in the need of company
But as I bought some java
Instead she brought me a cup of chicory
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
Dont pour me water just fill up my cup
You know it takes a lot just to keep me up
Cost may be more than you care to pay
What good is money compared to fightin pain
Dont try to cheat
Its impossible to beat
The only pick me up thats here to stay
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Oh coffee, oh coffee
Java blues
Coffees got me
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
The taste of java is like a cocaine rush
Nobodys gonna stop me from drinkin too much
Down in bolivia the people are insane
They want as much for coffee as they do for cocaine
Dont try to cheat
Its impossible to beat
The only pick me up thats here to stay
I got those java blues
Coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
The coffees got me now..
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee
You know that Ill stay high
Ill drink coffee till I die
I got the java blues
Oh coffee, coffee
Java blues
Oh coffee, coffee, coffee
Java blues
Oh the coffees got me
Java blues
Oh coffee, oh coffee
Java blues!
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hear Music From The Wind
i hear music from the wind
it 's the arias of the diva air.
i hear the sad song from the conch
i keep it singing in my ear
i see the great love from the rays of the sun
spreading
embracing me this early morning
i taste the coffee-ness of coffee from the cup
i love the sweetness of sugar the creaminess of cream
i love the liveliness of life
i dance its dance and sings its songs and taste its taste
i face all things sitting down
in a lotus position
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coffee
Coffee is
Secrat of
Every day
For morning
Eneargy...
To day id'not
Take cofee
Come with haadache...
And sleep;
My body also lazy..
The coffee making
Somthig
For me...
I want to avoid
Coffee
You also try
To avoid coffee
For your feautere
Health...
Take black tea
Is better with good....! ! !
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early Morning Blues & Greens
By diane hilderbrand and jack keller
A distant night bird mocks the sun.
I wake as I have always done,
To freshly scented sycamore
And cold bare feet on hardwood floor.
My steaming coffee warms ny face
Im diappointed in the taste.
But theres a peace the early brings
The morning world of growing things.
[instrumental]
I feel the moments hurry on
It was today, its died away,
And now it is forever gone.
And I will drink my coffee slow
And I will watch my shadow grow
And disappear in firelight
And sleep alone again tonight.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Naked Before My Eyes
feeling empty
i sense you
i get near you
feeling your hand
and you look at me
knowing something
that fills you too
i like you to be
my empty cup
to my hot water
i can be more
than hot water
i can be a spoon
stirring you and
you can be coffee too
and cream and
sugar and mint
i can be the mouth
that opens to drink
you as coffee and
surely we shall have
a good time together
tonight i like you
to be more than coffee
and cream and sugar
just be yourself naked
before my emptiness
and i can also be more
than a mouth to you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Morning Blues And Greens (Master Backing Track)
A distant nightbird mocks the sun
I wake as I have always done
To freshly scented sycamore
And cold bare feet on hardwood floor
My steaming coffee warms my face
I'm disappointed in the taste
But there's a peace the early brings
The morning world of growing things
I feel the moment hurry on
It was today, it's died away
And now it is forever gone
And I will drink my coffee slow
And I will watch my shadow grow
And disappear in firelight
And sleep alone again tonight
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sugar Mama
Written by c. burnett.
Now then tell me sugar mama
Now where in the world did you get your sugar from?
Now then tell me sugar mama
Now where in the world did you get your sugar from?
Was it back in philadelphia woman?
Back from the place where you come from
You know theyre braggin about your sugar
Yes I said theyre braggin about it all over town
Yes I said theyre braggin about your sugar
Whoa I said theyre braggin about it all over town
Everyplace I go
Sugar mama, sure can here your name
I like my coffee sweet in the morning baby
Yes you know Im crazy about my tea at night
Yes I said I like my coffee sweet in the morning
Baby you know Im just crazy about my tea at night
Dont get my sugar three times a day
Baby you know you and me just cant get along right
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Told
For forty four years now
Each morning I woke up
I go straight to prepare
A cup of coffee for my wife
It's a ritual that I do
For forty four years
Not that she asks for it
But it's what I love to do
Love is what commands me
To lit a kettle to boil a water
For she likes it when its so hot
A coffee she drinks quite early
Suddenly, now that it's our anniversary
I do the thing I 've been doing ever since
We got married for forty four years back
Yet for the first time I am told just so today
That the coffee I served her now tasted bad
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Life Is As Simple And Enjoyable As Sipping Coffee Early Morning And Enjoying The Scenery Of A Rustic Place
alright,
we simplify this
it is early morning
they have not awakened yet
the house is very peaceful
the windows are closed still
and the doors too
alright
stand, walk towards the window
open all of them
let the cold air come in
then walk towards the door
unlock it
and open it too and then
let the cold air
come in
you want coffee?
go to the kitchen
take a spoon a cup and saucer and
take sugar and coffee and
hot water
you know what to do, right?
feel at home
this is your home
now take your time
sit on a chair
face the trees
stir your coffee
feel it hot
and then sip
enjoy, savor the scenery of
this rustic place
feel the wind on your cheeks
take the warm side of the cup
alright,
is not life as simple as this?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Bitter Coffee... A Sweet Coffee
The age is running and I am still drinking my bitter coffee,
To when the story of this coffee belongs? !
Coffee and chocolate are so deferent in their tastes
But in several times
It happens that they have the same color.
It seems that the similarity of them is the same of features of the fortune reader.
When she gazes the cup of the coffee
But I am not so familiar with chocolate
Even I am not familiar with the talisman countenances of the hex.
I remember that once I asked him to give me a bitter coffee
Yet he has made a permanent bitter one
Each time he brings me the same coffee in the same cup
A question c0mes to my mind and I ask it to myself:
If we do not like the coffee, why we do drink it?
Do you think it is our destiny as my birth story?
I was born without my desire
Thus with each sip of the coffee
The destiny stops me not to tear the chocolate cover
to sweeten my coffee.
poem by Chnar Namq
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Coffee
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Alankar (Decor) -25
Over A Cup Of Coffee (Rondine)
Tense, jittery over a cup of coffee
They talked for long hours
A coffee dropp bored of hours
Told the lady with a cup of coffee
'My lady, finish your coffee
A bored dropp on lips yours
Tense, jittery'
'Not mine'said the lady with coffee
'Fault is his wasting hours
Blot or break..his settling hours
So are we and this cup of coffee
Tense, jittery'
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Coffeehouse bar stewardess
She blooms in the morning like a coffee flower.
I like that rare flavor and I peep there frequently.
I sit on a bar stool and wait for her to bring my elixir.
When I sip that with a straw I feel like getting more courage
To fight with the Devil's day.
I have been in one evening but she wasn't there and the following morning too.
I gossiped and verified that she already left the place for better prospects.
Since that gloomy day the coffee tasted me bitter like rusty life
And sometimes I drink without a straw.
I scribble on the table mat with a pencil stub.
Let the tricky life turns into a fairy tale to you!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Early Sunday Morning
I used to mock my father and his chums
for getting up early on Sunday morning
and drinking coffee at a local spot
but now I’m one of those chumps.
No one cares about my old humiliations
but they go on dragging through my sleep
like a string of empty tin cans rattling
behind an abandoned car.
It’s like this: just when you think
you have forgotten that red-haired girl
who left you stranded in a parking lot
forty years ago, you wake up
early enough to see her disappearing
around the corner of your dream
on someone else’s motorcycle
roaring onto the highway at sunrise.
And so now I’m sitting in a dimly lit
café full of early morning risers
where the windows are covered with soot
and the coffee is warm and bitter.
poem by Edward Hirsch
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A Cup of Coffee
I start my day with coffee as my friend
The beans so fresh, as it blends
Giving out an aroma, that wakes me up
I stumble to the kitchen and look for the cup
I pour some black liquid and sip right away
I just want coffee, to start my day
Then on the road I'm on my way
Coffee is my friend to make my day
Stuck in traffic, I loose my mind
I then sip my coffee and just rewind
I get to work with a cup in hand
Juggling with papers I can't withstand
The coffee at work tastes bitter and cheap
But it's better than getting caught counting sheep
All day long, I make pot after pot
Of black steaming mugs of liquid gut-rot
Tanked up on coffee, I face the day
Taking anything that comes my way.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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