Government Owned!
she bought a bag
of cheap coffee,
a quart of milk,
and a box of pads...
bundled up in her Goodwill coat,
walked back across the parking lot,
and up the street with
tears in her eyes.
she knew the baby was crying,
and her old man sitting
there staring blankly
out the window at the world...
wondering where in the hell
he could scuff a few bucks.
just coffee and milk, and
trying to heat the apartment
with the kitchen stove...
too young to have lived,
to live on the memories
of a childhood long gone!
two more weeks till her check,
and nothing in her pockets.
the food stamps long gone,
and nothing on her table!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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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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Long Way Back
(bill rice/sharon rice)
(track 6 - time 3:33)
Sitting in a cafe at the corner of broad and grand
Stirring up old memories and the coffee in my hand
The waitress stopped and asked me
Honey do you know what you want
I had to stop myself from telling her the truth
What I really need is another chance with you
But this temper train Im on just ran away too fast
Its a long, long, way back to you baby
Its a long, long, way back
The neon clock is humming showing sign of wear
Ive lost all sense of time since Ive been sitting here
The waitress asked again
Is there something else you need
I need to take the hands off that clock above my head
Reset the time and take back everything I said
If I could turn around, then I would erase my tracks
But its a long, long way back, to you baby
Its a long, long way back
It is a lonely road a fool travels down
I guess I oughta know cause thats where Im headed now
And its a long, its a long, way back
Sitting at the cafe just ruby lee and me
I get feeling shes waiting on me to leave
She stopped askin hours ago if I know what I want
Yeah but its a long, long way back, to you baby
Its a long, long way back
I miss you darlin
Its a long, long way back
song performed by by Diamond Rio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Street Only Knew Your Name
Your street, rich street or poor
You should always be sure of your street
There's a place in your heart,
When you know from the start
And you can't be complete without a street
Keep movin' on, just like a train
Sometimes you gotta look back to the street again
Would you prefer all those castles in spain
Or a view of the street from your window pane
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name, oh your precious name, precious name
There was walter and joy, kate and roy
All hung around the corner lamplight
Get together sing some songs
Like boppin' the blues - you make me feel alright
That was long before fortune and fame
No such thing as a star when you've played that game
Everyone knew who everyone was
There was no preference in the street no, no
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name, oh your precious name
And you walked around in the heart of town
Listening for that sound
And you walk around in the heart of town
Listening for that sound
Blue suede shoes, it was the blue suede shoes
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Praying For Help
she felt the baby move,
unconsciously dropped
her hand to her belly....
staring out the window
at the empty parking lot,
listening to the rain
a chair, a mattress,
an old table pushed back
against the paint peeling wall...
nothing to eat, no money,
he'd been gone for two weeks,
no phone calls, no one to call!
seventeen years old, and the
whole world crashing in....
two church ladies came by,
left her a New Testament,
and a couple of tracts...
and the law keeps circling
the parking lot each night;
roaches gather in the corner
praying for help!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Poem Is Just A Report About What Happened Here A Night Ago
and so this young man from the mountain arrives on an unholy hour of the night knocking at the door asking for the name of his sister, a housemaid of the family,
he brings his eighteen year-old wife carrying a bundle of old clothes, and a baby still on its third month,
it is raining, and they are all wet, the baby is crying hard
looking for milk and warmth, and she lets them in at the backdoor near
the kitchen, and i am on the second floor merely watching them
in a hurry, loud words, blames, and cautions, the master may get
angry at this unholy hour of the night,
warm coffee and some left-over bread, bare hands they like it,
chicken soup, and milk for the baby, and warm rags,
i am watching them all from the second floor of this house
just being this spectator, of a certan phenomenon, this poverty
this unequal distribution of wealth, this inability of the state to provide
education for its people, this unfairness of this universe,
the lights in her room is finally turned off, the baby's cry dissolves in darkness. I do not think that the young malnourished couple still have sex
in the middle of this heavy rain, so cold, so unholy, so unjust.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Halley's Waitress
Halley's waitress
Never comes around
She's hiding in the kitchen
She's no where to be found
I just want some coffee
Is that too much to ask
Halley's waitress
Is not up to the task
And when she finally appears
It's like she's been away for years
It's been so long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
So long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
Halley's waitress
Has vanished once again
She's talking to her agent
She's calling all her friends
Forget about the coffee
I'll just take a check
Halley's waitress
You know you'll get yours yet
It's been so long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
So long, so long
Darling, don't you know
We miss you when you're gone
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman Gives Birth At Cafe, Refuses To Leave Until Latte Finished
There was a man crying, walking his dog
and a woman drove by
on a flat tire
They brought coffee to the tables
in large glasses on white saucers
There’d be long silver spoons
with which to stir in strong
dark espresso
floating in layers in the steamed milk
Don’t forget
the girl with long blond hair
fiddling with her key in a car door
outside, saying
“Oh! This isn’t even my car! ”
And yes, having conversations about
catching a man, seated in this same café
when you were young, not pregnant
not looking down the road to life very far
poem by Jerry Ratch
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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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Being In Love In 1974.
Being in love
was like being ill
and that day
after Judy'd left
to go to Florence
for a week
you went to the big city
to take your mind off her
but she lingered there
wherever you went
every brunette
with long hair
was her
and when you sat
in the Royal Opera House
to watch a ballet
she was there
down in the front
at least it seemed so
until the girl looked around
and had a different
face and eyes
and sitting
in that coffee house
by Piccadilly Circus
you sensed her absence
and drank coffee
after coffee
the blues eating
at you
wanting her there
beside you
imagining maybe
she'd not gone off
after all and that
at any minute
she'd seek you out
by some kind of
lover's radar
but she never showed
and no other girl passing
was her
and you thought
of the time
a few weeks back
when after she'd
gone off home
from work
you had taken
a single hair
from her white
work coat
and twisted it
between fingers
and kept it
between pages
of Solzhenitsyn's
Gulag Archipelago
seeing it
and moving it
each time
you read more
of the labour camps
and death and snow
and tundra
and she off in Florence
with friends
and you left behind
depressed
and love blind.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Being in Love in 1974.(poem)
Being in love
was like being ill
and that day
after Judy'd left
to go to Florence
for a week
you went to the big city
to take your mind off her
but she lingered there
wherever you went
every brunette
with long hair
was her
and when you sat
in the Royal Opera House
to watch a ballet
she was there
down in the front
at least it seemed so
until the girl looked around
and had a different
face and eyes
and sitting
in that coffee house
by Piccadilly Circus
you sensed her absence
and drank coffee
after coffee
the blues eating
at you
wanting her there
beside you
imagining maybe
she'd not gone off
after all and that
at any minute
she'd seek you out
by some kind of
lover's radar
but she never showed
and no other girl passing
was her
and you thought
of the time
a few weeks back
when after she'd
gone off home
from work
you had taken
a single hair
from her white
work coat
and twisted it
between fingers
and kept it
between pages
of Solzhenitsyn's
Gulag Archipelago
seeing it
and moving it
each time
you read more
of the labour camps
and death and snow
and tundra
and she off in Florence
with friends
and you left behind
depressed
and love blind.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bit News
Donkey milk
Is...
Good for health...
This thinking for
South indian poeple's...
So...
New born baby
Given for donkey's milk...
I also drink for
Donkey milk at childhood...
My gran mother told for me...!
Donkey milk is for
Only at donkey...
But...
People idea is...
Donkey's milk is how is
Help full for human health...?
I don't no...!
Miss or mrs univers
Celeo patra also
Take bath for
Donkey's milk...
For his beauty...
It history bit news
How much true
I don't no...!
You know...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Awesome understanding of everything
There were times when I was a very young child, that a feeling…
A sense of well being would flood over me. When I felt completely
At ease with…and understood fully the great scheme of all things great
And small, without knowing exactly just what it was that I understood so
profoundly, nor why it made feel so good.
That was so long ago. But then inexplicably It happened again!
While sipping morning coffee and reading two versions of Jean Auel’s
“The Mammoth Hunters” one in Spanish and the other in English, while
Taking my morning coffee at McDonalds in Walmart.
My weary ol’ eyes drifted from my books upon which I had laid my glasses,
To rain clouds misting over the mountains that rim the Vegas valley. I rubbed
My eyes and then my brow…and that was when my childhood epiphanies returned.
Sitting with eyes closed, fingers wrapped round my foam coffee cup, That sense
Of wonder…of profound peace, serenity and complete understanding flooded over
me once more….And for a few precious seconds I knew all…and had the answer to
Everything!
That feeling of bliss and awesome wisdom was fleeting indeed, and reality returned
To the staccato chatter in Chinese, of someone speaking loudly (as almost all cell phone users are
given to do) accompanied by giggles from a gaggle of young Mexican girls a few booths away.
My feeling of being one with the universe slipped back to whence it came. I replaced my
Glasses on my nose, sighed, with a monumental sense of loss, took a sip of my lukewarm
Coffee, focused on my books once again and regretfully returned to reality, while wondering
“is this some quirk, peculiar only to me?
If you’ve bothered to bear with me this far, and have ever experienced this, and/or can
relate to this phenomenon, then perhaps we share something special or…perhaps something
not so special at all.
poem by David Whalen
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Since You've Been Gone
You left...our home
Didnt see eye to eye
No matter how hard I try
I live...on my own
Still I don't seem to find
Any kind of peace of mind
Chorus
And I'm still looking for you...
Have you seen my baby?
That's all I want to do...
Have you seen her lately?
Since you've been gone
Since you've been gone now
Since you've been gone
Gone so long now
Since you've been gone
Since you've been gone now
Since you've been gone
Gone so long now
My friends...at work
They tell me I should get away
Maybe take a holiday
They know...I hurt
Everyday, I get in late
Find it hard to concentrate
Chorus
And I'm still looking for you...
Have you seen my baby?
That's all I want to do...
Have you seen her lately?
Since you've been gone
Since you've been gone now
Since you've been gone
Gone so long now
Since you've been gone
Since you've been gone now
Since you've been gone
Gone so long now
Can't sleep...don't eat
Sitting in a Smokey bar
Wondering where the hell you are
I watch...TV
Thrown away another day
Sitting in the Caf all day
Chorus
Since you've been gone
Since you've been gone now
Since you've been gone
Gone so long now
Since you've been gone
Since you've been gone now
Since you've been gone
Gone so long now
song performed by by Fine Young Cannibals
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Real Art
Real Art
I woke up a blue neon light, outside my hotel room,
kept lightning up my space, I looked out and saw
a man in a cafe sitting by the counter eating a burger,
he had hat on and looked ca 1948.
Knew I was in an Edward Hopper painting but didn’t
want to be a part of his bleak cityscape of lone men
who live in cheap hotels and drink coffee in a cafe,
which clientele are lost souls like me.
I splashed water in my face adjusted my tie put my
hat on and walked out, a cab drove by looking for
a fare, I opened the cafe’s door, the man with hat had
gone, drank coffee and ate a doughnut.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Suicide
'i cant do this anymore.'
he shakes his head to clear
the cobwebs.
staring blindly around the kitchen,
nothing seemed real,
nothing made sense.
late notices, disconnection notices,
eviction notice walls of paper
falling in.
children fighting over nothing,
or something, what the hell!
woman staring blankly at the tv.
she hadnt seen him in years.
invisible, untouchable, alone.
alone till it stank,
like dried vomit in the heat.
he couldnt remember, couldnt even
remember what or why or when.
and the hands on the clock
thundered and crawled.
he walked out the door
into the yard, staring at
the night sky, and winced.
putting the gun to his head
with one move he pulled
the trigger.
and a lone tree fell
in the darkness.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sleep At Last
I never knew it will hurt you so much but,
Try to love me for what i am always;
Because i am the only one who wants to make you sleep at last.
Life is like the gallons of water on moveable carts,
And with the figures of bulls encircled on them;
For your love flows with the sweet milk from your valley,
So i will not put any milk into my coffee tonight.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coffee and the poor economies of the world.
Respect the sweat of human,
Irrespective of color, creed and religion,
One third of tap water is used to brew the coffee,
Procured two to five dollars per kilo in whole sale,
Starbucks sell two pound a cup in the stalls in UK,
Have spacious restaurants in our regions
converting UK pounds to our pitiful denomination,
Americana, Cappuccino, Mocha and Espresso,
Fancy name attached with degree of roasting,
Fermentation, with milk, without milk and bubbles,
Come to our countries, freshly roasted filter coffee,
Available on the road sides for five rupees a cup,
Cup size of less than 50 ml, just to moisten the throat,
Even the Cups of developed nations, fivefold our size,
Still it is only 25 rupees, equivalent to fifty cents,
We are the poor people; give us the fair price,
Coffee is the third liquid, after petroleum, on the market,
Out of one kilo coffee powder,100 cups can be brewed,
R&D, Oil rigs, Oil platforms, expensive engineers and workmen,
Billions of dollar investment, still one liter petrol costs 140 pence,
What have you invested in our poor countries,
To drink the sweat of our plantation coolies so cheap?
How are we obligated to sell our produce,
So cheap for you to increase the value and sell?
WE are fools and our politicians are your tools,
To puncture our hearts to do the batter trade.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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No Horse Town
i lived for a while
the fish who eat milk
stayed with me
i ran faster than the speed of tears
back and forth
the fish went
i wrote another chapter
in the good book
take it home
got to break out
of this no horse town
the question is how
the fish who eat milk
stayed with me
their story is long
the church organ harmonica
played out of tune but
it still sounds good
i sell fear
see the tip jar
all these groceries to pay for
all my life i
searched for
something to hate
the fish who eat milk
they are not many but
they have strong bones
poem by Bobby Crawford
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