you and I, and the cat
we shared a cup of coffee- you and I,
as the cat looked on.
you had two lumps of sugar, a shot of cream.
mine was black.
I thought to offer cream to the cat; he’d like that.
and then you smiled.
you peered across the rim of your upraised cup, taking a sip,
scrunching your face and smiling through the steam as it
rose from your milky, sweet coffee,
and I forgot about the cat.
he purred.
quickly, I put him outside,
knowing his familiar purr, a purr that soon
would escalate into a full-blown howl
that demanded my attention and some cream.
I wanted only to savor the contented sweetness of your face,
perfectly formed for my delight, but
you felt sorry for the cat.
I had been abrupt, insensitive.
“Why can’t the cat be allowed to purr, even to howl
“if he wants? ' you said.
“Why must the cat be refused a simple request for attention
“and a sip of milk? ”
alright then, I’ll let the cat back inside,
and give him some milk.
are you happy now?
no answer.
the coffee has grown tepid,
along with your smile.
I loathe that cat.
Related quotes
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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An Afternoon Poem
it is all coffee without cream
no sugar, you say please, no sugar no cream
it is all about cold bread
nothing electrifying
unlike the softness of the arms of the beloved
it is about the coldness of bread
and the hotness of coffee
less the cream and the sugar
nothing sweet really
you guess it: there is something bitter
not from the water (for why should water be bitter?)
not from the cup (is there such a cup which has a bitter taste?)
guess further: you are wrong.
it is bitter, it is really bitter.
it comes from the heart. Not from the saucer
or the spoon.
it is the heart that is bitter. do not attempt
tasting it.
it can be toxic because it is mine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pinkle Purr
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her.
'I'll ask my mother,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all that he did he did with her.
'Two friends together,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn't much bother about Tattoo,
For he knows it's nothing to do with her,
So 'See you later,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that's nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
'Dear little Tat,' says Pinkle Purr.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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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
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Custard Creams
There's always time for a custard cream,
Taken at any point of the day;
With milk or tea,
There's always time for a custard cream,
Advice taken, or given,
Take a moment,
To share the delights
With coffee, or juice.
There's always time for a custard cream;
Share it,
Break it,
Dunk it!
There's always one more time
For that
Last custard cream.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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I'm Leaving You
I'm leaving you, woman
Before i commit a crime
I'm leaving you, woman
Before i commit a crime
You tried so hard to kill me
But baby, it was not my time
You put poison in my coffee
Instead of milk or cream
You put poison in my coffee
Instead of milk or cream
You're the evilest woman
I think i've ever seen
You mix my drink
With a can of red devil lye
You mix my drink
With a can of red devil lye
Then you sit right down
Watch me, hoping i might die
song performed by by Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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A Coffee Break
I drink milky coffee
cos' I don't like it black.
It ain't because I'm weird
or stuff or anything like that.
I just like milky coffee
but when I asked for it
no one understood me
although I gasped for it.
I went into this burger bar
and asked the guy to make one.
He looked at me quite vacant
and asked me to explain one.
I said you tip some coffee out
and put a dropp more milk in,
but he just stood there gapin'
and said he couldn't do it!
I really hate hot coffee
and I ain't gonna lie
I'd rather eat asbestos
than let my poor tongue fry.
So now I'm drinkin' fruit juice,
to make like I'm discernin'.
They serve it at posh restaurants.
It stops my stomach churnin'.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Questions......
lady, (lady in black
gown, black hat, and
hand-gloves)
why do you want your
coffee black?
why do you always want
bitterness?
why always alone
sitting on a chair facing the sea
and drinking the salt of
the breeze
with your black coffee?
why sip bitterness
when
to my mind, coffee would be
better with cream
and honey
with someone beside you
facing the sea and
savoring the salt of the sea
with that black coffee of yours?
lady, why mourn
when joy is just around the bend?
why can't we be alone
together?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Asks Me How Should My Coffee Be?
and i tell her
have it as hot as
global warming
up the brim full as full
put lots of sugar
and cream
a spoonful of coffee
black as the night
when all the good men
want to die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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Puppies
Black as coffee
without the cream.
Playful, happy,
A face that makes you beam.
Licking, Jumping,
Lovable and so it seem.
Man's best friend,
Lucky boy's dream.
Gratitude
I found a starving cat in the street:
It cried for food and a place by the fire.
I carried it home, and I strove to meet
The claims of its desire.
And since its desire was a little fish,
A little hay and a little milk,
I gave it cream in a silver dish
And a basket lined with silk.
And when we came to the grateful pause
When it should have fawned on the hand that fed,
It turned to a devil all teeth and claws,
Scratched me and bit me and fled.
To pay for the fish and the milk and the hay
With a purr had been an easy task:
But its hate and my blood were required to pay
For the gifts that it did not ask.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Mixed Memory
A Mixed Memory
When mother made gateau for someone’s birthdays
I beat the cream using a steel whisker. Boring work
before the cream thickened and could be spread on
the cake, but it was worth it, as I got to lick bowl.
I thought of this as a tempest whipped the sea into
a froth. In the galley I had a mix-master and could
whisk up cream in no time, only I didn’t have the real
stuff, had to use condensed milk but I didn’t feel
inclined to lick its residue. The tempest blew into
storm, the ship was jumping about like an untrained
colt refusing to have a rider on its back. Life boats
smashed, ship railings too we only hoped she could
ride out the storm. In Hamburg I walked ashore and
ate a piece of Black Forest Gateau, awe-inspiring.
And to sit in a coffee shop that didn’t throw me off
my chair like demented colt.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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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I always have coffee without sugar, you know. Just cream.
quote by Vincente Minnelli
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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and it was Her Summer
…And It Was Her Summer
“Go back to the children’s home, she said I have no work and
can’t afford to keep you” Late June afternoon she sat on a bench
with a man I didn’t know. The man smiled I didn’t like him, but
took the coins he gave me to buy an ice –cream for; I was still
hanging about so mother got up and slapped me across the face.
”Get lost you stupid boy! ” My face was burning I threw the coins
into the lake and ran away. When I stopped running it was night
and I could see sheep in a field, I was tired and cold, thought of
seeking shelter in a little wooden church, but it smelt of fear and
I thought of ghosts, so I walked on till I came to a workman’s hut
near the road, it was easy to get in; here the smell was of coffee,
and kind men in overalls, perhaps one of them were my father?
It was morning and warm sunlight when they came, they were not
angry, but gave me milk and bread and showed me the quickest
way to get home. The sky that day was enormous and from a hill
I looked down to the town, I could see the school building it must
have been early, no children in the yard; but I just sat there and
could not understand why my mother didn’t want to se me.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I'm Leaving You (Commit A Crime)
I'm leaving you, woman
Before I commit a crime
You tried so hard to kill me
But baby, it was not my time
You put poison in my coffee
Instead of milk or cream
You're the evilest woman
I think I've ever seen
You mix my drink
With a can of Red Devil lye
Then you sit right down
Watch me, hoping I might die
song performed by by Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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