Poetry competition CLOSED 20th December 2021 7:26pm
WINNER
Nizana (Lauryn)
Nizana (Lauryn)
Page:
Clouds in my coffee
Poetry Contest Description
Write a poem that starts with a cup of coffee or tea
There seems to be a great romanticism when it comes to that sacred first sip of a warm drink in the morning.
Write a poem that starts with a cup of coffee or tea.
Where does it go from there… are you rushing off to work? Maybe you’re relaxed and contemplative. Build your poem around that narrative.
Rules
• New writes only
• up to 2 entries per human
• spoken word / video / audio entries accepted
• No word limit
• poetry not prose
• No erotica
• Comp judged by myself
• 2 weeks
Write a poem that starts with a cup of coffee or tea.
Where does it go from there… are you rushing off to work? Maybe you’re relaxed and contemplative. Build your poem around that narrative.
Rules
• New writes only
• up to 2 entries per human
• spoken word / video / audio entries accepted
• No word limit
• poetry not prose
• No erotica
• Comp judged by myself
• 2 weeks
The First Brew
I’m a caffeine fiend if you know what I mean
Not just an average drinker if you catch my drift
I’ve been drinking coffee since before I was a teen
Between two or three cups of day to give me a lift
That first brew hits the senses like waking dreams
My nose knows the scent that starts off the day
The house fills with the aroma of roasted beans
And my body craves the waves of liquid foreplay
Ooh yes, I pour it on the cup and it’s kind of hot
Fueling my senses as I’m about to bounce back
Some creamer and sugar, perhaps or maybe not
Because some days I’m in the mood to take it black
It’s hot on my lips as I take sips inhaling it slowly
My tongue and lungs awaken like morning glory
As it goes down warm into my body I whisper “Holy…”
Well, you can imagine the rest of this allegory
Standing in the kitchen sipping a cup my eyes dilate
Watching the curtains give way to the beautiful sun
I check my watch and damn it I’m going to be late
So I chug the rest burning my chest but I gotta run
Written by wallyroo92
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Schloss Neuschwanstein (2)
As I sat at the table one morning
And took a sip of my peppermint tea
(No milk, please, one cube of sugar)
And shortly back from a lovley trip
To Bavaria and specifically
To Schloss Neuschwanstein,
I was still in awe.
Neuschwanstein is certainly
The most beautiful castle in the world.
It set along a segment which is called
The Romantic Road
And was the dream of Ludwig II
Of Bavaria (1845 - 1886).
Newlyweds go there for their pictures,..
It may also be noted that
Walt Disney sent a team there at one time,
Drawings and models were made
With the result that the ''Castle'' emblematic
Of Disneyland is based on Neuschwanstein.
It might also be noted that Ludwig II was
Wagner's biggest fan, a number of his works
Were created there.
The setting of the castle itself is just extraordinary.
The vist of a lifetime. Cheers.
And took a sip of my peppermint tea
(No milk, please, one cube of sugar)
And shortly back from a lovley trip
To Bavaria and specifically
To Schloss Neuschwanstein,
I was still in awe.
Neuschwanstein is certainly
The most beautiful castle in the world.
It set along a segment which is called
The Romantic Road
And was the dream of Ludwig II
Of Bavaria (1845 - 1886).
Newlyweds go there for their pictures,..
It may also be noted that
Walt Disney sent a team there at one time,
Drawings and models were made
With the result that the ''Castle'' emblematic
Of Disneyland is based on Neuschwanstein.
It might also be noted that Ludwig II was
Wagner's biggest fan, a number of his works
Were created there.
The setting of the castle itself is just extraordinary.
The vist of a lifetime. Cheers.
Written by robert43041
(Viking)
Go To Page
Draw up a cup
Haiku/ coffee
Relaxed industry
from the grind, to sit and breathe
caffeine reign supreme
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mornings Ritual
In the bitterness of winter. I trudge to the well
the spring water reflects the moon
as I wind the handle, bringing it to the surface
place it outside the cabin door,
settling, ready for the morning.
5am, winds are howling like banshee,
the fire pops as I rake the ash.
I fetch the fresh water, being careful not to sir the silt.
Hard graft, but I never envy the city folk who just turn on the tap
to get a first hot drink
I wind the old fashion bean grinder, the mill still good after 50 years.
Visitors say you can buy it pre-ground from the general store!
I say, stroking my long grey beard "that's the same as buying a Take-away"
meanwhile the blackened and battered old percolator
sitting on top of the woodstove. clicking as the spilt water boils away on the hotplate
Now it's, Ten to six, time to brew the first days dish.
Six heaped desert spoons full and scent to clear the fog of sleep. Acting like the inner shower. Setting the plan in motion, un-tying the laces ready for work.
A bird strikes the first organ chord of the dawn chorus
The old bracket clock strikes six (the same time every day. how curious)
Its ready now, the vapours drifting upwards from the spout, genie escaping from the lamp, its there even in the most mundane brew.
Routine is the god that rules our lives
the trapper with the extra sense
food and drink the necessities that drive
and have now become that mensch
Pouring the piping hot cup, that lands
and waiting for the dawn to break
high in the Andies, aromas from the banks,
the caffeine hit, red berries, roasted to partake
Relaxed industry
from the grind, to sit and breathe
caffeine reign supreme
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mornings Ritual
In the bitterness of winter. I trudge to the well
the spring water reflects the moon
as I wind the handle, bringing it to the surface
place it outside the cabin door,
settling, ready for the morning.
5am, winds are howling like banshee,
the fire pops as I rake the ash.
I fetch the fresh water, being careful not to sir the silt.
Hard graft, but I never envy the city folk who just turn on the tap
to get a first hot drink
I wind the old fashion bean grinder, the mill still good after 50 years.
Visitors say you can buy it pre-ground from the general store!
I say, stroking my long grey beard "that's the same as buying a Take-away"
meanwhile the blackened and battered old percolator
sitting on top of the woodstove. clicking as the spilt water boils away on the hotplate
Now it's, Ten to six, time to brew the first days dish.
Six heaped desert spoons full and scent to clear the fog of sleep. Acting like the inner shower. Setting the plan in motion, un-tying the laces ready for work.
A bird strikes the first organ chord of the dawn chorus
The old bracket clock strikes six (the same time every day. how curious)
Its ready now, the vapours drifting upwards from the spout, genie escaping from the lamp, its there even in the most mundane brew.
Routine is the god that rules our lives
the trapper with the extra sense
food and drink the necessities that drive
and have now become that mensch
Pouring the piping hot cup, that lands
and waiting for the dawn to break
high in the Andies, aromas from the banks,
the caffeine hit, red berries, roasted to partake
Written by slipalong
Go To Page
RITUAL
rule one is plain: "fresh and hot"
which is why my pot
is a one-cup shot
and worth the wait
for the that first round -- rinse the hub
and place the grounds
just so that they might best infuse
to make a dark and potent brew
and dare not taint with milk or sweet
but black and rich, and take a seat
and then rule two, how will I fare?
five hundred words without despair
which is why my pot
is a one-cup shot
and worth the wait
for the that first round -- rinse the hub
and place the grounds
just so that they might best infuse
to make a dark and potent brew
and dare not taint with milk or sweet
but black and rich, and take a seat
and then rule two, how will I fare?
five hundred words without despair
Written by javalini
Go To Page
Starting the Day with Tea
They always say it starts with a fresh, hot cup of tea
Because that is all I could think about with you and me
On the forefront of my mind. Just like the tea kettle
That is whistling and the tea leaves that begin to settle
On the bottom of my mug, you stir those forbidden
Thoughts rattling through my heart. Those hidden
Memories are brought back to the murky surface
With every sip and swallow. I just want to trace
Your face one last time with my fingers like I follow
The mug’s rim, watching and feeling the hollow
Sound of your heartbeat. But then the tea becomes
Stale and cold in my delicate hands. Then comes
The reality that we could never go back to how things
Were before because the truth is that everything stings.
Because that is all I could think about with you and me
On the forefront of my mind. Just like the tea kettle
That is whistling and the tea leaves that begin to settle
On the bottom of my mug, you stir those forbidden
Thoughts rattling through my heart. Those hidden
Memories are brought back to the murky surface
With every sip and swallow. I just want to trace
Your face one last time with my fingers like I follow
The mug’s rim, watching and feeling the hollow
Sound of your heartbeat. But then the tea becomes
Stale and cold in my delicate hands. Then comes
The reality that we could never go back to how things
Were before because the truth is that everything stings.
Written by eswaller
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Morning Meditations with Saint Caffeine
Do I bring anything worthy of this strange and wonderful planet?
I must pause and pray to Saint Caffeine, asking,
“Will last night’s transgressions be forgiven?”
The first sip across my lips
says I’m still among the living.
Three cups of this consecrated
black brew might bring redemption.
I must pause and pray to Saint Caffeine, asking,
“Will last night’s transgressions be forgiven?”
The first sip across my lips
says I’m still among the living.
Three cups of this consecrated
black brew might bring redemption.
Written by Nizana
(Lauryn)
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