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Ron Gavalik Jul 2018
A young writer
sat in my regular chair
inside the bookstore cafe.
He banged at the keys of his typer,
angry and without mercy.
Once he drained his coffee cup
the writer kept ******* at the rim
for a few remaining drops.
After staring blankly at the wall
for several minutes, the writer packed up
his supplies into a ratty backpack,
and walked out of the joint.
Finally, I figured, my chair had enough
of the games. It felt my presence
nearby and thus decided
we had sins to paint.

-Ron Gavalik
If you dig my work, please visit my Patreon. Patreon.com/rongavalik
I knew the first swallow of vinegar salt-water memory
Would not leave me in peace
But awaken my wolf’s hunger
For pensive penance

Which leaves me thrashing my boots, khakis, coat,
Sweater, watch,
Suddenly immersed in the pure sapphire blue,
Of my past.

Coffee shops, Like brains,
Mock the idea of ridged conformity

People of all shapes and sizes
All makes and models
All styles and varieties
Wander through looking for single refreshment
The background weight of memories caught in my coat
Pull me down until I’m sputtering, splashing,
In the days I've lived,
Or days I've just watched.

But no day as no person in need of quenching
Stops for long
Each just here to slow down my day
Just here to do me death by a thousand charms
Treacherous tenacity of “what if” at the counter
Tears a hole inside my heart
Eden S Lucf Jun 2018
You crawl into my heart
so that I can't let go
So that I can't forgive him
So that I continue to love-
No, so I can continue to obsess
over him

Almost every beautiful thing he said
Had you written all over it
Lies
Lies
And more lies
That I couldn't stop shedding tears
Cause for some reason
I knew
The cherished memories I want
Were all in the past

But the lines you planted
And the truth I saw
Were two very different things
I have yet to forgive him
There's not much to this poem considering it how rustie I am at it. But I enjoy writing poetry if you can even call this that.
Alec May 2018
Lost in Paris,
But stuck here at home.
Envisioning the cobblestone streets,
Stopping at cafes to escape the heat.
Laughing and smiling in Paris.
The mental trip is a need,
Wanting to be
Lost in Paris.
But stuck here instead,
In Cali.
Aa Harvey May 2018
7 pm wake up call


Today I had the strangest dream.
There was you and I, working side by side,
In a café down the street.
I guess we were on equal pay.
I started work and there you were,
Sat with me until it started to rain.


I think it might have been in France;
Maybe Paris, maybe right where we are.
We were just talking and having a laugh;
I hadn’t been there long, but lovers find their car.
You knew the café like the back of your hand;
I knew right then and there, that I was becoming your man.
One day I heard you singing a song;
Since then you and I were getting along.


Another round table served, on another day;
We had not yet fallen in love.
There was another room, an outdoor room, beyond the main café.
A place for him and her to sit and talk and find their way.
It had extra tables, with umbrellas
And stacked up chairs against the wall,
For when it was busier than it seemed today.


There was the boss who said “Allo, allo.”
His wife, the owner, I saw here around,
I guess that she would come and go.
Another waitress was cleaning up
And you and I were just talking and falling into love.


You were sitting on a bench
And as we talked, I kept you warm, by holding you next to me.
I think we had always been destined,
Because as I looked at you and we each knew,
You began to lean on in…


I think this could have been our first kiss;
I’m not quite sure I remember it all.
I’m painting pictures as I speak.
I am afraid they will all soon disappear,
So before they do, my one last view,
Of our café will be spoken of here.


You were dressed in black and white.
I was waiting on your words.
We were sober, but we were becoming us;
We were so happy in this moment, so drunk on love.
I was sat smoking a rolled cigarette,
In a wooden wheelbarrow that fitted two.
This wooden statue was our bed;
A feature of the outdoor room.
The wheelbarrow grew in time, as did our love;
By the end of that night, we were true.


It was the middle of the eve;
The moment was right, to say it right,
I think you were made for me.


Then later our boss and his wife they spoke.
He was annoyed at the young couple treating the café like a joke.
“When are they coming back in?
There is work that needs to be done!”
She said “Relax darling, they are having fun
And can’t you see that they are in love?”
And with that, the boss he simply rolled his eyes;
She rolled her eyes too and then they both smiled.
“Oh my love, it has been a while,
Since our old café had a new romance.”


You and I were sat becoming one and the same,
In our oversized wooden wheelbarrow,
Hand in hand in the rain.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
tender flame May 2018
mornings brew a coffee-colored universe:
milky way of latte mixes,
spiral galaxies whirl on the caffeine-intoxicated mug
ground beans fell like the Geminid showers,
the aroma danced with rising planets,
and swirling reverse black hole of sweet bitterness lets you taste warmth and satisfaction.

like a shot of caffé espresso,
i would never think twice drinking:
though it scorches the mouth
i'll take the stellar influx,
just give you the taste of heaven
that the cosmic dreams only had.
— to that mug in universe's album art, thank you for inspiring me at three a.m.
Robin Carretti Apr 2018
Hour by hour
Pour me La creme
Me De La game
French Onion soup
Shh shush
The rush hour Oh La La
Card flush

Competing against Mama
Mia
La Miss Lea
French roast
she begs to plea
This is not tea 4
the terrible two

French onion is dripping
taking sides
what orders hot kiss slides
French fries and sensual
French skirts
Creme de la creme somehow
love hurts

His piece of the pie
Say sweet nothings
The French kiss holds
The Eiffel tower sipping
her steaming soup
See's the Italian Stallion
She was crying onions

He turned to her with cafe
and sits on the side another man
British bitcoins one cup of her
French coffee lucky payday
Keeps the beans at play
Lips to envelope
What's to "Extinguish"
Hush  
French coffee wish
Car Fiat bean pedal
Cool her down
French city town

Hot wet don't burn
her tongue
Love is in the coffee
Darker shades of coffee set
More what meets their lips?
How the onion drips overly
Brie cheesed
But she had other plans
Onion soup so pleased
But her French onion soup
with cheese
You could just meet her smile
you don't
have to ever say please
Merci"
This is French style onion soup news flash no hush just push your mouth and lips we are having a fun trip
b e mccomb Apr 2018
the day starts with shirley
who comes in just after eight
for her 20oz chai
"what kind of milk?"
"doesn't matter"
punches her own coffee card
tells me about her puppy
kayla is next her hair and
makeup always perfect
about as nice a landlady as
one can have in a town like this

from there it's a constant
stream of people
who i watch out for and
who don't know i'm doing it

janice lives alone and thinks
people are stealing her money
doesn't understand
the tests her doctors want
she can't remember
what she always orders
it's a turkey club sandwich no bacon
on toasted oatmeal regular chips no pickle
a to go box for the leftovers
and some kind of chocolate treat in a bag
because she only eats when
she comes in here

two weeks ago
i accidentally switched
barb's 12oz soy chai
with someone else's
12oz whole milk chai
it wasn't enough dairy
to give her a problem
in fact she didn't seem
to remember it
but i made her another for free

nic stopped for his afternoon coffee
didn't laugh at anything just stared
blankly into space and said he
thought he was getting sick
had too many things to finish
the day before when i was waving
to him from the parking lot
so i took my dog to the
back door of his office and
we barked until he came out
patted us both on the head
and said he felt better

we're all creatures of habit
like mckenna who arrives
like clockwork
between one thirty and two
tuesday through saturday
leans on my bake case while
i count my tips and add random
ingredients to different drinks
in a reckless attempt
to break up the monotony
and he drinks them all
like clockwork
no matter how bad they are

rita doesn't smile since she broke her hip
in fact i haven't seen her since
walt got sick and he and joan
moved upstate to be closer to their son
i worry about something happening to ray
who will take care of rita?
whose laugh used to echo off the walls
and fill the place up
pat's smoking again and it turns out
he has congenital heart failure
gail had a fall, a stroke and
suddenly died

i make the same dumb jokes
only a few people smile at
i sing to myself
and people point it out

karen sits in her motorized wheelchair
ice and snow dripping from the wheels
onto the scratched, muddy floor
and tells me i'm pretty and funny
and have a beautiful voice and
i look at karen, her head tilted to
the side and spit hanging from her
buck teeth and wonder why such a
wonderful funny girl with a heart of gold
had to have the body she's stuck in

why life is ****
and why i'm trying
i swear i'm trying
fighting
for something
i don't know what

why we fight
why we try
to make the world
a better place
when nothing can really change
any of these dismal facts
copyright 4/6/18 b. e. mccomb
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