The guy on the stool next to me looks into his coffee as though it could foretell the future — undeserved wealth, a voyage, a woman, — two — the deathbed conversion of his oldest son to the faith he’s renounced; but there’s nothing he can use there, only the bitter roast of lowland Guatemala: DDT and stoichiometry of heated oils, molecules rearranging like spiky tinker toys, tartaric acid, caffeine for the sympathetic nervous system, increased peristalsis, vasal dilation.
One of my oldest poems. I really will try to write a new one but my spare time has been finishing and editing a early elementary karate based chapter book. It will be ready for others to read soon if anyone is willing to critique for me.
NAME CALLING
Call me baby if I lie naked and helpless in your arms.
Call me honey if my kisses are so sweet you want to eat them on biscuits for breakfast.
Call me lover if we share a love that cannot be denied.
Call me sweetheart if you can reach through the hard world to my heart, show me sweetness in your soul.
But if we meet with no romantic claim, call me by my name.
the first time he spent the night we couldn’t let go of the mood we laid in each other’s arms till the sun crawled over head breakfast was just coffee and we held on to last nights bliss stared into each other’s eyes and wondered how long will this feeling last...
COFFEE
ReplyDeleteThe guy on the stool next to me looks into his coffee
as though it could foretell the future — undeserved wealth,
a voyage, a woman, — two — the deathbed conversion
of his oldest son to the faith he’s renounced; but there’s nothing
he can use there, only the bitter roast of lowland
Guatemala: DDT and stoichiometry
of heated oils, molecules rearranging
like spiky tinker toys, tartaric acid,
caffeine for the sympathetic nervous system,
increased peristalsis, vasal dilation.
Interesting as always from you. I love the contrast of the fortunes to the literal ending.
DeleteYou always have such interesting information in your poems. And it is an excellent contrast too, as Victoria says.
Deletevery interesting take on this weeks challenge... i always enjoy your work
DeleteOne of my oldest poems. I really will try to write a new one but my spare time has been finishing and editing a early elementary karate based chapter book. It will be ready for others to read soon if anyone is willing to critique for me.
ReplyDeleteNAME CALLING
Call me baby
if I lie naked
and helpless in your arms.
Call me honey
if my kisses are
so sweet you want to eat
them on biscuits for breakfast.
Call me lover
if we share a love
that cannot be denied.
Call me sweetheart
if you can reach through
the hard world to my heart,
show me sweetness in your soul.
But if we meet
with no romantic
claim, call me by my name.
It is a great poem like it has always been...holds up well.
DeleteI really love this poem! I hate terms of endearment being used loosely by strangers!!
DeleteAlways liked this one.
ReplyDeleteBut you're stretching it a bit to call it a breakfast poem.
DeleteYour prompt says "has breakfast in it". I thought that meant the word.
DeleteFortunately, I still love you, cutie pie.
DeleteBreakfast
ReplyDelete"I'm hungry," he says,
"What are we having?"
He's always hungry for
breakfast—favorite meal.
"Eggs," I say, so he
slices the cloves of garlic
into the butter melted
in the frying pan, and I
crack in four fresh eggs.
Gluten free bagel
split, goes in toaster,
pops; Irish butter
deliciousness soaks.
Mine toasts. Almost ready.
Teakettle sings, hot
water cascades over
tea leaves in basket.
Tea steeps, timer beeps
breakfast is served.
oh how sweet! i always wanted to have a man know enough about breakfast to help....
DeleteI really like this. I like the subtext of the relationship between two people that never has to be expressed, as real relationships don’t.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Tad. I appreciate your insight and your comment.
Deletethe first time
ReplyDeletethe first time
he spent the night
we couldn’t let go
of the mood
we laid in each other’s arms
till the sun
crawled over head
breakfast was just coffee
and we held on to last nights bliss
stared into each other’s eyes
and wondered
how long will this feeling
last...
Nice poem, hope it did last, but if not, thanks for the pretty memory.
DeleteNice.
ReplyDelete