We walk in the door, we’re met with the smell of roasted beans and smiling baristas. There’s comfort in the familiarity of our favorite coffee shop, whether it’s a well-known chain or a small, independent house of java. Of course, let’s not forget the beloved tea shop. A graceful place of respite.
Poetry Prompt:
Ode poetry sometimes sings the praises of the everyday. Write an ode about a favorite coffee or tea shop. What makes it yours? Write about the atmosphere, or the people who craft the beverages that make your day bright.
A special thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a poem from Maureen that made us smile:
Thank you, thank you to the litter
-bugs who leave us space to clean.
But if it’s true they trash the boaters,
the big and small who capsize floaters,
I say, then, call in our drones
from the flooded no-wake zones.
And thank you, thank you
to the double-dippers
who take more than their fair share;
they’re like the bullies in the sand box
who never survive a dare.
And thank you, too, to the woman who smells
more than that little dab’ll do her.
Her trail is long that we’d follow if we could
but most of us would just prefer
she keep to her ‘hood.
A special note of thanks for the salad bar
sneezer. But better him, you say,
than the old bald geezer
who ogles much too long
the place where eyes do not belong.
And the loud library guests, let us thank
them as well. Beware the finger
to your lips, though,
they’re apt to make life h…..
A thumbs up to the kickers and screamers;
it’s their mommas for the hundredth time
we’d like to clobber with our sneakers.
Yes, thank you, thank you, thank you
to the people with pet peeves.
Not a one of us is without them
and every one of us strives to please.
Featured photo by Michael Prince. Creative Commons License via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.
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Fun to be silly.
Oh miss Maureen – the salad bar stanza is hoot and a half – because it’s true!
Oh Maureen! I missed this last week… so glad I found it now! SO fun! And my favorite line
“And thank you, too, to the woman who smells
more than that little dab’ll do her.” LOL!
Thank you, Darlene and Donna. Pleased you had a good laugh.
I wanna crawl into that image for a bit. Or lots of bits.
If only we could step into an image and escape for a little while. Or a long while.
O how I love the Mischief Makers
The barista sister’s… the poetry bakers!
On the lookout every day
For brand new friends who’ve come this way!
O how I love my Poetry Girls
And the butter melting down virtual swirls
Of cinnamon toast all warm and crumbly
To satisfy poetry tumblies all rumbly!
O how I love the Michief Café
Our aim is to serve you, the poetry way!
So pull up a chair and we’ll bring you some tea
Or if you prefer call dib on the Settee…
You’ll never regret it
So please, don’t forget it,
The Mischief Café
A delicious gateway
To Tweetspeak Poetry.
Donna this is so very delightful. Thank you for graciously shouting out to your lesser half aka moi.Honored. Fun way to begin the week, end the month. A prelude to #npm
Fun intro to the place that makes poetry fun. Thank you, Donna! I enjoy hanging out with Mischief Makers.
Good fun. Thanks, Donna.
The Kitchen Table
Hot tea,
Sip it slow.
Enjoy the flavor
As it slides down
your throat.
Teacup, orange
covered in white dots.
Cup the warmth
In my hands,
Close my eyes
Let dreams come my
Way.
Smile
Drifting on a cloud
Of flavor.
Can you see the satisfaction
On my face?
Breath, yes, just
Breath.
Intoxicating sweet,
Kiss me.
Coffee won’t bring
Me kisses,
Oh, no, no, no!
Mouth must be tasty
Like sweet honey,
Dripping down from
my mouth.
Come Mr. Postman
Deliver my mail
To my door today.
Lick my sweet lips
Drenched in honey
Sweet.
Enjoy the inside
Of my mouth.
Taste the honey
Of my comb.
This postman certainly won’t have to ring twice, Marcy.
My postman looks like a newly hatched baby bird.
Scott was our Postman for ten years, tall, dark and handsome. We became great friends and talked almost each day when the weather was nice. Just good friends but isn’t it the Postman that always rings twice.
The Silent Fishes
In the mornings,
with the easy doves,
and the small red arc
of the sun,
the steam from a cup,
slows itself,
or so it seems,
to my breathing,
as the pond surrenders
its gray vapor in scant whorls.
Even the doves pace their cooing,
in my somnolent café,
with its rock and fescue trappings.
This is my favorite coffee,
warm against my hands, and I
in the bistro of my mind,
no words but my own,
swimming like the silent fishes,
stirring waters I cannot see.
“in the bistro of my mind” made me laugh. I’d like a cup of whatever you’re having, Richard.
Very Irish coffee.
I can get caught up in steam hypnosis, too.
Espresso Yourself
Leave America to its Starbucks,
to its Peets and rich Java cafes.
Forget about the Stumptowns,
the Neutral Grounds, the Higher
Grounds, even lousy skim lattes.
It’s the pub that rules in the UK:
the White Swan, Red Lion, and Fox.
You’ve failed to check in at Chequers?
Why, go on to White Hart to start.
Carry on at the Ship, the Badger,
have a pint at McMullens, too.
Lady Chatterly’s Lover’s newest,
and a fine pub it is, who knew!
No tastier pint do they offer,
the miners and bobbies agree,
be it Bloomsbury, The George,
or the Kings Arm, they’ll leave
drunk as a drunk should be.
Enjoyable tour, Maureen.
The English just have the best names for pubs. Their coffee shops can’t compete.
The pubs certainly do have good names. I remember one called “The Rampant Cat.”
I wrote this one for my favorite breakfast diner, which is now demolished.
http://theimaginedjay.com/?s=city%2C+diner+and+me&submit=Search
Wish we had known of this poem when we did a diner poem share.
Here’s a teaser bit from my post: “A Caffeinated Ode”
“Toast and coffee compete for space in the uppermost places of scent-thick air.
Spicy orange tea, stone-ground whole wheat, bagged chips and canned drinks, organic, line the left side”
http://simplydarlene.com/2014/04/02/7852/
A sensory experience. Sounds like an entertaining place with interesting people. Our local coffee shop is considered a magnet for the quirky and the odd. Must be why I go.
Ode To My Tea Shop
Charming place with little
Teacups lining the shelves.
Men find it a bit too much
So you won’t find many there.
It’s dainty cookies, blueberry
Scones and little cake smells
That fill the air.
A woman could be caught
Drooling, only if she dare.
Soft chatter of women voices
The cling of a cup,
Hot pots of water and
All that good stuff.
Listen and you will hear,
Sounds like chairs scraping
The wooden floors or high
Shoes making noise.
Laughter loudly from
The two in the corner.
While church ladies
Turn with their noses
In the air.
You won’t find coffee
Being sold here.
Oh, no dear.
It’s hot tea for
Me and my guests make three.
Better “latte” than never, i hope…
http://madhatterpoetry.com/2014/04/14/thedailygrind/