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Coffee

Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.

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poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Archibald Higbie

I loathed you, Spoon River. I tried to rise above you,
I was ashamed of you. I despised you
As the place of my nativity.
And there in Rome, among the artists,
Speaking Italian, speaking French,
I seemed to myself at times to be free
Of every trace of my origin.
I seemed to be reaching the heights of art
And to breathe the air that the masters breathed,
And to see the world with their eyes.
But still they'd pass my work and say:
"What are you driving at, my friend?
Sometimes the face looks like Apollo's
At others it has a trace of Lincoln's."
There was no culture, you know, in Spoon River,
And I burned with shame and held my peace.
And what could I do, all covered over
And weighted down with western soil,
Except aspire, and pray for another
Birth in the world, with all of Spoon River

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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Parroting Courtesies

my niece asks me to hand a spoon
and i ask her to say 'please' and she utters the word
(perhaps her mama does not teach her the word)
and i hand her the spoon and she is afraid to say the word 'thank you'
and i tell her to say the word and she says it as though it is a strange word
for her (perhaps her dad, who is my brother seldom uses the word in their
house)
and then i tell her after she says thank you 'welcome my dear'
and she giggles, perhaps the words are ticklers to her frail body
to her small hands, to her fingers which grabbed the spoon as though
there are not so many

so many spoons in this world, we know that,
but the courtesies are forgotten, as this happens i feel like i am
parroting words, and sometimes i reflect: do i also really understand
these words, deep down to the longings of my heart?

thanks, but am i that really thankful to God?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Last Poem Shall Tinker With Mood And Meaning

silence silenced, and dreams dreamt,
and the speaker that listens upon the beatings of his heart
like a little drum inside his chest.
it is this resounding. this re-echoing
that like a spoon and knife to a porcelain plate
tinkers with the meat and beans,
segregating, and choosing little things
in colors and smell, and swallowing some and
throwing out the rest of what we
like to have inside us. sorrow and pain.
joy and bliss. yours and mine. you and i.

these are categories that we see and feel,
and care and care less and choose.
we tinker with mood. we like always to choose,
and discriminate, the spoon is a spoon and the fork is a fork.
and the knife that cuts,
we are careful enough. There is meaning now.
Blood drops out from your veins, and some beans
turn red. You cull out, what you want to believe.

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pantomime – Red Skelton and His Cat

The old man comes cautiously down
The stairs to the kitchen.
He takes the last step
That isn't there -
A bone shuddering stop.

Pausing, he searches the dark room
For the dangling light cord,
And moves toward
The center of the room -
Carefully.

It's unfortunate as the cat
Is discovered sitting in the middle of the floor.
As the old man steps on its tail,
It howls it great pain -
Startling the old man.

Finally, after groping the empty air,
He finds the cord.

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poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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The Utter Importance Of Eating Cheetos

One day I just woke up
Just knew things were different, as I drank my cup
Of water, it was sweet, it tasted different
I really felt, that something had been sent
My way
Some joy, some kind of peace, no it wasn't those
It wasn't my clothes
It was... sweeter... it was, freedom, yes freedom I say

Today, that day, would include possibly one of the most important
Moments of my entire life
Although my day was rife
With the mundane and the normal, my freedom was heaven-sent
So I did something I didn't think I could ever do
I did something that I never knew
Could ever be so important, so sweet... so free

I opened up the pantry
I found exactly was I was looking for
I poured myself a plate of cheetos... and then some more

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poem by David Knox
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Mrs. Lennon

Mrs. lennon, o' mrs. lennon,
Checking the sky to see if there's no clouds.
There's no clouds,
O' then, i guess it must be alright.
Mrs. lennon, o' mrs. lennon,
Making the tea and watching the sea.
There's no waves,
O' then, i guess it must be alright.
Silver spoon, o' silver spoon,
I lost my silver spoon.
And our children, o' our children,
Did they have to go to war?
Yes, my love, it's okay,
Half the world is always killed you know.
Husband john extended his hand,
Extended his hand to his wife.
And he finds, and suddenly he finds
That he has no hands.
They've lost their bodies!
They've lost their bodies!

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song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Black Cold Coffee

Captain midnight and Captain cruise
out on the ocean
like a storm of bad news
it took three monkeys in a plastic mac
to fit inside a paper sack
And they're cooking up an alibi
cooking up some steam
out in the madness
somewhere in Orleans
they had a plan,
they had a plot
beggars and blues was all they got
Black cold coffee
black Irish soup
cold on a silver spoon
she's dancing through hoops
Baby's wishing on a wishing well
she's moving up
and ringing her bell
can't fly to heaven

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song performed by Ufo
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Radio Star

Edwin McCain
Radio Star
And how my dad beat me and how much he drank
Do you think it'll help my records sell
Cause Im the radio star with the cars and the clothes
The fancy guitars and the spoon in my nose
You know in my world now anything goes
You all want to be me, and Ill be gone in a week
Hang out with Britney and Fred Durst
Arrive in a limo, Ill leave in a hearse
And I cant decide now which part is worse
Losing my life to the game, or losing the fortune and fame
Cause Im the radio star with the cars and the clothes
The fancy guitars and the spoon in my nose
You know in my world now anything goes
You all want to be me, and Ill be gone in a week
You put me on TV with all the cool stars
Like Letterman, Conan and Jay
Cause were all experts at the art of PR
And nobody knows that Im gay

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song performed by Edwin McCain
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shoot & Ladders

Ring-a-round-the-rosies.
Pocket full of posies.
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Nursery rhymes are said, verses in my head.
Into my childhood, theyre spoon fed.
Hidden violence revealed, darkness that seems real.
Look at the pages that cause all this evil.
One, two - buckle my shoe.
Three, four - shut the door.
Five, six - pick up sticks.
Seven, eight - lay them straight
London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.
London bridge is falling down my fair lady.
Nursery rhymes are said, verses in my head.
Into my childhood, theyre spoon fed.
Hidden violence revealed, darkness that seems real.
Look at the pages that cause all this evil.
Knick-knack paddywhack, give a dog a bone.
This old man came rolling home.
Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow.

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song performed by Korn
Added by Lucian Velea
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