Back then, or: Hours later

Sevenling (Hazy wisps of) Hazy wisps of last night's dream sequences lit upon the faintest glimmers of reflections swirling around fantasies beyond the reaches of my consciousness. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes this morning; savored the aroma of my coffee with a contented sigh; stepped out and breathed in Jerusalem's crisp autumn air.… Continue reading Back then, or: Hours later

Light, medium, or: Dark

My 1st Sheshire A memory still gnaws at me; I was self-righteous in my youth. One week, my parents had headaches; Erring, they'd bought... decaf coffee. A jerk, I smirked, learning the truth Of their addiction and mistake. Then, in college, t'was a café... Across the street from my dorm room. I'd drink cappuccinos and… Continue reading Light, medium, or: Dark

Sugar, or: Cream

A Cleave poem I dissolve like instant coffee and artificial sweetener in boiling water tasting almost natural but not really because it becomes me, infuses my neurons even as I recline backwards with greater force than caffeine upon my spinal cord ever did pensively, even more so than when I drink Black Label Brewed Coffee… Continue reading Sugar, or: Cream

Cream, or: Sugar

A Limerick There's a singular magical cherry, Without which ~ mornings could get hairy. Many who fancy caffeine Believe its seed is a bean, Which... when dried, milled & roasted makes merry! d'Verse poetics 'Always in Season' At d'Verse, poets were prompted to let fruit find its way into our poems; and as far as… Continue reading Cream, or: Sugar

“We may have found our guy, Yevgenia.”

d’Verse prosery “Coffee, Dear?” “That would be great, Darling. Cream please.” “Yes, Dear. So, what’s on your mind this morning?” Thoughtfully, Mr. Li stirred his dark poison and raised it to his lips. “We may have a lead, Yevgenia.” “That’s wonderful, Yìchén! Now Mr. Wang will definitely give you that promotion!” “Well, we’re not certain… Continue reading “We may have found our guy, Yevgenia.”

Coffee, or: Ambrosia

My 1st copla real One point at the back of my head That is where all the caffeine goes I quiver, held up by a thread Until thick dark ambrosia flows Without which I'd rather be dead Lethargy and feebleness spread My mind convulsing in dry throes Running late is what I most dread While… Continue reading Coffee, or: Ambrosia