Hodgepodge coffee house plans to feature artists in Georgia and the GNG quickly accepted this opportunity to showcase our work. For the month of May we will feature posters with poems and cartoons. Hope you visit and check us out. Below, I have posted the some of the poems we are featuring at Hodgepodge Coffehouse and Gallery.
720 Moreland Ave SE, Atlanta, GA 30316
by DAP Tales
I'm yours by morning
Yours, by evening and by night
Sweet liquid romance.
A Love affair with my morning coffee
by MeMe Bem
It’s 5:30 in the morning
Outside my window, the birds are chirping.
I make a sound between a groan and a smile,
Wishing I could continue my sleep awhile.
The delicious aroma rises in steam, floating
Through the house, between the cracks of the door
I am mentally closing,
To disrupt my waning stupor.
I struggle with my longing,
But the fight is not long lasting
Pulled by the magnetic attraction, I glide, half sleeping, to the coffee pot,
Raise the coffee to my impatient lips, HOT!,
And, with a satisfied sigh, open my notebook
To pen this poem for the Georgia Nutts Guild writing group.
By: Yvonne Walker
The alarm blares loudly
I can’t see, even with eyes wide open
I hit the snooze, again and again and again
Sweet sleep claims another victim
Dreams hope to claim me, rocking me gently in the darkness
Steamy fingers invade my nostrils, sweet smelling love
My mouth waters with anticipation of the bitter goodness
The darkness fades as I crack open my eyes
Inhaling love in a cup, I float to heaven awaiting me
I touch down light as a feather, reaching for my favorite friend
Tasting the mocha lava, yummy bitter sweetness
Ah! That’s good coffee!
by Mia Maine
I dreamt of flight. I soared over the lush Brazilian rain forests; I darted through the rugged Honduran terrain; I skimmed the volcanoes of Indonesia; I hovered over the high plateau of Ethiopia. With every exhale, I fight to remain immersed in this fantasy. Yet, every inhalation urges me from the realm of dreams into the land of reality. I surrender to the smooth yet complex Sumatra every Monday; I submit to the seductively mild Arabic on Wednesdays; I experiment with Friday’s fruity thick Ethiopian and yield to Sunday’s slightly acidic Columbian. The rich smell of liquid velvet coats my tongue, revives my senses, reanimates my mind and coaxes my eyes open daily.
Ah, the regenerative properties of coffee.
Ah, the regenerative properties of coffee.
A Thin Line, Between Love and Hate
In my last corner of sleep
And stir richly,
The veil of my dreams penetrated straight through;
Your airy whispers, sweet and strong like summer flowers held closely
Push through into my drawn breath,
I feel your hot lips are close to me.
The blanket of the night slips away, as I am beckoned sweetly to greet you.
So strong the passion in me, incited by your perfume, it lifts me groggily to my feet.
I stumble through a hesitant delusion,
Every step a wayward shuffle, dazed and longing,
Until I can see you.
I dare not tarry, nor dally, nor waste time:
I must be with you.
Let me see you.
Hold you, the warm curves of you clasped in the folds of my fingers, warming me.
Breathe your intoxicating breath into me.
I press my lips to you, but your kiss is full of memories, tastes acrid and awkward.
What sweet promises your breath uttered are revoked by the taste of you; I remember it all too clearly;
Yet, I cannot let you go.
I’ll bite my tongue to have you, brave denial to feel secure.
Wake me, wake me and steady my trembling hand.
Despite the bitterness I remember, I need you.
Enlivened and bold, I’ll leave you.
I rush headlong to the day.
But I can’t escape it; I see you everywhere:
In the gas station or corner store; you’re waiting there for me;
On billboards larger than life, you’re posing provocatively, dark, steamy, tantalizingly out of reach;
From every drive-thru window and bagel shop, your whispers slide through the air to me;
In the windows of a million other cars, you succumb to the embrace of other fingers, rise to kiss other lips, again and again.
I must become free of you, for my own sake, but I know by 10:30 I’ll be running once more, as quick as I can, to be held again in your thrall.
Should I cry, tears as tart as the bittersweet memory of your lips, or just accept it?
Fight it or run?
I turn to my friend for comfort; I cradle you in my palms, warm and silent; you still my troubled ache,
Re-boot of a cartoon by Dap Tales for the coffee event