Coffee and poetry

a virtual poetry slam at the virtual coffee shop?

In some sense I think of as my virtual coffee shop.  I can come here to get great coffee, great service, chat with friends and strangers, and learn about coffee.

One of my favorite repurposes of a coffee shop is to have a poetry slam.  Why not have a virtual poetry slam here at  We have had cooking contests in the form of recipe contests, and photo contests for favorite mugs, why not a “poetry about coffee” contest?  

Now I confess I am no poet so if we do it I will, alas, not feel qualified to enter, but I will enjoy reading the poetry of others.  I can imagine two good ways that this could be run.

My first choice is that if Scott or one of the other Raoste'rs picks up on it and sets up a contest on Facebook, I think that would be great.

If not (and if they do not see a reason for me not to do it) I would gladly post a blog entry challenging people to use their response to construct a coffee poem and then  set up a poll after a fixed time period where people can vote for their favorite poem and I will buy the winner a bag of coffee from Roaste (okay I am not even being that generous, Prime makes the shipping free and the ebeans from the blog entry will probably cover a good part of the cost of the bag).

Obviously those poems should be original, but since I am not a Poet, in honor of the idea here is the most interesting coffee poem I found.  I find the imagery amazing although I am not sure if I like it or not - it is troubling, but certainly powerful…(if it were a painting I would not want it on my wall, but I would like seeing it in a museum).

Cups of Coffee

by Carl Sandburg

THE HAGGARD woman with a hacking cough and a deathless love whispers of white

flowers ... in your poem you pour like a cup of coffee, Gabriel.

The slim girl whose voice was lost in the waves of flesh piled on her

bones ... and the woman who sold to many men and saw her breasts shrivel ... in two poems you

pour these like a cup of coffee, Francois.

The woman whose lips are a thread of scarlet, the woman whose feet take hold on

hell, the woman who turned to a memorial of salt looking at the lights of a

forgotten city ... in your affidavits, ancient Jews, you pour these like cups of


The woman who took men as snakes take rabbits, a rag and a bone and a hank of

hair, she whose eyes called men to sea dreams and shark's teeth ... in

a poem you pour this like a cup of coffee, Kip.

Marching to the footlights in night robes with spots of blood, marching in white

sheets muffling the faces, marching with heads in the air they come back and

cough and cry and sneer:... in your poems, men, you pour these like

cups of coffee.

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