poetry critical

online poetry workshop

My first town

When ordering; every morning my favorite color
is black. “Simple,” (some say), no cream or sugar;
becomes a way of life.   My coffee before the rush,
is without that dreadful sweetener.  In winter, hot
and steamy is fine, In summer, I find iced cold,
divine.  But as a matter of phylogeny it must stay Black.
I inherited it from my old man.  Drinking it Black.
Immigrants have no pallet for a weaker, lighter color.
Drinking it bold, dark and reheating it if it gets cold,
wasting nothing!  Not even pennies it cost for sugar
and cream!  It’s uncanny what the deep aroma of  hot
coffee can bring back, during my morning Rush.
In my first town people seldom are not in a rush.
Common talk is of bills, taxes; how they are both black
holes, and politics!  All three, often turn tempers hot.
People are remembered by first names; or coffee color:
Both being just as personal.  Females are called, “sugar”
without malice, conversations over coffee fill the cold
days.   It’s a town rumor that a grudge leads to a cold
Heart, so I always tip.  With so many people in a rush;
a polite smile, even if forced, is sweeter than sugar,
and often a necessity!  Even when I order “Black,”
but an artist behind the counter provides the wrong color,
ruining my morning!  Pouting, and naturally hot
headed, (the Irish in me) I’ve been know to throw a hot
blend of disruptive art.  Swearing, out in the cold;
as my budget has no sympathy for a unexpected color,
I drive on sheepishly, to face the annoying morning Rush.
Momentarily I dream of caramel, vanilla, and black
fudge filled coffees.  With whipped cream and sugar;
in a place where time and big words are abundant, sugar
has many forms, and wrong orders make people less hot.
As it is a simple drive back, (time being no issue), black
SUVs with no where to go: somehow oddly seem a bit cold.
Anyway, a white chocolate mocha may spill in my rush,
And(my people)have no time to mourn for such a color.
Grinning I return to my place; “Black, no cream or sugar!”
Where my lack of color is welcome, the coffee is hot,
and when life is cold, smiles get us threw the rush!

16 Feb 07

(define the words in this poem)
(1 more poem by this author)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


i'm not overly familiar with this style, except to say that i believe
the theme is generally supposed to be light-hearted, and the final words of each line are repeated in differing pattern.
both points satisfied, here, but one thing that really bothers me
(and this is just my opinion, mind), not just in this poem, but in other strict "form"
pieces i've read here, is the chopping up of sentences mid-thought in order to
conform with a rhyme-scheme, or in this case, word-scheme.
it makes for a really tough experience for my poor little brain, trying to
absorb the message and enjoy the form as well. multiple reads helps with the message, but then the form employed has taken a back seat.
the main problem i found with this sestina is that the end-words really didn't
stick in my mind at all as i read. whether this is due to my inability as a reader,
or perhaps the chopped-thought thing, i don't know...
there are some areas where i think you need some punctuation editing,
if you'd like to do that. very brave, taking on this form (i know it's not easy).
well done
 — chuckles