Tag Archives: Poetry

the writers go for breakfast

Posted on by laurie macfayden

breakfast cafeSkim milk latte?

We don’t do that

OK, eggs florentine then. That’s with spinach, right?

Um usually yeah but we’re out of spinach

OK, without the spinach then. Are soy lattes any good?

No

Another latte, then, but this time without caffeine, please

Hmmmm …

Oh, do you not do decaf?

Well, yeah, we “do” (makes air quotes with fingers) it,
but I just don’t know if we “have” any

No spinach, no decaf … how about herbal tea?

I don’t know if we “have” that either. I can check.

No thank you. Never mind. Just water, please.
So anyway, as I was saying, personal transformation is not always a poem.
One man’s therapy is not necessarily another man’s sonnet.

I agree totally, but some people seem to think they have to incorporate
every fucking little breakthrough they have with their shrink
into a piece of performance art. I have gossip.

Dish!

J is sleeping with K.

I already knew that.

Yes, but did you know that K use to be with Q?

No! But i knew that T and S just had a three-some with D.

D? When did D get back?

From where? I didn’t even know that D was away.

Oh, yeah, you know, that annual Spa and Stanza retreat at Papyrus Hills. Somehow she always manages to lose 20 pounds of cellulite and gain 30 pages of manuscript.

I hate that about her.

Yeah, it’s incredibly annoying to those of us with perpetual writers’ block.
How are the bennies?

Good, but they would be better with spinach.

Yeah. How’s the latte?

Fine but I think I should’ve gotten the skim.

But they don’t “do” skim, remember. Like, they have some kind of conscientious objection to a skim milk latte. They’re “anti-skim.”

You’d think that if they object to skim they’d have a similar moral objection to decaf.

Well, yeah, of course. I mean, of the two, which is the most obscene?

They’re both an abomination, if you ask me. What’s the point of the special coffee if you’re going to remove the caffeine and de-fat the milk? Why bother?

I agree totally. And eggs florentine without spinach — well that’s just bad breakfast karma.

It’s kind of cold here, you know. By the door.

Yeah, but this is a great bagel. What is this fruit that they’ve used as a garnish?

Damned if I know … some kind of a pumpkin-lemon cross? Weird.
Maybe a cumquat sort of thingy…

More coffee, ladies?

Um, no thanks. Just the bill.

black coffee

Posted on by laurie macfayden
coffee-cup-b.jpg(apologies and gratitude to the good seussian doctor)

my sister’s name is lonny mac
she does not like her coffee black

would she drink it in a cafe?
would she drink it on a rainy day?
would she drink it in a starbucks chair
would she drink it here? (or there?)

she would not drink it here or there
she would not drink it anywhere
she does not like her coffee black
she cannot drink dark roast like that

would she ? could she ? if it fizzed?
drink it! drink it! (here it is)
she may like it, she will see
she may drink it caffeine-free!

she would not, could not, caffeine-free,
not even if fizzed! so let her be.

a pot! a bodum! a mug! a cup!
could she, would she, drink it up?
would she, could she, dare to sup
if we sprinkle cinnamon in her cup?

she could not drink a cream-less mug
espresso? she’d rather eat a bug!

say! in the dark? here in the park?
would she, could she, in the park?

she would not, could not, in the park.
sacred java is no takeout lark.
she loves the bean, but make no mistake
from Styrofoam it’s hard to take
and without cream it’s just not good
she cannot drink it, understood?
as sure as her name is lonny mac
she cannot drink her coffee black

could she, would she, with a goat?
don’t be absurd, not with a goat

would she, could she, on a boat?
only if the boat could float!

french roast / mocha / breakfast blend …
could she drink it with a friend?

if that friend was of her ilk …
but she would not drink it without milk
strong! and dark! with steamed milk, yes!
but never black, and not in a dress!

she does not like it served straight up
prefers large mug to dainty cup
she will drink it with a manly snack
but she will not drink her coffee black.

slab of cake or chocolate biscuit
sourdough sandwich or brie-on-triscuit
she can slurp the joe with gourmet flair
but she won’t drink it black, not here, not there

could she drink it with green eggs and ham?

no, but she could drink it with PB toast and jam!
as sure as her name is lonny mac
just don’t make her drink her coffee black!

she does not like it, so you say,
she should try it, try it, anyway!
try it and she may, i say
enjoy the coffee black, i pray

NO! No thanks will come from lonny mac
she still won’t take her coffee black
she will not drink it here or there
she will not drink it ANYWHERE!

she would drink it with a fox
she would drink it in a box
she would drink it in a cowboy hat …
but she will not, CANNOT
drink her coffee BLACK!


5-7-5 takes the sexy back

Posted on by laurie macfayden

i want one hard kiss
one barefoot dance in paris
when the lights go out

under the van gogh
starry night is too cliche
let’s make it renoir
 


her mouth a campfire
when she kisses me for real
our lips will combust

 
callie’s back in town
that means lagers and flirting
at the irish pub
 
only one thing beats
watching diane dance: her red
boots under my bed
water into wine
every time you look at me
my girl parts get drunk

			

	
	



				
					


	

		
vodka and orange trees


				

			Posted on   by  laurie macfayden		

			


		

		
for CBC radio, edmonton poetry festival promo, sept. 2006 


she was looking

she was wondering

she was trying to remember

that burnt coffee cinnamon day at the muttart


when the magpie

when the bleeding sunrise

when the orange tree blended into her blue reflection

in the glass pyramids

just so

just so

the bruised light hit the glass just so …


and the orange tree

in the muttart

became her mother’s face in the morning

her mother’s face in the orange kitchen

in the harsh light of another burnt coffee, cinnamon

and orange tree day


she was looking

she was longing

she was emptying her pockets

of the salt

of the moss

of the dark, dank memory of that night

that night at the backroom bar

when a drunken boy

freckled and staggering

three sheets this side of passing out

spilled her drink, called her a cheetah

and demanded she take him home.


she was angry

oh, she was livid

and then she was laughing

because she realized he meant to say cougar — not cheetah, cougar!

and the beautiful drunken boy

and the beautiful orange tree

and the beautiful glass pyramids

seemed suddenly

relentlessly

joyously

p       e       r       f       e       c       t

in that drunken

vodka and orange tree

moment


and everything she needed to remember

about the magpie

about the bleeding sunrise

about the orange kitchen hangovers

and her mother’s salty, mossy,

burnt coffee mornings

was contained in the reflection

of her orange cheetah face

in the smoky glass pyramids

			

	
	



				
					


	

		
so much depends


				

			Posted on   by  laurie macfayden		

			


		

		
kasbar-layne2.jpgso much depends


read at the kasbar, dec. 6, 2006


 (a love poem to all my poet friends — and a thank-you to some very talented people — in particular william carlos williams — because so much of what we do depends upon what came before.)


so much depends upon

the women who come and go

the cloud that floats on high

all the sad captains

a good kitchen knife


so much depends upon

the lovely, dark and deep

brandy and summer gloves

the time of the cherries

a brillig tum-tum lunar eclipse


so much depends upon

wild geese

the west wind

fishing in the morning

promises to keep


so much depends upon

a red, red rose

your sweet old et cetera

the vorpal sword

j.d.’s big bright light


o frabjous day, so much depends upon

the leaping greenly spirits of trees

two roads diverging

tea and oranges that come all the way from china

amy’s 10,000 drums of hope.


so much depends upon

the shell shaped like a heart

the raving keenly wordsmiths

gravel’s great thumping city in civil twilight

… on the blessed, blessed words.


halleluia


kasbar lights