Hot Coffee

[Shannonigans87]

I look at you--
blissfully ignorant to my pain.
Your words,
ones you wouldn't expect,
give me hope.

But then, without a moment's notice,
Your words,
penetrate me,
severing any glimpse of hope I created.

My friends--pain, hurt, misery;
the ones who understand my secrets,
sit around the table with me each morning
Exchanging glances of
Pity,
Frustration,
Satisfaction.

I resign myself to their stares;
I resign myself to you.
I peer into the eternal darkness,
the steaming cup of hot, black coffee
that beckons and invites my soul.
The place where tears and secrets
go to percolate and die.

Is this love?
Is this it?

I trace the lines of the stark white
coffee cup,
the contrast catches my attention,
black,
white,
scalding,
frigid,
but somehow they compliment each other.
It works.

Is this it?
Is this love?

Dominance,
submission,
pain,
hurt,
misery.

Yet, this is the happiest I've been.
Sharing my tears and secrets,
sitting with my Friends--
the ones who understand me.
I contemplate you.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I stumbled a bit at "blissfully ignorant to my pain." Thought shouldn't it be "of my pain" or is she an Aussie? But apart from that I was and am in awe of your line-breaks and of your images.

I'm not sure what to make of the last line - but sense that the poem would be better off without it.

Welcome to the Forum.

[Shannonigans87]

I thank you for the welcome. Firstly, I must admit that I am in no way a writer--I pretend. I am actually getting my MA in English Literature, so my strengths reside in my ability to analyze other people's creative writing.

Anyway, I thank you for both your criticism and compliments and will definitely take both into consideration.

Cheers

[everyadventure]

First off, I like this poem! That said, I think the whole thing would still "work" and would be much tighter if you lost the first two stanzas, as well as the last two.

My friends--pain, hurt, misery;
the ones who understand my secrets,
sit around the table with me each morning
Exchanging glances of
Pity,
Frustration,
Satisfaction.

I resign myself to their stares;
I resign myself to you.
I peer into the eternal darkness,
the steaming cup of hot, black coffee
that beckons and invites my soul.
The place where tears and secrets
go to percolate and die.

Is this love?
Is this it?

I trace the lines of the stark white
coffee cup,
the contrast catches my attention,
black,
white,
scalding,
frigid,
but somehow they compliment each other.
It works.

Is this it?
Is this love?

A wonderful poem... and yes, you are a writer.

[hillwalker]

Definitely an interesting read - definitely has scope for tightening. I might not trim away as much as ea's shears, but felt the penultimate stanza was an unnecessary distraction and a blemish upon the balanced counterpoint of the remainder.

H

[Delta40]

I think it has a solitary feel to it which is appropriate for me in the interpretation I have of the poem.

I would lose the last line and generally edit.