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☕ The Poetry Hiding in My Coffee Cup

where words and espresso meet

Some mornings, the world feels too loud before I even open my eyes. The notifications, the headlines, the mental to‑do lists waiting like impatient children at my bedside. But then there’s that moment — the soft hum of the coffee maker, the slow rise of steam curling like a whispered invitation.

Coffee doesn’t ask for much.
Just a pause.
A breath.
A moment to be human.

And honestly? That’s where poetry usually finds me.

Not in the big, dramatic moments of life, but in the small ones — the warm mug between my hands, the quiet of the kitchen before the day begins, the gentle light slipping through the blinds like it has something kind to say.

There’s a rhythm to it all: the grind, the bloom, the pour.
A beginning, a middle, and an end.
A stanza you can drink.

Maybe that’s why coffee and poetry have always felt like siblings to me — both are rituals of noticing. Both teach us to slow down, to pay attention to what we might have missed, to savor the ordinary. To find beauty in the steam and strength in the bitter and sweetness in whatever rises with it.

Some days I write with a pen.
Some days I write simply by showing up — sipping, breathing, listening.

☕ A Poem for This Morning

Here’s what my cup told me today:

In the hush between sips,
the world softens.
Steam lifts like a prayer,
and I remember—
quiet things grow, too.

Maybe you feel it too — that gentle pull toward meaning in the middle of the everyday. Maybe your coffee isn’t just a caffeine fix but a small opening into something deeper, calmer, more rooted.

If so, welcome.
You’re in the right place.
This is our little corner — where words and espresso meet.

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