I Love a Cup of Coffee by Jennifer Bates

I love a cup of coffee

I like a brew or two

A mocha or a latte

Either one will do.

I love a cup of coffee

A cappuccino hits the spot

Sprinkle it with chocolate

And serve it piping hot

I love a cup of coffee

A short black or a long

Just push that little button

And make it nice and strong

I love a cup of coffee

Espresso or flat white

And don’t add any sugar

The taste is always right

I love a cup of coffee

A macchiato is just fine

I’d rather have a coffee

Than have a glass of wine

I love that little coffee bean

Dark or mild or light

No matter what the time of day

Morning, noon or night

So if I haven’t made it clear

I’ll say it one more time

I love a cup of coffee

Is it your shout or is it mine?


What a pleasant evening in one of the best coffee shops in Folkestone, if you have not been to Steep Street then make it your next place for a good cup of coffee.  The poems and snippets about coffee where really interesting made all the better by Tony’s humour.


A Boy and his Books by Tony Quarrington

“Always got his head in a book, hasn’t he?”

“Doesn’t he play with other boys

Like normal children?”

“He comes out with some very long words

For someone his age”.

Common complaints from his early years,

Still spoke today by puzzled adult peers.

As dusk descends on the car-less, cobbled street,

He doesn’t heed the steadily falling rain

Driving him in from games of marbles, cricket

And flicking fag cards down the darkening lane;

He’s immersed in yarns of a boy named William,

A girl called Alice and a bear of little brain.

Intrepid tales of a Little White Bull,

A three-part novel written at age eight,

Inspired by a song by Tommy Steele,

Leaves proud parents in a blissful state.

It earns a mention in the local press,

A child genius the gushing paper quips;

Before it goes the way of most success,

Wrapped up in paper-folding fish and chips.

And now, through adult recklessness,

It’s lost like many of those TV shows

Twizzle, Torchy the Battery Boy,

Hoppity and Four Feather Falls,

The boy watched while eating crumpets

Toasted with fork on open fire that glows

Two years on he stands upon the platform

Of Greatstone’s railway station green,

Waiting for Typhoon or for Southern Maid

Or if he’s lucky, maybe Doctor Syn!

Bottle green cardigan knitted by Mum,

Plastic shoes and pudding basin hair,

Shorts excruciatingly tight,

He hugs a guide-book, pen and favourite bear.

So many hundreds, thousands, read since then,

Most kept, but some to charity shops have flown;

So many bookshelves creaking from the weight

Attest to how the love affair has grown.

The man remains seduced by books’ allure,

Enchanted by their feel and smell and view;

And though his taste has mellowed since,

Friends still include that crazy girl and Pooh!


A good night was had by all, what is your favourite poem?


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