Back then, the poem was mostly an idea—an image that felt clever enough to capture the way unfinished plans clutter the corners of a life. But now, decades later, it’s less metaphor and more memoir.
I’m a coffee drinker. Always have been. Black.
And just as I rarely finish a full cup before it cools and loses its charm, I’ve accumulated bone piles of unfinished proposals, dreams, and half-hearted plans that still float around in my peripheral vision. They’re not regrets, exactly—more like reminders of who I thought I might be on a more energetic day.
Even my coffee cups have upgraded over the years. Stainless steel now, the kind that promises to keep the heat longer. But even then, almost every afternoon, I find a quarter-filled cup of cold coffee on my desk. I reheat it. I ignore it. Then I discover it again, sitting mute and judgmental. I have quite a few handwritten versions of this poem scattered through notebooks, folders, Bible margins, and boxes in my closet—each one a quiet witness to this longstanding habit of leaving things both begun and unfinished.
Poetry isn’t exactly fashionable these days, but this small project—this recurring oracle of lukewarm caffeine—has followed me across decades. And hidden in it are all sorts of hints about my authentic disposition. As I like to say, “he who has ears…”
As always, I’m thankful for my readers—especially those who wander with me into these introspective corners. Here was the original poem- the early versions were 1982 and this final one was probably 1994
Quarter-Filled Cups of Coffee
“I have measured my life in coffee spoons.” — Prufrock
“A hideous throng rush out forever, / And laugh—but smile no more.” — Poe
“Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.” — Ecclesiastes 1:2–3
Quarter-filled cups of coffee,
Shadowed stains beneath the rim.
Cooled liquid, thick and grim,
Etched foam, a mark of whim.
Signs of progress, fleeting, frail,
Concrete traces of time's trail.
Piles of paper, crumpled, torn,
Calendars of dreams forlorn.
What reward for hours spent?
Riches, honor—are they lent?
What state does watched time make?
Unused potential, dreams opaque.
Three-quarters empty cups of coffee,
Symbols of ambition, incomplete.
Epochs wasted on early schemes,
Laps too short, unfulfilled dreams.
Unrequited desire’s depth,
Anger hidden, scarcely left.
Action churning, perception's pile,
Steps uncloser to the next mile.
Will minutes always drag on slow?
What price for the effort we sow?
When activity feels profane,
Success a mere shade of gray.
The trap is set, inescapable,
Suction stronger than will’s appeal.
No one to loose or to care,
Effort fractioned, moments rare.
Dreams remain marathons away,
No tunnel light, no guiding ray.
Only a wasteland of idealistic dreams,
Naive ambitions and their silent screams.
I laugh at myself—such a fool,
Caught in the mirage of my own rule.
The Poem Becomes a Song — Cold Coffee
I started working old poems into song lyrics and "Cold Coffee" came from that- but I wasn't really happy with it. The genre didn't fit my feelings and the word choices I used were too obtuse....
Here is Cold Coffee, the song that grew from the poem:
Verse 1
Quarter-filled cups of coffee,
Shadowed stains beneath the rim.
Cooled liquid, thick and grim,
Foam that fades on a careless whim.
Chorus
Signs of progress, fleeting, frail,
Time's trail etched, like a worn-out tale.
Piles of paper, dreams torn apart,
The weight of hours, heavy on my heart.
Verse 2
What reward for hours spent?
Riches, honor—just fragments lent?
Watched time fades, potential lost,
Dreams turned opaque, at such a cost.
Chorus
Three-quarters empty, ambitions incomplete,
Symbols of plans we can't defeat.
Epochs wasted, schemes so small,
Unfulfilled dreams—they stand too tall.
Bridge
Unrequited desire’s depth,
Anger buried, no passion left.
Actions churn, but stay so still,
The road ahead bends against my will.
Verse 3
Will minutes always drag on slow?
What's the price for the seeds we sow?
When success fades to a shade of gray,
The trap of life won't go away.
Chorus
Three-quarters empty, ambitions incomplete,
Symbols of plans we can't defeat.
Epochs wasted, schemes so small,
Unfulfilled dreams—they stand too tall.
Outro
I laugh at myself, such a fool,
Caught in the mirage of my own rule.
A wasteland of naive dreams,
Silent ambition, stifled screams.
So I worked on it this past weekend and like this version much better- it captures the intent and the work choices feel better to me....
Revised — Three-quarters Empty
Verse 1
Quarter-filled cups of coffee,
Ring-stains bleeding through the grain.
Cold as all the half-formed thoughts
That gather in my brain.
Foam collapses into nothing—
Like the hours I try to save.
Little deaths of small ambitions
Settling in their grave.
Chorus
Three-quarters empty, running thin,
A slow decay I’m living in.
Piles of paper, fractured art—
The weight of hours on my heart.
Every purpose torn apart—
Three-quarters empty, from the start.
Verse 2
Tell me what these days are worth—
A fading echo in the dirt?
Honor, riches—names that slip
Like shadows falling from my grip.
Dreams turn colorless and brittle,
Cracking under quiet doubt.
Something once alive and green
Coldly burning out.
Chorus
Three-quarters empty, running thin,
A slow decay I’m living in.
Piles of paper, fractured art—
The weight of hours on my heart.
Every purpose torn apart—
Three-quarters empty, from the start.
Bridge
There’s a hunger in the silence,
Something restless, sharp, and still.
Every step feels like surrender,
Every choice a smaller will.
And the road ahead is crooked—
Bent in ways I never planned.
I keep walking, though I’m sinking,
Ash and mud in both my hands.
Verse 3
Do minutes always crawl like this?
What’s the price for what I’ve missed?
Every victory fades to gray,
A dull confession, day by day.
I laugh to mask the quiet panic—
A hollow sound I barely trust.
A kingdom built on hopeful sketches,
Crumbled down to dust.
Chorus
Three-quarters empty, running thin,
A slow decay I’m living in.
Piles of paper, fractured art—
The weight of hours on my heart.
Every purpose torn apart—
Three-quarters empty, from the start.
So here it is- maybe I'm finished with it...... for now LOL
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