just one
no fun
now two
woo hoo
have three
for tea
one more
makes four
now five
arrive
one's sore
now four
one flees
now three
one's through
now two
tea's done
just one
I wanted to talk with you Jesus.
Found you in my heart.
I Love you Jesus.
Trusting you to return at the perfect time.
Lemon tea with Peace in my heart.
Under the stars till you Rapture us.
Waiting for Jesus my King to bring us home with him.
With blurred vision in my one eye,
on this cold winter afternoon
I trace the course of a blue-black fly
in my small kitchen. Pretty soon
my boredom gets the best of me.
Once I eat a macaroon
I rise to make some jasmine tea
and wonder why I allow this bug
(who does not share my philosophy)
to sit there resting on my mug.
I do not know what's in his head,
but think he must be awfully smug,
so I get up and leave. Instead
of drinking tea I go to bed.
When I was only five.
My dolls were the big thing,
we would sit and sing.
Then my tricycle I learned to drive.
At fifteen I was dating.
Boys were sure fickle,
some of their words were like a pickle.
We loved to go roller skating.
Now thirty is life half over?
Today is a new day,
no more hair of gray.
Maybe I need a new makeover.
At fifty should I retire?
Many days are way too long,
is life a game of ping-pong?
Some days I feel like I want to expire.
I never thought I would reach seventy.
Here I am,
drinking hot tea and eating strawberry jam.
Seventy is fun and not my enemy.
My worst enemy could be,
could it be a flea?
What is the magical key?
Do I need to make a plea?
Let me sit and think as I drink some tea,
under this fall pretty red leaf tree.
My worst enemy could it be me?
No way or I would flee.
Now down on one knee,
I will ask thee.
My worst enemy could be,
oh please set me free.
Is it a huge crime?
Wish it was as simple a rhyme.
Can I buy it for a dime?
Would you believe it is time?
I need more time in each of my days,
my time runs together as a big maze.
Sometimes I only see a dark haze,
please send me more time without any delays
summer afternoon
sharing sweet tea with you
watching ice cubes melt
Black tea, cold and harsh
Desiring to be everything sweeter
Charming
Sobbing, filling the cup
Salty and full of torments
The leaf, prisoner of his own
Marinating in those dark thoughts
Abyss and silent
That's how you make a black tea
Cold and harsh
Flowers to tea
Just my mama and me
Spending the day together
Making wonderful memories.
The glow from the lamps
Cast shadows on the wall
As evening creeps in
And the moon rises tall.
Little hands learning
Under mama's watchful eye
With Patience and understanding
She gives a proud sigh.
Oh little one
You have so much to learn
But mama's here beside you
With every step and every turn.
(Written for an animation reel)
The amber color the tea is turning
As it starts to boil
Reminds me of his eyes.
Little bubbles
Floating
From
The
Bottom
Remind me of the laughter of my children
The sound is dancing
Twinkling through
The thick molasses of a darkening depression.
My eyes drift to a tiny,
happy hand
resting on his smiling chin.
I’m writing poems in the kitchen.
Loved.
We are all,
Loved.
Milky Way pours stars
spilling orange pekoe sun mars
like hot onyx tea
the ice tea glass sweats on the counter
catching a sliver of late-day sun.
it looks almost holy,
a small shrine to quiet domestic victories.
speaking so softly
he steams like cup green hot tea
big stick his haiku
Symphonies we play
Hot green tea in the garden
It feels like winter
Here I sit on a big bookshelf,
I am here all by myself.
At night the lights go off,
the dust makes me want to cough.
Each new day the lights go on,
making me wish I was gone.
I see you walking by,
that makes me want to cry.
Oh please do not be shy,
pick me up to buy.
I just know you need a new book,
give me a look.
You will love what you see,
I can go home and we can have tea and brie.
heat lingers
scent of sassafras in air
cold tea is tempting
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.