A partly cloudy day befalls the stage;
Actors from left to night remain a page.
Guest at sunday tea party
niece serves invisible tea in tiny cups
offering easy bake oven treats
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2025
The more spines I swallow.
The more rattled it goes.
Tea leaves behind smells.
Like broken pianos.
Raspberry leaf tea.
And someone giving a bike for free.
The more miles I ride?
The less taste there is cried.
Raspberry leaf tea.
Unreal as…
The musical key of a pencil tapping.
Or clouds being pointless.
Crumpled up.
The rule is you have to eat them.
Steeped and harmless.
A taste.
Raspberry leaf tea.
Is good but might be sour.
Horrible whiffs of steam and indescribable.
A little honey too.
the hearth flickers 'neath a pot
water swirls and tumbles round
dried leaves bloom within the clay
misty cup of calm
the rich aroma of chai
enjoying a quiet rainy sunday autumn morning
~ serenity captured in a mug
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
just something a little light....
TEA AND CRUMPETS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
steam rises gently,
a teacup cradled in hands—
crumpets warm the heart
Is summer over or just cooling down,
days are getting shorter do not make a frown.
Sun time use varies widely,
in many different places.
Do not tell me barbeque time is over,
that will make me want to pee my bedcover.
As BBQ corn does eat,
great with hotdogs and watermelon too.
Tell me it is not so,
no more ice cold sweet tea to drink slow.
Now to make only hot tea,
keeping lips moist not open.
Summer will be back next year,
must I really wait twelve months with no cheer?
Friends gather happily in just,
time for the holidays and not missing the summer.
A tea bag in the ocean,
small, fragile, trembling in vastness,
its string a whisper,
its paper skin thin against the tide.
It carries a world of fragrance within,
spices and leaves gathered from distant hills,
yet when cast into infinity
its essence bleeds gently, unseen,
lost to the salt and surge.
The ocean does not change—
its roar unmoved, its deep unshaken—
but the tea bag, emptied of itself,
becomes a ghost of what it was.
And still, there is a quiet beauty:
the courage of the small
meeting the enormity of the endless,
the offering of all it holds,
though the waves may never taste it.
To give, even if unnoticed,
to dissolve, even if forgotten,
to color a sea that cannot be colored,
and yet still try,
is to become a living sacrifice,
holy and acceptable
to
God
From a loud-mouth, world’s cease-fire arranger
To desperate man as if in manger,
Who when naught was rendered,
Panned, having surrendered,
And what is worse than that,
For a rival to bat,
Dubbed as salesman and Putin’s messenger!
_____________________________
Happenings | 37.08.2025 | USA, humour
Note: Meeting between Trump and Putin in Alaska. Boasts galore and no more boats to reach the coast across! Putin conceded little, trump ceded his boasts, reduced from being a realtor president to a salesman and messenger to relay Russian terms to EU and Ukraine. But the deal maker that he is, Trump might still get Russian oil to flow in the world easing prices, access rare earths from Ukraine, and his coveted Nobel peace prize.
That summer night air forgot to
breathe, I forgot something too.
Not sure what, but I remember:
a star landed in the curved moon
—I saw it in the reflection
of my steaming apple tea
I remember wanting to
tell you, I witnessed a celestial love:
A lone star found her place
rested in the crescent’s embrace
I thought you’d love the story, a love
defying geography. I wondered
if you were seeing what I was, if
our gazes collided
above the thin cotton clouds. I giggled
thinking perhaps it’d count
as a date. I remember
I heard you, in the barely
flowing air, your voice a hushed ghost
I tried to keep you, so
I put light between my fingers
In the wispy gray, you sounded
a little more present, defying
our past and our future—
The stale smoke
smelt nothing like you, but I
remember how it loomed around me
that night, and we watched
In the reflection,
moon and star, until
ripples swallow them into dark auburn
have you ever tried to eat dandelion leaves?
someone told me how delicious they are in a tea.
I did not have a recipe, but I tried it several ways.
I am pretty sure they were lying.
Memories
cracked teacup -
still too full
to throw away
Sounds
insomnia -
all these sounds
I'd miss if I was asleep
Sudden Revelation
distant lightning -
the silhouettes
of so many dead trees.
Rain
no longer with us
yet the rain still fills
her water bowl
With a stiff upper lip and old school tie
still it's just not cricket
but the upper crust they say
are on a sticky wicket
to pay the estate or make ends meet
they have conducted tours
of stately homes safari parks
and the family jewels
we used to go to Scarborough Southend-on-Sea
Bognor Brighton Blackpool
have fish 'n' chips for tea
but now for fifty pee we natter
with a Duchess or the Duke
for half a quid a cuppa
with a true blue-blooded bloke
as they're all skint like me and you
there's not a lot a poor Lord can do
but bite the bullet and enjoy
hobnobbing with the hoi polloi
I am dead to many, a few are dead to me.
I am forgotten
by girls in green silk sarongs
yet they still pour me out like tea.
The dead are drunk on themselves,
as I am.
I throw up
a timeworn rope of thought
they haul me up
just enough for me to see
the moon
caught in a teacup,
then I allow them,
let them breathe life
into my mouth
and I again remember.
All alone in my later life just my memories and me
Reminiscing about my younger years
With a lovely cup of tea.
Thinking about loved ones who have been and gone.
Time has gone so fast has it really been
That long.
Days slip into weeks and months slip into
Years
Laughter in happy times and in sadness there were tears.
Thinking about going school and getting my first job
They never paid you in pounds notes you worked for a few bob
I remember caring for my children when they were ill and sick
Now the tables have turned as time has gone by so quick.
So here I am thinking how my life used to be
Smiling to myself with my lovely cup of tea.
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